The Wide World Magazine. An Illustrated Monthly of True Narrative - Adventure, Travel, Customs and Sport. Volume 23 1909 May-October

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

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THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO LIBRARY Digitized by Google

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Digitized by Google

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Of, ev Ie THE WIDE WORLD ~ MAGAZINE © AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY 1) TRUE NARRATIVE ADVENTURE ; “TRUTH IS TRAVEL CUSTOMS STRANGER AND SPORT THAN FICTION” VoL. XXIIL y = A MAY ool TO LONDON: OCTOBER GEORGE NEWNES, LTD. SOUTHAMPTON ST. 1909 STRAND

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INDEX. Sees ABALONE.-FISHING of ba Illustrations from Photographs. ABRUZZI, THE EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE OF THE ove Illustrations trom Photographs. ARCTIC MAN-HUNT, AN . ase IMlustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.IL, and from Photographs, ARTISTS ADVENTURE, AN. Hlustrations by E. S. Hodgson and from Photographs. ASIA MINOR, A WANDERER IN. vee Mlustratinns by W. B, Wollen, R.I., and from Photographs. ATLANTIC TRAGEDY, A NORTH... ae Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson. BALINESE AND THEIR WAYS, THE Illustrations from Photographs. BALLOONING EXPERIENCES, MY MOST EXCITING Hlustrations by W. Edward Wigfull and from Photographs. BEAR, BULSTRODE AND THE Illustrations by G. L. Stampa. BEETLE, TIIE GOLDEN oes on Mustrations by Stanley L. Wood and ‘from Photographs. BHUTAN, MY JOURNPY IN... Illustrations from Photographs. BUSH, A MYSTERY OF THE c eee aie IMlustrations by Norman H. Hardy and from Photographs. BUSHRANGERS, HOW WE BLUFFED THE ... ae ane Illustrations by Norman H. Hardy. CASTAWAYS OF GUADALUPE ISLAND, THE Ilustrations by E. S. Hodgson and from Photographs. CAVES, THE PEOPLE OF THE . Illustrations by W. R. S, Stott and from Photographs. CAVE, TWO MEN IN A on se, Illustrations by W. Christian Symons. CLUE OF THE MARKED BAMBOO, THE oo ane Illustrations by W. B. Wollen, R.I. DEPUTY-POSTMASTER, TITE EXPERIENCES OF A ee Mlustrations by A. J. Gough and from Photographs. EARNST’S LUCK.. . Ilustrations by W. R.'S, Stott and from Photographs. EARTHQUAKES FROM A JAPANESE POINT OF VIEW... Illustrations from Photographs. EMPIRE, PEGGING OUT THE Mlustrations from Photographs. “*FLYING MACHINE,” THE SYDNEY... one ae Illustrations from Photographs. GHOST OF No. 1 JETTY, THE .. F Mlustrations by Lionel Edwards and-from Photographs and a Facsimi GIPSY POLKA, THE Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.L. GOLD-MINE, A RACE FOR A : IMlustrations by Charles M. Sheldon and from Photographs, Arthur Inkersley. Edward Whymper. A. A. Chesterfield. ~ HA. Hamilton. Andrew Henry 1 Pauiine Aganoor. » Mrs, Assheton Harbord. « ZT. A. Stoadard. J. Claude White, C.1E. Dane Maxwell. . Robert S. Weaver, Captain E. J. Wolseley. Lieut.-Colonel D. Norman H. Crowe!l. E. J. Murphy. PAGE 290 323, 426 24

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INDEX. GOLDSMITH’S, THE ROBBERY AT | : Illustrations by J. Durden. GUM-HUNTER, THE Mlustrations by Harry Rountree and from a Photograph. HAMLET, A LOST Illustrations by Charl “HERMIT OF ROTIIFE) "KF, THE” Ilustrations from Photographs. HERO'S LIFE-STORY, A oe Illustrations by A. J. Gough and from Photugraphs. HIMALAYAN ARCADIA, A Illustrations from Photographs. HOUSE BUILT IN A DAY, A Illustrations from Photographs. INDIA, SPORT IN Illustrations by Lionel Edwards. ISLAND OF MYSTERY, AN ... at 1 is one Ilustrations from Photographs and a Map. * PRISON, LIFE IN A Illustrations from’ Photographs. JAPAN MAROONED ON A SANDBANK _ ... Illustrations by W. Ed Wigfull and from Photographs and a Sketch, MAZE, LOST IN AN UNDERGROUND La eee Mlustrations by A. Pearse and from Photography and a Plan. MECCA AND MEDINA, AN E LISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO Mlustrationy by A. Pearse and from Photographs. “MEDITERRANEAN, THE PEARL OF THE”... Mlustratio.s by the Author. MENICAN MI THE OLD... Mlustrations by Ayton Symington, MOOSE, HOW 1 LA IED A ae Mlustrations by H. Sandham and from Photographs. NEAR EAST, THE SPORTSMEN OF THE Mlustrations by A. Pearse and from Photographs. NEW YEAR’S DAY, ONE Mlustrationy by Norman H. Hardy and from a Photograph. NIGERIA, WITH PEN AND CAMERA IN Mlustrations from Photographs. NING WO THE WONDERFUL Illustrations by W. B, Wollen, R.I. NORTH-WEST, IN THE FAR Illust ions from Photographs. ODDS AND ENDS Ilustrations from Photographs 4 PAPER BOAT, TWELVE HUNDRED MILES IN A... Mlustrations from Photographs and a Facsimile. PARROT, THE ONE-EYED z Illustrations by Einar v, Strokirch and from Photographs. FATROL, ON THE HILL CREST . Ilustrations by W. B. Wollen, THE JEALOUSY OF PEPE, POPOCATEPETL, HOW I CLIMBED MOUNT... Ilustrations from Photographs. RAIN-MAKERS, THE RIVAL... 2 . Mlustrations by George Soper and from a Photograph. ROCKY MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT, THROUGH THE Hlustrations by H. Sandham and from Photographs. . From all parts of the World, R.L., and from Photographs and Facsimiles, Illustrations by J. Finnemore, R.1., and from Photographs and a Facsimile. Frank Vrooman, F.R.G.S. L. aM. u ‘ltiams. A. Goren, .. Prank G. Jennings. Charles Rudy. Charles Rider-Noble. C. HM. E. Askwith. iii . PAGE The Rev. Ernest J. Chappell. 356 D. W. O. Fagan. 523 Bart Kennedy. 227 Frederic Lees. 136 David A. Piatt. 127 Lieut.-Colonel R. H. Tyacke. 528 Harold J. Shepstone. 438 . Edward Fitzjames. 47 De Mess Bowers. 167 elndrew ‘Souta: 60 HS. hohu. 143 « Cnartes Brandreth. 386 Hajt Abdur Rahnan. 219, 394, 464 H. D. Collison Morley. 195 Walter Roberts. 297 Frank Vrooman, FLR.G.S. 614 Reginald Wyon. 79 E. Hope Temple. 549 FWY. Emett. 449, 585 a Licut. -Colonel Donald Mackenzie. gt « Crawshay “itiams. 598 99, 204, 308, 413, 517, 619 554 186 402 534 231 33! 275, 380, 510

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w THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ST. BERNARD, THE RESCUE DOGS OF. Illustrations from Photographs. SEA-LIONS, SOME ADVENTURES WITH Illustrations from Photographs. SHORT STORIES. AN ADVENTURE IN THE ‘TOWERS OF SILENCE” Illustrations by Lionel Edwards and from a Photograph and Facsimile. Hassan’s Brive * Illustrations by S. Spurrier. + For Yaqui Goin... by Stanley L. Wood and from a Photograph. ze A LUNCHEON-PARTY IN| RHODESIA dae Mlustrations by G. L, Stampa. L THe OrprEAL or MRs. BE 7 Mlustration by Sheldon Will S. THe DepuraTion THAT FAILED ... Illustrations by the Author and from Photographs, qe THE JatL-BREAK AT K ANGON as Mlustrations by Lionel Edwards and from Photographs. THE MissinG BRACELET 3 Illustrations by J. Durden and from a Photograph. THe Story oF A Gtass Eye... on nes oe Iustration by A. J. Gough. FIsHING ON THE Mo1opro Mlustrations by R. B. M. Paxton and from a Photograph. Locatine A Leak — ... one ie oe aoe Illustrations Ly H, Sandham, SMUGGLER, THE DYNAMITE Ilustrations by W. R. S. Stott. **SNAKE-FARM,” A TEXAN .. Illustrations from Photographs. STAR AND CRESCENT, UNDER THE ‘ Ilustrations by Warwick Goble and from Photographs. “ STRIPES,” STORIES OF— Tue TIGER AND THE Tow-BoaT THE PHANTOM TIGER Illustrations by Lionel Edwards, and from Photographs. “TANK SCRAP,” THE. Ilustiations by Charles M. Sheldon and from’ Photographs. TREASURE, PHAULKON’S .. Mlustrations by Norman H. Hardy and from Photographs. TROOPER LOVELACE, T.T.P. Illustrations by Wilmot Lunt. TUCSON, THE MASKED BANDIT OF a ae Illustrations by A. J. Gough and from Photographs. VOYAGE, AN ODD Mlustrations by Charles Pears and from a Photograph. | WIDE WORLD, THE. IN OTHER MAGAZINES ... Ilustrations from Photographs. WILSON’S “SCOOP” .. Mlustrations by Stanley L Wood. ZAMBESI, Tilustrations from Photographs. THE RIDDLE OF THE... one ane ae see on oe PAGE Harold J. Shepstone. 4t Bonnycastle Date. 366 » St. Michael Podmore, M.A., F.2.S., F.R.G.S. 66 May Crommelin. 69 RK. R. Kermack. 74 Gertrude Page. 157 George H. Ball! 160 Henry Sandham. 163 . Charles H. Zeigler. 261 «Walter E. Murray. 264 J. Pitt Hardacie, 267 Ji CX. MeNeuna. $57 Norman H. Crewell. 561 Herman H, Matteson. 433 wlsaac Powers Aline. 543 “Be iris FLOW. Bouiton, 419 Mayor KR. G. Burton, 422 ~ OC. Le Gray. 151 Wm. Whitfeld Fegen. 481 Mrs. Frid Matu:in, 497, 606 Captain John A. Spring. 240 Bart Kennedy. 37 98, 203, 307, 412, 516, 618 William Lord Wright. 578 ae we EW. Sykes. 115 GRORGE NEWNES, LTD., SOUTHAMPTON STREET AND EXETER STREET, STRAND, W.C

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THE BRAVE YORUBA RECEIVED AN ARROW FULL IN THE MOUTH! (SEE PAGE 9.)

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{40 4 ong 1279 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Vol. XXIII. MAY, No. 133. 1909. | The People of the Caves. THE STORY OF A WEIRD UNDERGROUND WAR. By Captain E. J. WoOLsELEy. This narrative, with its accounts of nightmare fights in the darkness with unseen foes using poisoned arrows, will remind the reader of the most exciting of Mr. Rider Haggard’s romances. Yet it is a plain record of actual facts, now set forth for the first time. The “ People of the Caves” were an outlaw tribe dwelling in Northern Nigeria, who had for years been troubling the British authorities. They raided and looted continually, retiring when pursued to an in- accessible subterranean stronghold—a veritable labyrinth of caves and passages in the heart of a group of hills. Captain Wolseley describes how he and his men, after infinite difficulty, finally drove the savages from their underground lair. OR many years previous to 1907 a tribe of pagan savages known as the Marghi had caused continual trouble to the authorities of Northern Nigeria by their raids upon the main trade route between Kuka on Lake Chad to Yola on the River Benue and Mobi in the German Kameruns. They attacked large caravans of Kanuri traders, carrying off their booty and prisoners to their rocky fastness among the Chibuk hills, some twenty miles away, which was reputed to be a veritable subterranean labyrinth of caves and k aN C forty men to undertake the well-nigh impossible task of inducing these turbulent folk to come out of their burrows and submit to the law. I arrived at Maidugari, the military post, just in time to see the return of Lieutenant Chapman's force and relieve Lieutenant Chaytor, who was due home on leave. I hurriedly took over the post from Chaytor, and, at the request of Mr. W. P. Hewby, the Resident of Bornu, proceeded at once to Chibuk with all the remaining infantry I could collect, the mounted men being required elsewhere. We marched into Chi- passages. Early in 1903 3 a small British force attempted to attack the stronghold and __ break up this outlaw tribe, but was driven back with loss, and nothing further was done till sanction was given for the expedi- tion in December, 1906, under Lieutenants Chapman and Chaytor. This small column pluckily tackled the Marghi stronghold, and after eleven days’ fight- ing withdrew, having lost twelve men killed and forty wounded. The pagans, spite of heavy losses, still held doggedly to their ground, and Cap- tain Booth, the Resident of the District, was left behind with a guard of Vol. xxiii 1. The Author, Captain E. J. Wolseley. From a Photograph. buk on December 22nd, ‘and found Booth and his forty men as cheery as sand-boys, very pleased to see us. All seemed quiet among the hills, and Chaytor and I even made an unescorted inspection of the lower slopes of the mysterious strong- hold that evening, un- molested and, apparently, unobserved, save for a weird sound of voices that came from somewhere under our feet, giving us a most creepy sensation. As soon as darkness set in, however, hundreds of little fires appeared twinkling on the rocks high up among the crags and caves. Next morn- ing at daybreak I parted

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4 THE with Chaytor, who proceeded on his way to the coast, and Booth and myself mounted our ponies and made a closer inspection of the Marghis’ fastness. ‘The Chibuk rocks consist of a cluster of tugged hills about six miles round, covered here and there with scrubby bush and long rank grass. Vast boulders, piled indiscriminately one on the other to a height of many hundred feet, start straight up out of the plain, which spreads around for many miles—a boundless sea of rolling bush, stretching away to the north into the great Sahara desert. Between these boulders were huge fissures, dark caves, and gaps, par- tially hidden by the rank undergrowth, which made the slippery rocks very dangerous and difficult to scale. It was in the recesses of these gloomy caves that the fighting Marghis had taken refuge, with their women and_ children, sheep and goats, chickens and corn. They had burned their own villages at the foot of the hills on the arrival of Chap- man’s force, and now defied the sturdy Hausas, armed with the latest magazine rifle, to turn them out. One glance at the enormous strength of this position was sufficient to enable us to realize the futility of wasting lives and thousands of rounds of ammu- nition in attempting to take such a place by assault. To cut off the water supply was the only possible means of getting at these rock rabbits, and this we decided to do. During our ride rcund the stronghold we found no fewer ‘than nineteen water-holes hid- den among the grass and rocks near the foot of the hills. There were only eighty men at my disposal, who had to be made the most of, and these I divided into three pickets, placed at intervals of about two miles apart round the hills. Each picket was independent, and_ strongly posted to resist any counter-attack made by the pagans. Each party provided small posts to watch every water-hole, till all were guarded. The pagans surveyed our manceuvres with interest from their eyries high up on the hill- tops, but made no attempt to molest us. The wisdom of our action in cutting off the water was soon apparent. Natives can do A fighting Marghi pagan. From a Photograph, WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. without food for days, but not without water. That same night heavy firing broke out from the direction of No. 2 picket, and we found, when daylight dawned, that a large number of Marghis had broken through the sentries in the dark and made for the bush. Reconnoitring patrols, however, soon made it clear that many more were still holding out, having a supply of water stored in pots somewhere down in their caves. During the next few days the garrison made desperate attempts to get at the water, and many exciting encounters took place. Small parties, armed with bows and spears, would steal silently upon the picket through the long grass and endeavour to rush the sentry and carry off a supply of water. One tall savage stalked a sentry whom he had seen from the hill - top leaning against a tree-trunk apparently asleep. With panther-like fero- city he sprang upon the hapless soldier and seized the muzzle of his rifle, an exciting struggle ensuing. The pagan, having hold of the wrong end of the gun, was slightly at a disadvantage, for by the time he had decided to drop his shield and water-pot and free his right hand to give the soldier a dig with his spear, the sentry had managed to slip a cart- ridge into the other end of his rifle and yive the pagan one for himself! Sometimes small parties came down and _ sur- rendered, and it was a real pleasure to see them drink their fill of water, though I always noticed the men had the first pull before handing the cala- bash on to their wives and families. Women, and even little children, yere sent down during the g to try to carry back some Of the precious fluid to the fighting men above, but they were caught one after the other by the watchful sentries and ‘handed over next morning to Captain Booth as prisoners of war. Needless to say, they had a much better time in his camp than they had ever had before in their lives. ‘This desultory state of affairs could not last long, and so, on January 2nd, I decided upon decisive action, entering the caves on the east hill with forty Hausas and clearing them out from end to end. There was a little shooting

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THE PEOPLE OF THE CAVES. 5 No. 2 picket guarding the water-holes. of arrows and a few spear-thrusts in the dark as we chased the pagans from cave to cave, but we finally drove the last of them out. It is impossible adequately to describe the awful fearsomeness of these caves. The oppressive gloom, the dark passages ending in precipitous caverns, and the unearthly yells of the pagans, lurking in the pitch darkness to use spears or arrows upon us, all combined to make that trip into the underworld memorable. We found quantities of food, in the shape of chickens, goats, and corn, stored everywhere. There were grass mats and wooden beds in most of the caves, and a few pots of evil-smelling water, while not a few bodies were stored away in special caves wherein these strange people chose to bury their dead. While exploring for water in one gloomy cave I heard a soldier call to me from somewhere beneath my feet, and, thinking he was in trouble, I went down through a gap in the floor into the room beneath. Lying on the floor in this dark cavern was a naked woman, so old that she was hardly human, just such a creature as “She” must have appeared after coming out of the sacred fire in Rider Haggard’s stirring story. I could hear the death-rattle in her throat, though why she was dying I could not make out, as there was no wound of any sort on her body. In the darkest corner of this gloomy den was a terribly-wounded pagan, who had fallen back into a deep crevice in the floor of the cave. There he was, sitting wedged into this yawning .gap,with only his head and feet showing above the surface. I thought he was dead till I saw his white eyeballs glaring at me out of the dark- LU hotograph, ness. The blood was pumping up from a wound in his chest, and his hand still clutched his deadly bow and quivers. I felt quite sick at the sight of this man lying helpless across the dark chasm, into which he was gradually sinking from sight, with no living soul to help him save the ancient hag lying upon the floor a few yards from him. We dragged him out and laid him on the floor of his cave, but he was beyond human help. One poor soldier met a similar fate, though his comrades stood by him to the last. Another man, in the earlier part ‘of the expedition, was utterly lost in those dark, winding passages, and one hardly dares to think what his fate must have been. His body was never found. a The task of clearing this set of caves safely accomplished, I posted a picket at the main entrance, and, on the day following, closed round Maina Buka’s hill, the chief stronghold of the outlaws, and completely cut off the occupants from the level ground. This hill was nineteen hundred yards round, five hundred feet high, and honeycombed from end to end with caves and connecting passages. I fondly hoped that, being surrounded, the surrender of the garrison of this- place would be only a matter of a day or two; but I was wrong. After holding out for three days Maina Buka’s men suddenly emerged from their, caves an hour before dawn, and attacked the pickets, making a desperate attempt to drive them back. The sortie failed, however, and they retired to their caves with loss. Nothing daunted, they again sallied forth before dark on the same day, and attempted to rush the pickets,

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. but the attempt was futile against men posted as strongly as ours were, and with insignificant loss to ourselves the Margnis were once more driven back into their caverns. All day and through the greater part of the night they shot their poisoned arrows among our men below, but with little result, as the Hausa soldiers were well up to the game, and each man had erected arrow-proof shields out of branches, with which he protected his cooking fire by night and him- self by day. Finally we discovered from some prisoners that the hill had its own secret water- supply, which was known only to the chiefs, and was being doled out in small quantities on pay- ment. This water-supply had to be found, if we were to compel their surrender, and there was no way out of it but to go inside and search for it, spears and poisoned arrows not- withstanding. On the 7th of January, therefore, we commenced making a portable block-house out of cow-hides and sheep- skins placed on wooden uprights. These latter had to be stuck into earthen- ware pots, as there was no earth on the hard rocks into which the supports could be thrust and made to stand. We spent a busy morning, under cover from the enemy’s bow- men, practising putting this block-house together The men receiving extra ammunition before the attack. Maina Buka’s Hill, the chief stronghold of the outlaws. in the shortest possible time, as we knew the pagans would make it hot for us while we were get- ting it into position on the spot selected, right up among the caves. Here, we hoped, it would cover our subterranean opera- tions next day, and keep the bowmen, with their death-tipped arrows, at a safe distance. By midday all was ready, and I took up a party of twenty men—ten having their rifles slung and carrying shields, their duty being to protect the other ten while firing. Slowly, and with great difficulty, we dragged ourselves up over the rocks, in mortal dread of falling into one of the many dark holes among the enemy, when we knew what fate would await us. Arrow after arrow came swishing in among us from the unseen pagans, but we succeeded in safely reaching the part of the hill we were making for. We found, however, that the way we had come was too steep and dangerous to drag up our block-house, so we reluctantly had to return. Thanks to our buffalo-hide shields, we accom- plished this feat without the loss of a single man. (Photegraph. From a Photograph.

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THE PEOPLE OF THE CAVES. 7 Finding it impossible to get at our objective above-ground, I determined to have a try from underneath. Later in the day, therefore, I paraded forty men and made a rush for the lower caves, where, fortunately, we only en- countered a few pagans. Nevertheless, they made a good fight of it in the darkness, falling back doggedly from cave to cave, discharging an arrow whenever they got a chance, as our men made their way underground, through innumer- able passages, cracks, and crevices, till—always working upwards — we finally emerged once more into the blessed light of day at the place decided on, the men cheering loudly and the pagans answering back with yells of defiance from caves still farther in the bowels of the earth. A party of fifty picked men were paraded and divided into small parties, each under a reliable non-com- missioned officer. Two Marghi prisoners acted as guides, and Booth, with one of my razors as an operating knife, took up a good position close under the rocks, where he could quickly get to work on any man who might be hurt. When all was ready we made a dash for the caves, and in a moment or two we were inside and the light of day had vanished. It was impossible in the pitch darkness to keep in touch with one another, and before many minutes we found ourselves utterly lost in a labyrinth of passages. My party consisted of the sergeant - major, a above us. Having now secured a safe passage, the block- house was dragged up over the rocks, piece by piece, and placed in position, though with con- siderable difficulty, owing to the well-aimed arrow- fire of the enemy. <A plucky corporal, named Dan Beki Kano, and six men were then left to hold the block-house for the night—and a very nasty job it was for them. There was no room to lie down, and all round were holes and fissures from which the stealthy enemy might crawl up unseen to within a few yards of their frail shelter. There was no retiring from this post in the dark, and, still worse, no possi- bility of going to their assistance from below, as the road was much too precipitous and dangerous to attempt by night. I spent a very anxious night indeed at the foot of the hill, within a stone’s throw of these plucky fellows, and yet unable to get at them. However, when day broke, though the pagans had kept up a hot fire of poisoned arrows at intervals during the night, the dauntless seven were still there, cheery as ever and firing on the pagans, who were trying to cook their breakfast at the mouth of the caves. I recommended this corporal for reward, and I am glad to say he received the Dis- tinguished Conduct Medal. We had now got a good covering post well up on the hill, and we prepared for our water-hunt Exploring Maina Buka’s Hill with the help of « prisoner. From a Photograph. bugler, and four men, with the two guides who were to show us the way to the water. It is impossible to describe our feelings as we crawled along through these — subter- ranean passages, some as dark as night, some only partially so. A more nerve-trying experi- ence I hope never to go through. All around we could hear weird noises and shrill cries. Occasionally a great rock would come rattling down from above, hurled by unseen hands, or we would hear the scuttling of naked feet on rocks. Whenever a ray of light: entered I caught a glimpse of the sweating, anxious faces of the native soldiers as they peered intently ahead, fearing at every instant to receive a spear-thrust, or, worse still, a poisoned arrow, launched with fearful force by some concealed savage only a few feet away. Longing to be out in the open air again we still struggled on, occasionally firing down dark passages, some of which were masked by dirty cloth curtains hung in front of the entrance. Sometimes we heard the muffled sound of firing from the parties in other parts of the hill, but we had no means of telling how they were faring. Meanwhile the strain on our nerves was becoming fearful. Should we ever find our way back to the daylight, I wondered, or should we be shut in—literally buried alive— in some cul-de-sac, where the ,énemy could easily

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A Big stones were dropped from above and poisoned arrows came whistling round the ceve. block the narrow entrance passage by letting fall some huge rock? It was a horrible thought. Who could find us, or even know where to look for us? Presently we came out of a very narrow tunnel into a large cave, lighted from above, with several dark passages leading off it. We halted doubtfully. Which way were we to turn? _ We were in none too good a plight. One of my party had been so badly wounded that he had turned back and crawled out into the open air to die. One of the guides had managed to slip away in the darkness unobserved, and the other was petrified with fear. If the pagans liked to rush us now things would go hard with us. Finally, I ordered the bugler to sound the “Charge,” in the hope of giving the other parties some idea of where we were. The result, however, was disastrous; it brought a horde of savages on to us from the caves and passages all around and below usy ~Big stones ee Sa

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THE PEOPLE OF THE CAVES. 9 were dropped from above and poisoned arrows came whistling round the cave, ricochetting off the iron-bound walls. We heard afterwards that a desperate attempt had been made to capture the bugler alive, cut his lips and hands off, and return him to our camp as a warning to other “ju-ju men” with bugles. It was necessary that at all costs we should push on, and the frightened guide pointed towards a pitch-dark passage from which more than one arrow had come out. A _ plucky Yoruba soldier, named Adituna Ogbomosho, sprang forward to lead the way. As he entered the passage, however, I heard the all-too-familiar twang of a bow-string, and a long, poison-tipped arrow was only stopped from going right through him by sticking deep into his rifle, which he was holding in front of him. No one was to be seen ahead, but I emptied six chambers of my revolver into the darkness and pushed on, close behind our one remaining guide. The same Yoruba soldier, determined to protect his officer, thrust himself in front of me. Again there came the twang of a bow, and the brave Yoruba received an arrow, fired with fearful force, full in the mouth! It was a horrible scene. Blood was spurting everywhere, and we could not pull the poisoned arrow out of the poor fellow’s face till, finally, I made one of the’ men tear it out with his teeth. By this time we were desperate. The pagans —all but invisible in the gloom—had crawled up all round and had us at their mercy, for they knew every twist and turn of this horrible labyrinth. Bullets and arrows were flying about the cave, and our sole remaining guide had dis- appeared somewhere in the passage. It was no use stopping there to be massacred, so I ordered the men to get back, if possible, by the way we had come. One by one we climbed up to the narrow tunnel by which we had entered, and commenced the retreat. The last man had climbed through the hole out of the cave into the passage, and I was just preparing to follow, reloading my revolver as I went, when a long, lean, naked pagan, with a cloth bound round his left arm by way of a shield, dropped like a great spider from the roof not two yards from me. My revolver was empty, and I was all alone in this ghastly place. I thought my time had come, for he raised his great bow and shot an iron- barbed arrow straight at me. At the same instant something hot was placed against my throat, and there came the sharp crack of a rifle, fired right under my chin. Almost simul- taneously, before he could plunge his knife into my vitals, the pagan fell dead, with a bullet ® through his brain. I looked round amazed, and Vol. xxiii.—2, saw that Private Jappo, a brave Fulani soldier, had come back to my assistance in the nick of time and shot the pagan dead, getting the arrow meant for me through his neck. I am glad to say that this plucky young fellow recovered, and I owe him my life, though I failed to get him the Distinguished Conduct Medal. Well, we got back into the light of day at last, and never in my life was I more thankful to see it. We had not succeeded in finding the hidden water-supply, and had lost one man killed and four wounded. The fearless Yoruba who had been shot:in the mouth eventually recovered, and received the Distinguished Conduct Medal. We had no medical officer with us, so a mounted orderly was dispatched at once to Maidugari for help. Fortunately Dr. Parsons, who had performed such invaluable service in the earlier operations, was already on his way down, taking an officer home to England, and hurried on to Chibuk to patch up the wounded. Dr. Alexander arrived the next day from Maidugari, having ridden eighty miles. The following morning, with the same lot of men, we attacked Jema, one of the Chibuk hills somewhat detached from the others, and as yet unvisited by troops. Part of our little force was mounted, and our attack was short, sharp, and unexpected. A few arrows were fired, and then the enemy made for the bush, leaving us in possession of their sheep and goats, which were badly wanted by Booth to provision the camp. I was now obliged to leave the little force in charge of Booth and make a dash back to Maidugari, to attend to the wants of the troops there, and to brink back money for the men in the field. On returning to Chibuk on the 23rd I found that the pickets had opened up communication with the cave-dwellers at shouting distance, and were carrying on an amicable conversation daily ; but the outlaws could not be persuaded to come out of their caves. Finally, on the 24th, we arranged an interview with some of the chiefs, who reluctantly emerged from their dens and came down to where Booth and I were sitting, unarmed and unattended, save by an orderly and interpreter. A more evil-looking lot of scoundrels than these men I have never seen in my life. They coolly informed us they had no intention of coming into camp, but wished to be allowed to sleep at the foot of the hill at night undisturbed, as the snakes among the caves were worrying them too much and killing some of their best men. ‘These caverns were the home of huge pythons and deadly rock-snakes, who evidently resented the tribesmen’s intrusion. Booth finally promised to grant them three days’ armistice, and they returned sullenly to their burrows.

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Io THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. For the next three days the pickets were with- drawn, and the pagans allowed to wander about at will. They made use of their three days’ grace to collect cotton from their large planta- tions close round the hill, storing it away in the caves. We employed our holiday playing football—a sort of cross between Rugby and Association—with an old ball I had brought out from home. It was to have been a three- days’ match, but by the end of the second day most of the men were dead lame from kicking up sods with their bare feet and falling over each other to have their share of the ball! The ‘This photograph gives some idea of the “ going" on Maina Buka's Hill. Hausa soldier dearly loves football, but he prefers playing all against all. At noon on the third day, as the outlaws showed no signs of submitting, the pickets once more took up position and confined them to the rocks. Booth and I had been out shooting that evening and were riding home to camp, when we suddenly came on a party of a dozen or so Marghis, who had slipped down from the hill * in the dusk unobserved by the pickets, and were busy collecting cotton, which was now the property of the Government, and was being sold by Booth to square off the long outstanding tribute of the district. We rode right into the middle of them before they knew what was up, and they scattered to the four winds of heaven and vanished in the grass, not giving themselves time to realize they had only one armed man to deal with, for Booth had not even got a rifle with him. I dropped one man from my saddle, who fell among the long grass and gave us an uncomfortable ten minutes’ search before we could lay him by the heels. Next day Booth went away on tour and I was left alone to finish off the job of subduing the outlaw stronghold, I was sorry indeed to lose Booth, as we had had a great time together and he was always in the best of spirits and good temper. The following morning, about two hours before dawn, I collected half-a-dozen men under Dan Beki Kano and instructed them to lie low in the grass close under the hill and, if possible, to let the enemy’s cotton-gatherers get well out into the fields before showing themselves. I myself, with half-a-dozen mounted men concealed in the high-standing corn some way out on the plain, waited to dash out should any of the pagans make for the open coun- try. As day was breaking we heard the crack of a tifle and the yells of defiance from the Marghis on the hill-top. We galloped up and found that my friend Dan Beki had shot the Serikin Samari, the biggest cut-throat on the hill. This chief had come cautiously down from his cave as soon as it was light enough to see and had walked right on the top of Dan Beki, who was lying flat on his face covered with grass and leaves. He let out an appalling yell, which warned his friends of danger, and was promptly shot dead before he could get his arrow into Dan Beki. The loss of their fighting chief made the savages more cautious, and they made no more attempts to collect cotton, though I was pretty sure they came down from the caves at night and slept close round the foot of the hill. I determined to make sure of this, however, and on the following night sallied forth with a soldier named Maiki Mala, whom I knew to be a good bushman and hunter, with any amount of pluck. There was a little moon, and we had no difficulty in following one of the many bush- paths that led from our camp to the hills. As we approached the hill we had to move with extreme caution, as the slightest noise would ¢

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THE PEOPLE OF THE CAVES. 11 have alarmed the watchful Marghis, and as we were unencumbered by arms except for a light revolver I carried, we should have fared very badly at their hands had we found them ready for us. Presently the night breeze got up. Every shadow appeared to move and take human shape, and the sighing of the wind through the trees and among the rocks sounded weird and ghostly, but in reality enabled us the more easily to approach the pagan encampment. At last, after nearly an hour’s crawl, we reached the farthest fringe of cover, and lay among the great boulders and deserted huts at the entrance of the caves. Nothing was to be seen ; not even at the dark mouths of the caves was there any apparent sign of life, though there were numerous indications of a recent encampment scattered about in the shape of cooking-pots and extinct fires. Nota trace of the Marghis could we see anywhere, however, and the cold moon shone down on a scene of emptiness and desolation. A solitary owl perched on the wall of a ruined hut watched us in solemn silence, then circled around us, like a restless spirit, giving forth its ghostly cry, which echoed among the silent rocks. The quick ears of the enemy had either heard our approach or our ambush of the night before had induced them to chance the pythons and sleep once more in their gloomy caverns. We returned as silently as we had come, not a little disappointed at the result of our investigations. A few days after this I obtained information that supplies were being smuggled into Maina Buka’s stronghold during the night, and I was obliged once more to close round this hill with the whole force and make a last determined effort to discover their secret water-supply. It was not, however, necessary to make another expedition into the bowels of the earth in search of water, as the very next day a corporal with a small picket, perched up among the rocks, spotted a pagan coming out of a cave with a calabash of water in his hand, which he was greedily drinking, imagining himself unobserved. The corporal, determined not to lose his chance, shot the savage dead and immediately descended into the cave with his patrol. Follow- ing the fresh splashes of water dropped from the calabash of the dead pagan, he worked his way right into the secret water-cave, some fifty to sixty feet below the surface, returning to me with a calabash of cold, clear water. At last we had found it! This water-cave, as I discovered later, was only known to a few chiefs and “ju-ju men,” who jealously guarded it, as there was probably only a limited supply, which was used in time of siege and great emergency. It was a wonderful cave, pitch-dark, and extremely diffi- cult to enter, though approached by numerous winding passages from all parts of the hill. The floor was composed of much softer rock than the roof and walls, and two wells had been bored in it—one about six feet deep, and the other very much deeper. I was unable to see the water in the deep well, though I held a torch as far down as I could reach, but could hear the splash made by falling rocks. It was a gloomy-looking place, and impossible to guard, as a picket posted there would have had no chance against an enemy creeping stealthily upon them from the many dark passages. The awful silence and clammy dampness of this gloomy hole would have driven any man, even less superstitious than a Hausa soldier, out of his senses if left there for any length of time alone. The only possibility of preventing the pagans from getting at the water was to post pickets among the rocks as near the entrance of the cave as possible, with orders to fire at intervals down the passage. ‘This duty was pluckily carried out by small patrols, who relieved each other every few hours. These parties behaved with great bravery, lying for hours wedged in among the rocks, protected by buffalo-hide shields from the enemy’s bowmen, who showered in their poisoned arrows from every cave and crevice in the rocks whenever a soldier exposed his black head or any part of his khaki-clad person. For four days this close-quarter skirmishing continued, and some half-dozen soldiers were more or less badly wounded. At last, however, the enemy, finding it impossible to approach the wager by day, and equally impossible by night, owing to the pre- cipitous nature of the road, were overcome by thirst, and offered to surrender. ‘Towards sunset, on the 17th, a deputation was sent down to say they could fight no more, and would surrender on the following morning. Several miserable- looking men came down as soon as the “cease fire” was sounded, and informed us.they would rather be shot at once than spend another night among those caves. ‘That evening we turned in, full of satisfaction that the job was done at last. The morrow would see Chibuk in our hands. But these brave, stubborn fighters did not mean to surrender after all. Soon after mid- night, when the moon had set, leaving the hills and surrounding forest in total darkness, the enemy stole silently from their caves and, creep- ing down among the rocks, broke through the lines of the pickets, who, overcome with the fatigue and strain of the last few weeks, were probably not fully on the alert. Had one man not stumbled up against a sentry in the darkness and been instantly shot, the alarm might never have been given, and the enemy would have

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12 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. vanished like ghosts in the night. When the shot was fired, alarming the picket, the enemy were seen streaming away over the rocks into the darkness, carrying on their heads all their worldly possessions. Needless to say, we were only too glad to see the last of them, and when day dawned the hill was ours—deserted by all except those who were too old and too sorely wounded to leave their dens. ‘These crawled away into the innermost recesses of their dark hiding-places to die. As soon as it was light we commenced ex- ploring the deserted caves, making sure the enemy were indeed gone and searching for ivory, which we knew was probably concealed somewhere among that labyrinth of subterranean passayes, which brought to one’s mind Rider Haggard’s famous “King Solomon's Mines.” With the help of some prisoners we examined all the larger caves, which were still well stocked with provisions. Once or twice we caught sight of the withered face of some ancient hag looking at us from the mouth of a cave, only to vanish again like a ghost into the darkness before she could be followed. The men hunted here and there with torches, peering into the dark corners and shouting to “keep away the evil spirits.” While exploring a small ,dark cave into which we had climbed through a hole in the floor of the cave above, I suddenly heard shouts from the soldiers overhead, and smoke began pouring into the cave from the hole in the roof by which we had entered. A soldier with a blazing torch had accidentally set fire to some straw mats in the cave above. In an instant the flames shot up, caught a pile of stacked firewood, and filled the place with blinding smoke, which poured down through the hole in the floor and almost stifled us. ‘There was no escape except up through the burning cave, and, as may be imagined, we did not waste much time in getting up through the suffocating smoke, across the fiery cave and out into the daylight beyond. I do not know how much smoke the lungs can hold, but I imagine that by the time the fire had burned out and rescuers had come to look for us in the cave below, we should have been dgad some considerable time. Near the summit were many caves much too precipitous to enter, and these the Marghis had used for depositing their dead, and probably their ivory, if they had not already smuggled it out of the district before the fighting commenced, as they had done their cattle. In these sepulchres the air was not so bad as might have been expected, though we did not investigate them too closely. A flagstaff was cut, dragged aloft over the boulders, and set up on the highest peak. Here the Union Jack was hoisted as a warning to the neighbouring tribes, who were inclined to be troublesome owing to the premature withdrawal of Chapman’s expedition and the long and determined resistance made by the Chibuk tribesmen. The rock fortress was now ours ; and I reported the fact to the Resident of Bornu and the military head-quarters at Zungaru, nearly two months’ journey away. It took us three days to build a small fort and barracks and tell off a detachment of thirty men to be left behind, under Colour-Sergeant Watkins, to see that the enemy did not return. The night before we marched away I was strolling about in my pyjamas in front of my hut, preparatory to turning in, and congratulating myself that the job was done, when suddenly I caught sight of a flame that shot up and died away near the summit of the main peak. The caves were unguarded, and now, after all these weeks of fighting, some of the enemy at least had dared to come back to the caves ! I could not sleep. I watched the flicker of the light for some time, and then put on the worn-out tennis shoes [| had used so often to climb that hill, went down to the lines, and woke up three of my best men. We started for the rocks at once, without disturbing the rest of the camp, and stealthily commenced to climb up the steep in the bright moonlight. As we neared the spot where I had observed the fire my heart was going like a steam- pump from combined exertion and excitement, and I feared every second that we should be heard. Presently, Maundi, who was in front, crouched down, and there was an interval of intense stillness. ‘Then, suddenly, four pagans sprang up at uur feet, there was the ominous swish of four arrows whistling past our heads, and the crack of four rifles as we fired back at them. One savage fell backwards and vanished from sight down a dark hole; the other three fled over the rocks and disappeared. How we all missed each other at such close range I cannot imagine, but the attack was very sudden, and in the uncertain . light of the moon aiming was difficult. We searched about for any more traces of returning pagans, but found none, and made back for camp with the satisfaction of knowing they were only a few daring savages who had returned to their caves under cover of darkness to collect their belongings and clear off again before day- break. Anyhow, no more lights were seen upon the hills, and the fearsome Chibuk caves are now inhabited only by the dog-faced baboons and the snakes which live down in the dark. I do not think that any savage will ever wish again to return to that haunted hill, and I certainly do not.

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My Journey in Bhutan. By J. CLaupE Wuitr, C.IE., BritisH PoiticaL AGENT AT SIKKIM AND BHUTAN. Over a year ago the author—who is one of the best living authorities on the British Indian Frontier, having been for nearly twenty years Political Officer at Sikkim — introduced our readers to the beautiful and practically unknown State of Bhutan by means of two articles which he wrote for “‘ The Wide World Magazine.” Since then he has again been on an important mission in that closed land, and in the following narrative recounts some of his experiences during the journey. OWARDS the end of 1907 I was f deputed to represent the Govern- ment of India at the installation of Sir Ugyen Wang Chuk as hereditary Maharajah of Bhutan. The other members of my party were Major Renwick, of the Intelligence Branch, Captain Hyslop, Mr. Campbell, Assistant Political Officer, and my native confidential clerk, Rai Lobzang Chuden. I was accompanied by a strong escort of the 62nd Punjabis, a detachment of which was stationed near my head-quarters in the Chumbi Valley. They were specially selected as being able to stand the extreme cold, and also the very trying atmosphere of the valleys—over sixteen hundred feet below sea-level. The Lamas and chief men of Bhutan, finding it expedient to have some fixed head and a more stable administration than the old Lama Government, decided to elect Ugyen (who had been knighted for the help he gave the British during the Tibet Mission) as their Maharajah, and it was in order to be present at this cere- mony that I again visited Bhutan on the invita- tion of Sir Ugyen himself, who was anxious that I should be present. The importance of this political change can- not be over estimated, and it means as much to the British Government as it does to Bhutan. We have now for the first time a permanent Government to deal with, having at its head a man of very strong personal character, who is entirely well disposed towards us and willing to throw in his lot with the British rather than with his Chinese neighbours, a consideration of very great importance in the future. It should be explained that the country was formerly a spiritual kingdom, nominally governed by a spiritual ruler, who was an incar- nation of the most sacred Lama of Bhutan. Under this régime the affairs of the country devolved on anyone who was strong enough to assume the task. As a matter of fact, Ugyen has been the real ruler of Bhutan for some time, ue B ke | HBAS _ and Mr. White’s story is illustrated with his own striking photographs. ii as the spiritual ruler died about three years ago and up to the present has not been reincarnated. The starting-point of the mission was my station at Gangtok, in Sikkim, which place we left on November 25th, 1907, and succeeded in crossing the Natu Pass. We were then at an altitude of fourteen thousand seven hundred and eighty feet, but as the weather was fine and clear, and not too cold, .we marched through without incident. Soon afterwards a_oitterly cold wind sprang up, and when we left Chumbi, a week after our start, although the sky was clear the cold was intense. The day after leaving Chumbi some of the party camped at Lingothang for the night in order to go after a magnificent shau—a very rare animal, one of the largest of the red deer species—of which news had come into camp. The horns occa- sionally measure as much as sixty-four inches, the beast is therefore one which a sportsman would go to much trouble to obtain. Unfortunately all our efforts proved vain, for none of us had even a glimpse of the animal, although my orderly, Purboo, claimed to have seen the herd quite close. Report said that this particular shau was a magnificent specimen, and unique in that it had a white spot in the middle of its forehead. For this reason it was regarded by the natives with super- stitious reverence, so that perhaps it was just as well that we did not bag it. But apart from that, time also was pressing, and I could not devote two nights to stalking it. Moreover, the cold increased in bitterness and a fearful blizzard commenced to blow, the temperature mean- while falling as low as minus twenty degrees Fahrenheit. It would have been the height of folly to remain under canvas in such an exposed position. The high wind made it impossible to keep the flies of the tent down, and, although there were no cases of frost-bite, we were all chilled to the marrow. Such being the position, I determined to move on to a place called Goutsa, where I knew there was a small hut

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The mountain torrent which froze solid in a single night. From a Photograph. which, though crazy enough, offered some slight shelter from the cruel wind. That night I witnessed a phenomenon that I have never before experienced— a running river freezing solid in a night! Better still, I was enabled to record it with my camera. The photograph repro- duced above shows one of the mountain torrents—a typical scene of entrancing loveliness, with which the region abounds. When we arrived the waters of this stream, tumbling over the great boulders and rushing through the tor tuous channels, made a deafening roar. Gradually, but almost imperceptibly, the tumult decreased, while, worn out little higher up. after a hard day, we fell asleep. A few hours later, when we awoke, a deathly silence prevailed, and on looking out, to my in- tense surprise, I found that the rushing torrent of the previous night had been transformed into a solid mass of ice! The next photograph shows the same torrent a little higher up, and presents a marvellous contrast to the preceding _ picture, taken only a few hours previously. In this region of extreme temperatures I had on other occasions seen torrents frozen, but never under such startling conditions. On looking round we found that everything we possessed was also frozen solid, in- cluding our saddle of mutton, which was merely a block of ice. We were ravenous, but we got no satisfaction from gnaw- ing at lumps of rock which ought to have been a succulent joint, and so, despite our The same stream a few hours afterwards, photographed at « point a

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MY JOURNEY IN BHUTAN. 15 From a) hunger, we had to content ourselves with a little tea—to make which we melted ice—and a few biscuits. All that day and the next we were kept prisoners in our hut. Despite chamois- leather underclothing, leather breeches, and furs, we could not put our faces outside—a fact at which the reader will not be surprised when it is realized that we were Wool-laden yaks bound for Tibet. (Photograph. storm-bound also thought it wise to take advan- tage of the opportunity, and soon we met some of their yaks on the road on their way to Tibet, laden with wool, which is the chief export from India to the Land of the Lamas. Our spirits, which had become somewhat depressed by our earlier experiences, improved at an altitude of thirteen thousand feet. I was most anxious to push on, and did my best to get some of the impedimenta off; but it was useless. The men refused to budge, declaring that no pack-animal could live in such a storm, and, as the next part of our route entailed reaching an altitude of nearly four thousand feet higher than we then were at, I thought it better not to press matters. Fortu- nately, however, one of those quick -change climatic arrangements which prevail in this country brought about a more agreeable condition of things, and on the following morning we- were able to start on our journey once more in perfect weather, and even under warm sunshine. Some native traders who, like ourselves, had been A busy scene—The Expedition breaking camp. From a Photograph.

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16 THE WIDE WORLD with amazing rapidity as we continued our march in fine weather, and, after spending a night at Phari, crossed the Temo Pass, which forms the boundary between British territory and Bhutan. The weather was now exquisite. We ascended the Temo La, and on descending the mountains on the Bhutanese side were first met by native officials at a spot some fifteen hundred feet below the summit. There, in a sheltered nook, we were regaled with food, and on reaching the foot of the pass I was officially met by emissaries of the Maharajah, who had brought with them a selection of gaily-caparisoned mules and ponies so that we might each choose our own mount. Our hosts were kindness itself, for not only did they provide us with transport but they took upon themselves personally the difficult task of piloting us down the very rough and, in places, most dangerous tracks—albeit at a speed which I, for one, did not relish, for the boulders and rocks were slippery and the path was perilously narrow. The steep slopes and giddy tracks were not easy to negotiate, as will be realized when it is understood how long our caravan was and that during this march I had over two hundred and sixty loads, each of which had to be carried on a man’s back. MAGAZINE. We were ylad indeed when we came in sight of the camp that had been prepared for us by the Bhutanese, and caught a glimpse of our white tents pitched in a delightful glade amidst magnificent Alpine views and surrounded by pines and rhododendrons. ‘The preceding photo- graph, taken on the morning following our arrival, depicts a busy scene. We were break- ing camp for our next march, and the great amount of impedimenta needed much arrange- ment to prevent things getting into a hopeless muddle. The Bhutanese, however, are well- trained carriers, and they were under the orders of excellent headmen, who had been thought- fully sent down by the Tongsa to assist us. Consequently, when we reached our next camp we found that all our goods had arrived and were in their places. Despite the great difficulties of transport in these out-of-the-way regions, it is yet almost impossible to keep one’s baggage within reason- able limits, largely owing to the necessity for making a display on arriving at one’s destination. What with presents, reception tents, and tents for our own use and for the servants, one’s baggage soon assumes alarming proportions. On this occasion, too, I had with me twenty-five From a) A view in the mountains—The building on the left contains a prayer-wheel driven by water-power. (Photograph.

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MY JOURNEY IN . BHUTAN. es The Sacred Monastery of Paro Tag Tang, which had never before been seen by a European. 7 : : us From a Photograph. boxes of treasure that not only necessitated special transport, but had to be carefully guarded. Our first camp in anything approaching civilization was at Duggyejong, one of the most picturesque fortresses of Bhutan and an ideal all-the-year-round residence. The climate at this spot is splendid, and the Jong (fort) com- mands some magnificent views. One of these scenes is shown on the previous page, and from it the reader can judge of the magnificent: mountain ranges which our rooms overlooked. On the left of the picture, looking up this beautiful valley, is a curious Bhutanese prayer- house, containing a prayer-wheel, which is driven Vol. xxiii,—8. Epa ae by water-power—surely a curious way of paying one’s devotions. This prayer-wheel, which is constructed somewhat after the fashion of an old English watér-wheel, contains layers upon layers of paper strips, on which the prayers of the faithful are printed. As during each turn of the wheel the prayers are supposed to ascend to the deity addressed, and the mere repetition of prayers counts, it can readily be seen how easy and convenient such a form of religion must be to those who believe in it. On arrival in camp, the Duggyejongpen (the official in charge), who had met me some miles farther up the road, conducted me to his private apartments in the fortress, where, his) hospitable

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 18 “yIed PuLA1j-0A390 8 4q 4[UO paqososdds pus ‘YY 399) Jo spussnog) Ausus ac ce en ea sss nanesien neha hse hemechinetiaa aa i 1. ec

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MY JOURNEY wife gave us an excellent lunch consisting of an omelette—a really good one, ccoked in the Bhutanese fashion—accompanied by any amount of beer and milk, and so our time was fully occupied while the men were pitching our tents and getting the camp ready. We remained in this camp for two days, during which time we obtained some fair pheasant-shooting on the hills at the back of the Jong. We also took advantage of the opportunity to visit the sacred monastery of Paro Tag Tang, close by, which had never before been seen by a European. This is not merely one of the most picturesque buildings I have ever seen, but is perhaps the most inaccessible monastery in the world. The two snapshots on the preceding pages show the remarkable position of the monastery, but the larger picture gives a better idea of the buildings IN BHUTAN. 19 a ravine only to climb up the almost impossible rock at the other side, where the least slip would precipitate one thousands of feet into the abyss below, So bad was it that some of my native followers, accustomed though they were to such situations, were unable to walk along it for fear of falling in, and had to return. ‘The climb down and up was, however, well worth the trouble. Every natural feature in the rocks has been taken into account by the builders, with the most pleasing results. On arrival we were given water, very cold, from a spring at the monastery gates. This was refreshing after our climb under the blazing heat of those precipices. I was permitted to visit the most sacred part of the monastery, which was in a cave under the main temple. This was occupied by a copper- gilt construction filled with gilded images of The Great Buddha at Tashichu — It is twenty feet in height, richly gilded, and studded with From a) in relation to their surroundings. Both photo- graphs show that the temple and monastery are built on an almost inaccessible precipice, thou- sands of feet high, and so perpendicular that it is difficult to see how the original builders ever got a foothold at all. ‘The monastery is approached by a truly nerve- shattering path, which winds down one side of precious stones. (Photograph. Buddhas sitting on lotus flowers ; all were well executed and of great antiquity. In the centre of the gorge was a hermit’s hut, built on the very edge of the perpendicular cliff, and reached only by means of a large notched tree which served as a ladder. This hut may be well suited to meditation, but a, more dismal place could scarcely,,be imagined,

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20 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The caverns and rocks hereabouts are said to contain large numbers of miraculous thunder- bolts ; but, owing to the absence of the hermit, I was unable to see these sacred treasures. I should not, however, be surprised if the relics behind. The cause of the conflagration was never found out, but there was a suspicion of arson on the part of the officer in charge, who was credited with having amassed a large fortune. As this had attracted attention, he was A wayside shrine—In front is one of the few women Lamas, or priestesses, in Bhutan. From a Photograph. were collected by the Lamas and placed in these rocks in order to add to the sanctity and mystery of the place. ‘The whole establishment is of considerable extent. The monastery proper is surrounded by other buildings, such as nunneries and temples, niostly built in depressions on in- accessible pinnacles of rock. So many of these are there—all most difficult of access—that a thorough inspection would have occupied days. This time I had not at my disposal, and so 1 was compelled to return to Duggyejong without completing my investigations. My next move was to Paro, where we camped under the ruins of a fort which had been totally destroyed by fire only three weeks before. On my arrival nothing remained but the giant walls, standing black and melancholy against the hills popularly believed to have set fire to the fort so that he could declare that all his property had been burnt. The local wiseacres, however, thought that the wily gentleman had saved his own things and let those belonging to the Government burn. From Paro we continued our march to Tashichu, where I found that another mag- nificent temple had been built since my previous visit. Iwas enabled to take a photograph in the interior, showing one of the finest images of Buddha which I have seen. The statue is no less than twenty feet in height. It is richly gilded and studded with precious stones, chiefly turquoises, and is hung round with magnificent banners of brocade, elaborate scrolls of em- broidery, and appliqué work, almost exclusively

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MY JOURNEY Bhutanese. The people of the country are past-masters of this class of work, and many of the monasteries possess most beautiful examples representing Buddha and their own patron saint, the Shabdung Rimpoche. On the conclusion of our visit to this wonder- ful shrine we proceeded to the refectory, where we were regaled with a most unspiritual lunch, consisting of pork sausages, omelette, and rice coloured with saffron, washed down by large potations of rice beer, known as chang. The fare was a little trying, but the Bhutanese are most hospitable and would feel deeply hurt if a visitor declined to partake of their good cheer. Although they like the good things of life they are pre-eminently a religious people. The roads of Bhutan are lined with picturesque shrines, where the faithful pray. The one seen on the previous page is specially interesting, because it shows one of the very rare women lamas—an old priestess with a prayer-wheel in The old woman is employed in her hand. IN BHUTAN. 2r walking round and round the shrine, always keeping it on her right. At the same time she revolves her prayer-wheel from left to right. No good Buddhist will tum the wheel from right to left. We were now approaching Punakha, and on the outskirts of the town I was met by many servants of the Tonysa Penlop, who had been sent out to greet the Mission. They brought with them numerous mules beautifully capa- risoned, and were accompanied by bands with pipes and drums and dancers. Some fifty of the Tongsa’s people, all attired in lovely bro- caded silks, headed the procession, which, as it could only go in single file, stretched for nearly amile. The sight was most picturesque, and the gay trappings of the mules and attendants shining brightly in the sun made a spectacle of great beauty. A noteworthy feature of the procession was the band of male dancers, each carrying small skull drums, which, in spite of the narrowness The Astor and hi ort etering the ee From a Photograph, (0) 2

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “possoss Aused saommy om oFpLq aq PoLMogE = Teaydeo S.qeEryR A OP Oy oUD0e y

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MY JOURNEY IN BHUTAN. 23 The huge fort at Punakha, the principal building of the capital. From a Photograph. and bad quality of the so-called road, they beat vigorously the while they twisted and gyrated in the most extraordinary fashion. This continued all the way into camp. On coming in sight of the fort which was to be the scene of the approaching festivities we were greeted with a thunderous salute from some ancient guns which were mounted on the opposite bank of the Pachu, and as we crossed the bridge over that stream, shown in the full-page photograph on the preceding page, we were welcomed by great crowds who had collected to watch us as we wended our way to the camp which the hospitable Bhutanese had prepared for us with much trouble. There we found that for each of us a neat wooden hut had been erected. In the centre of this group was placed our mess-house, while behind were the kitchen, servants’ quarters, stabling, and so forth. Our rooms were all . Most tastefully decorated with hangings of silk, mine being hung with red, white, and blue, while the mess was draped with printed calico . and yellow silk, the former being covered with paintings of grotesque animals. All were furnished with chairs and tables of local manufacture. ‘The above photograph gives a good view of the Maharajah’s fort, our camp being situated just behind the trees seen on the right. On teaching camp we were received by the Maha- rajah, Sir Ugyen, who was surrounded hy his Council and followers, and conducted forthwith into the mess-house, where, after fruit and wine had been offered, we were given white scarves as a token of good fellowship. (To be concluded.’

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AN ARCTIC MAN-HUNT. By A. A. CHESTERFIELD, OF ManiTosa House, Kinosota P.O., Manirosa, CaNnapDa, While in charge of a Hudson Bay post eight hundred miles from civilization and two hundred from the nearest other white man, the author received word that an Eskimo had suddenly “run amok” and was killing his comrades right and left, effectually preventing the annual migration to the post with furs. Mr. Chesterfield had to act quickly, for the tribal medicine-men were telling the superstitious natives that the whole trouble was due to the white man, and could be put right by massacring him and his men, HE mention of the words “running amok” instantly brings to the minds of one’s hearers the picture of some tropical landscape, with a half-naked, dark-skinned fiend, knife in hand, dashing about seeking to satisfy his lust for blood, the climax being brought about within a short period by a well - directed bullet. It has come within my experience, however, to witness a case of “running amok” under conditions entirely different to these, inasmuch as it was enacted among fur-clad, phlegmatic Eskimos, amid the ice and snow of sub-Arctic regions, while the tragedy, instead of occupying the stage of events for less than an hour, consumed nearly a month in its fulfilment, during which time one man terrorized the inhabitants of many miles of frozen coast-line. Although Canada is absorbing thousands of immigrants yearly, there will always remain vast regions inhabited only by aboriginal tribes and fur-bear- ~, ing animals ; and, since fashion decrees that our wives and sisters must wear furs, the _ daring adventurer braves all ~ dangers while penetrating these regions in order to satisfy their demands. Consequently, throughout the whole of the Dominion, ever gfe encroaching upon the icy North, stretch the e lines of fur-trading establishments that form The Author in Arctic Costume. (PAotograph. the outposts of civilization in North America.

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AN ARCTIC MAN-HUNT. 25 During the winter of 1904-5 I was con- ducting the trade at one of the most remote of these posts —in latitude fifty-nine degrees north, longitude seventy-eight degrees west, on the east coast of Hudson Bay. Eight hundred miles north of the railway line and civilization, it was situated on the very edge of the barren lands. To the north stretched mile after mile of snow-covered “barrens” and frozen seas, with here and there the igloe (snow-house) of an Eskimo trapper; while southward, after traversing two hundred miles of sparsely-wooded country, one came to another fur-trading post, where dwelt my nearest white companion. During the previous autumn I had succeeded in getting the Eskimos pretty evenly scattered to an end, and during the evening of the fourth day occupied by the return trip we guided our dog-team up to my northern home. While walking towards the house I mentally noted that everything looked to be in a satisfactory state. After changing my warm travelling clothing for something more suitable for house-wear I sat enjoying a cup of steaming coffee, while con- gratulating myself upon having made a quick and pleasant trip, and thinking that after only four days of everlasting ice and snow by day, with a cotton tent or an igloe to rest in by night, even the limited comforts of civilization possessed by a fur-trader were comparatively luxurious. A knock at the door disturbed my thoughts, and my interpreter came in to report. A troup of Eskimo in the Author's store on the East Coast of Hudson Bay. From a Photograph. over the four hundred iniles of desolate-looking coast-line that lay to the immediate north ; and by the end of January all was in readiness for their annual visit to the post, in order to barter the furs obtained during the winter. They would not, however, commence to arrive until edrly in March. For the time being I felt tired of my lonely life, almost hating the very sight of traps or gun, while longing for the companion- ship and conversation of a white man; so I left the post under the care of my most reliable servant, a half-breed interpreter, while I went for a visit to my, more southern colleague. Like all good things, the visit at length came Vol. xxiii.—4, “Has everything gone all right in the place?” 1 asked him. “Yes, sir.” “Any Eskimos been in yet?” “Two families came in, the night before last,” he replied, and before I could ask whether they had made. satisfactory hunts he added, “They’re scared to death.” “Why, what’s the matter?” I demanded, for I saw he had something unusual to narrate, but, native like, would not do so until questioned. “They’re killing each other like anything, up north,” he replied. ‘Then he told me the following story, which was afterwards confirmed by one of

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26 THE WIDE the men who had come frora the north, whom I sent for immediately in order that the inter- preter might translate, sentence by sentence, as the story was told. The Eskimos were moving southward—on their way in to the post to barter their furs—a number of families having gathered at a place called Nastapoka, one hundred and thirty miles north of the post, where they had camped in order to prepare for the annual visit to the trading-station. A day’s journey, about forty miles, north of there, Sala and Naura had camped in order to kill seals—each family con- sisting of the man, his wife, and an adult son. Beyond them, hunting and travelling alternately, were the various families who were on their way to trade. All went well until one day the two young men proceeded out on the ice together with the intention of seal-hunting, and in some manner Sala’s son accidentally shot and killed his companion. Filled with grief, the young fellow wrapped the body in the skin of a bear they had recently killed and dragged it to the igloe of his parents, to whom he sorrowfully related what had occurred. Although the igloe occupied by Naura was situated but a short distance away, he had not noticed the return of the seal-hunters ; but Sala immediately proceeded there and told him of the death of his son. At first both Naura and his wife took rather a vindictive attitude, swear- ing to follow the old Eskimo custom of taking blood for blood by killing the youth who had accidentally killed his companion, but ultimately, apparently convinced that such an action was not only unnecessary, but also wrong, they agreed to follow another of their customs by accepting Sala’s son in the place of their own. At this stage of the proceedings Naura left the igloe, leaving Sala to discuss the transfer of his son with Mrs, Naura. Everything had apparently been settled in a peaceable and friendly manner when Sala returned to his igloe, thinking to console his wife for the necessity of having to give their own son in place of the youth accidentally killed. Imagine his enraged grief when he found both wife and son dead. While he had remained in the other igloe Naura had come over and stabbed them both. Driven frantic by this act of treachery, he looked around for Naura, who at that moment was not to be seen. ‘Thinking to find him in his igloe, he proceeded there, and, having crawled through the low porch, was immediately attacked by Mrs. Naura, using a snow-knife as a weapon. WORLD MAGAZINE Whether she was cognizant of her husband’s actions, or only surmised either all or a part of the truth, when the enraged Sala suddenly reappeared is not known; but cither knowledge or intuition gave her an inkling of what had occurred, and she evidently attacked Sala with the idea of baulking his revenge. While defending himself against the attack of the bloodthirsty virago Sala noticed the muzzle of a Snider rifle protruding through the porch door, and realized that Naura was approaching from the rear in order to complete the exter- mination of the small family. He also noticed an instrument that might be made the means of his salvation, a seal-harpoon, lying close at hand. Knowing the struggle must quickly ter- minate, he grasped the harpoon and transfixed the infuriated wom:n, pinning her to the side of the igloe. Then, with a mighty bound, he burst through the snow-wall, and before Naura could appear in the breach jumped on a sled, which fortunately had the dogs already in harness, and quickly sped away from the scene of horror. Naura’s first shot after the retreating figure wounded one of his hands, but before he could reload the clumsy weapon Sala was safely beyond the danger-zone. During all that night the wounded man, his mind in a state of frantic torment, urged his dogs towards the south, and when the first streaks of dawn lit up the eastern sky he arrived among the igloes at Nastapoka. Many of the men of the party gathered at that place were away caribou-hunting on the barrens, but those who remained quickly assembled to hear the ghastly story. Some of them counselled that a party should immediately start north to either capture or kill the bloodthirsty Naura, but the shamen (witch-doctors) of the party advised that they should wait until they (the shamen) had exercised some of their barbaric incantations. ‘The superstitious nature of the people being fully aroused, the majority agreed with them. These religious rites are always practised at night, and consequently the day passed in inactivity. Towards dusk a sled was observed to be approaching from the north. It was driven by a woman, who told*the following story: She and her man were travelling south when, early that morning, they came abreast of two igloes. Not seeing anyone about, they stopped the dogs; and while the woman stayed with the team, the man walked towards the igloes in order to see if they were occupied. Before he reached them she heard a report and saw the man fall; shortly afterwards, the “ping” of a bullet, with a second report, recalled her scattered senses and made her realize that she was being fired at. The startled dogs of her team required little urging

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AN ARCTIC MAN- HUNT. 27 to speed away ; and, although repeatedly fired at by Naura (the reader has probably guessed who the marksman was), the range was such that she escaped the bullets. She also reported that a man and woman were following only a few hours behind them, and mentioned others who were coming south. After the woman’s recital of these later deeds of Naura, two of the Eskimos said they would go north the following day and endeavour to: shoot him, whether the shamen approved of it or not. Being relatives of Sala, they claimed the right of the nearest relatives to avenge the wilful killing of a member of their family. Moreover, they shot at. Approaching from different directions, they finally reached the snow-walls, without seeing or hearing any signs of life. Then, knocking a hole in the side in preference to crawling through the low-roofed porch, they were surprised upon peering in to find the place was deserted. Suspecting some ruse on the part of Naura, they turned to the igloe previously occupied by Sala. Treating it in the same manner as they did the other, they discovered to their horror that Naura was using it as a place in which to store the bodies of his victims. They counted no fewer than seven ! ‘The hunters were now at a loss to know how From a\ said Naura was undoubtedly mad, and apparently lying in ambush to kill any unsuspecting person that passed. As they journeyed northward they met what they at first thought was a runaway dog-team ; but when, upon examination, they saw that one of the dogs had been wounded, yet had travelled with his team-mates until at last forced to lie down and die, they were enabled to read only too plainly the fate of the two people reported by the woman to have been travelling south behind her. The incident served to spur them on to settle with the maniacal murderer, and late that afternoon they arrived in the neighbour- hood of his igloe. With all possible precaution they advanced towards the igloe, momentarily expecting to be An Eskimo snow hut or igloe. (Photograph. to proceed ; but knowing that Naura’s dogs had been taken by Sala when he escaped, they guessed that he had not gone far away. It was now getting dark, so they decided to return a few miles south and camp for the night, in- tending to resume the search the following morning. ‘They had not, however, taken into sufficient consideration the craftiness of their bloodthirsty quarry, who, while they had been fully occupied with the examination of the igloes, had made a detour and succeeded in cutting off their line of retreat by hiding a short distance to one side of the track. When they were returning, a sharp report tang out from amid a pile of rough ice, followed by a cry of pain and a convulsive jump on the part of one of the avengers. The bullet carried

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28 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. gx A sharp report rang out from amid 2 pile of rough ice, followed by a cry of pain and @ convulsive jump on the part of one of the avengers. death to the poor fellow it struck, but again the reloading of his weapon gave the other man time to escape. Urging his dogs forward he stopped them a few hundred yards farther on, and, taking his gun from the sled, began a unique duel with the madman. His weapon was a double-barrelled muzzle-loading gun ; and the first few shots they exchanged convinced him that Naura’s Snider rifle gave the maniac an advantage that he dared not face. He, there- fore, abandoned the fight, jumped on the sled, and reluctantly returned to Nastapoka. The party gathered there were fast being con- verted into a state of superstitious fear by the shamen, who said that Naura was possessed of evil powers, and prophesied destruction to all who proceeded against him. Nevertheless, an elder son of Naura’s, who had been one of the hunting-party that was away when Sala arrived at the place, was determined that his father’s mad actions must be stopped, and asked if anyone would accompany him to the scene of the trouble. One man offered to go, and, with the evil prophecies of the shamen ringing in their ears, they departed to carry out the self- imposed task of execution. Three days passed, and neither of them returned. By that time the people were worked into a state of superstitious frenzy, the shamen being in complete control of their emotions. ‘The man who narrated the foregoing facts con- cluded by expressing the sentiment “that the right-thinking Eskimos were afraid to think about what might happen, if something was not done to relieve the situation.” Such was the story that greeted me on my return from my pleasure-trip. My first thought was that the matter did not concern me—that it would be perfect folly for me, a lone white man living among barbarians, to be in any way mixed up with a native feud. I realized that Naura, who had probably been driven insane by the loss of his son, had adopted an attitude that would prevent the Eskimo from passing his place with their furs—either on account of fear or worse—but it was surely better that I should have a very small collection of furs than that

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AN ARCTIC MAN- HUNT. 29 my body should be added to the ghastly collec- tion he was making in the hut. These mercenary and cowardly thoughts quickly passed, giving way to those of justice and duty. I had been among the people for three seasons, and knew personally all who were to pass Naura’s stronghold. Each spring I had welcomed them to the post, and when they exchanged their furs for things which they had learned to think necessary to their comfort, I had endeavoured to adjust their grievances and diffi- culties as best I could. It would be a poor return for the confidence they had given me to allow them to walk unsuspiciously within rifle-’ range of the fiend who was now camped beside the track that led to the post : Invigorating as these last ideas were, I must admit that they alone did not finally decide me to take a hand in the deadly game. Twice during its history had the inhabitants of Nastapoka been massacred by the Eskimos. The fact was known by all who went there, in whatever capacity, but by tacit agreement was never spoken about. Probably each time the shamen, whose evil powers over their supersti- tious brethren I had occasion to note, had previously worked the crowd into just such a frenzy as they were now doing; and I fancied I could see an ulterior motive in their present actions at Nastapoka. In the light of these thoughts, the closing remark of the narrative of my northern visitor took the shape of a delicate warning, and I decided to act while I was sure of some of the Eskimos siding with me. Consequently, I an- nounced my intention of starting for Nastapoka the following morning, telling the interpreter to bring the dog-driver into my office. Since a great deal might depend on my being able to Present a logical sequence of ideas to the people when I arrived at Nastapoka, it was necessary that I should take my interpreter with me ; because I did not know enough of their difficult language to be able to speak to them in a proper manner, while the dog-driver knew still less English. However, when the two men came to me I told them that I was going at least to Nastapoka, and probably beyond there ; that I badly wanted them to go with me, but, if they felt the least bit afraid, to speak up, and I would make other arrangements. Immediately the dog-driver spoke in his mother tongue, not being conversant enough with mine to express his feelings readily. During three winters, he said, he had shared my hardships and dangers while making many long trips, and was hurt by the idea that I should, even for a moment, think he was afraid. His example was quickly followed by the interpreter, and they proceeded to- make ready for the start. This is a statement of incidents, not a descrip- tion of Arctic travelling, so I will pass over the uneventful trip to Nastapoka, where we arrived at noon of the fourth day after leaving the post. My arrival was unexpected ; I was greeted joyfully by a few of the people, indifferently by others, and sullenly by the shamen and their following. This convinced me that I had acted wisely in not delaying. Having distributed the tobacco and other small gifts I had brought with me, we entered into a discussion of the case—from which I noted the medicine-men held aloof. Nobody had gone from there since Naura’s son and his Two of the dogs in the team used by the Author on his hunt for the murderer. From a Photograph. companion had started on the trip from which neither returned; and none had arrived from the north. Considering that the Eskimos were moving southward, I was afraid of the reason for this. As far as my informants knew, Naura was still playing his murderous 7é/e. I had been received in a better manner than I expected, although the actions of the shamen convinced me that my fears that they had some sinister design at the back of their minds were

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30 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. far from groundless; and, knowing that the Eskimos admire pluck above all other qualities, I boldly addressed the assembly. Speaking of their custom of taking blood for blood wilfully spilt, I enlarged upon the justice of the idea so long as it was confined to the punishment of the guilty and did not lead to a family feud. Their custom was exactly like the white man’s justice, I told them, except that the whites appointed one man to do all the executing. Then I spoke of the wrongful injustice of per- mitting a madman to deal death amongst their unsuspicious brethren who were coming south, and, seeing that I was gaining the hearts of my hearers, denounced the shamen for trying to lead them astray; the medicine-men’s hearts were evil and their mouths full of lies, I said. I would prove, by going north to punish him, that the evil powers possessed by Naura were only bloodthirstiness and craftiness, and thus enable my friends tovisit the post with their furs in safety. The announcement was greeted by almost general murmurs of approval, and some of them Offered to go with me. I selected two—one of them being the man who had seen the interior of the igloes when his companion had been shot two weeks previously—telling the others they could help me by trying to overcome the fears of the rest while we were gone. Thinking it safest not to camp there that night, as the already beaten shamen might become desperate, I gave the excuse that I wished to arrive at Naura’s place as early as possible the following day, and set off at once. We left the place about four o’clock ; the shamen, with the few dissatisfied spirits yet remaining as their followers, being gathered apart in a sullen group and witnessing our departure from afar. Before darkness came upon us we built an igloe in which to rest that night, about ten miles north of Nastapoka. Soon after eating our evening meal I gave orders to be ready to start before daylight. Then we crawled into our sleeping-bags, and, tired by our hurried trip, were soon fast asleep. Before the sun rose on the day that I knew was to decide Naura’s fate we had covered several miles of our journey. My team, being the faster, took the lead, while that of my two Eskimo friends followed, keeping up with us. Abcut ten o'clock, when the Eskimo called out that we were within five miles of Naura’s camp, we stopped the dogs in order to enable me to explain my plan, and also examine our rifles to see if they had received any hard knocks while lashed on the sled. I looked closely to the delicate parts of my *303 Winchester, and, find- ing everything satisfactory, filled the magazine with cartridges, I expected to find Naura either at or near his igloe, but as it was absolutely necessary to be sure that we did not pass him, I sent the Eskimo on a wide detour to the westward, while we did the same eastward, giving instructions that any sign of the man, even if only his track on the snow, was to be signalled by a rifle shot, which was to call both parties to the place of discovery. We were to meet again on the track about a mile from the igloes. ‘These plans were duly carried out, and we met at the appointed spot without either party having seen any trace of our quarry. ‘Taking my tele- scope, I examined the camp, but, seeing no sign of life, concluded that the madman had seen us and retired into his igloe. Sending the Eskimos to take up a position on the rising ground to the east of the camp, but telling them not to shoot unless they saw the man escaping, I advanced to a position about a thousand yards distant from the snow-walls I thought were hiding the man I was prepared to kill. Placing the sled across the track, more as a rest for my rifle than as a barricade, for I realized that the slight elevation would be but little pro- tection against the high trajectory of a Snider at long range, I ordered the driver to make the dogs lie down, and began shooting through the igloe. After the third shot Naura emerged, rifle in hand, knelt down, and began to fire in return. Evidently the affair was to end in a long-range duel. A cloud of loose snow, dislodged by his bullet, rose about a hundred and fifty yards in front of us. Naura must have seen it, and realized that the range was too great for his weapon, for he boldly advanced towards us and once more lay down. Dropping the sight of my rifle to eight hundred yards, I threw a bullet from the maga- zine into the chamber, and laid it aside. Then, taking up the weapon belonging to my inter- preter, which was not of extreme velocity, I began to use it, hoping that it would encourage the murderer in the belief that it was safe to come closer. The trap worked, for, alternately advancing and shooting, Naura fired eight or ten times, the bullets landing either short or wide—my return shots being purposely equally inaccurate, I remember remarking on his desperate courage ; but when one of his bullets hit a dog in our team, I realized it was time to quit fooling with him ; and, taking up my own trusty weapon, I waited for him to make the next advance. Slowly he raised himself and I pulled the trigger, but missed. The bullet, however, passed so close to him that he must have detected the change of weapons, for he immediately lay flat on the snow, thinking it over. I pulled the

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I LEE — EO AN ARCTIC MAN-HUNT ; 31 Quick as a flash, I pulled the trigger. lever to put a new cartridge in the rifle chamber, at the same time keeping the weapon trained on him. Again he raised himself, preparatory to advancing ; and once more, quick as a flash, I pulled the trigger. This time Naura threw him- self down, convulsively struggling on the snow. “Had he been hit, I wondered, or was it a ruse on his part? 1 decided to wait and see; but the two Eskimos, from their higher position, had seen the tell-tale spots of blood on the snow, and when we saw them driving towards him we thought it safe to do likewise. A moment’s examination showed us that Naura’s bloodthirsty career was finished. The bullet had entered near the right collar-bone and come out near the small of his back ; the man was quite dead. Leaving the body, we drove to the igloes, in one of which we counted thirteen bodies—five women, one girl, and seven men. We realized then fully that the poor insane creature had merited his punishment. It was too ghastly a spot for us to wish to remain there any longer than necessary ; so I told the Eskimos to pro- ceed north until they met the people, whom they were to tell it was now safe to.come on. On their return they were to bury the bodies, which they do by placing the corpse on the ground and covering it with stones. I returned south, sleeping that night in the igloe we had left the same morning. Calling at Nastapoka the following day, I told the people how the man-hunt had ended. Needless to say, the majority were glad, making more of a hero of me than the affair merited. Noticing the disappointment my success caused the shamen, however, I felt sure Thad acted rightly, having by my action confused whatever sinister plans they had conceived. We arrived at the post on the fourth day, and soon the Eskimos were coming in to trade as usual. We afterwards learnt that of the last two men who had left Nastapoka in order to try to capture Naura one (his own son) had been killed ; the other escaping in similar manner to the previous instance, save that he fled to the north. There he met the people, and his story had much the same effect as on those at Nasta- poka. Gathering daily, they got into the same frenzied state, dominated by the shamen. Even to this day I shudder when I think what might have been the result to the post and its people had my action been delayed long enough to have allowed the two bands to meet. No doubt the medicine-men would have convinced them that the white man was really responsible for the whole trouble, and they would have attacked my station and massacred the lot of us.

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The Sydney “ Flying Machine. ue THE STORY OF A REMARKABLE HOAX. By J. S. Boor. This amusing narrative describes how, in the year 1895, the good folk of Sydney, New South Wales, were taken in by a plausible stranger who claimed to have solved the problem of aerial navigation. He built his machine—at other people’s expense—and vast crowds assembled to witness the trial trip. The only flight they saw, however, was that of the “inventor,” who took with him the whole of the gate-money, leaving behind the wreckage of his precious aeroplane and a host of unpaid bills! LTHOUGH to-day we are able to regard the flying machine with a familiarity born of the successes of the Wright Brothers, Count Zeppe- lin, Santos- Dumont, and other pioneers of the conquest of the air, it was very much of a rarity in the year 1895. Therefore, when the inhabitants of the city of Sydney, New South Wales, first learnt, about this time, that there had arisen in their midst a genius who not only claimed to have solved the prob- lem of aerial navigation, but that he was about to enhance the town’s fair name by means of a flying machine of local invention, construction, and flight, it is not to be wondered at that they rose up with open arms, as it were, and wel- comed the daring inventor with a delirious outburst of enthusiasm. It mattered but little, seemingly, that his past history was a decidedly unknown quantity, and that his very connection with the town was of the slightest description. The sum total of the available information on these two points was that he had arrived from Queensland, set up in business, and, after a brief interval, failed dismally and put up the shutters. i Since then his chief sphere of activity had been confined to the various hotels and saloon bars of the town, where, as he seemed to be plentifully supplied with ready cash, he was at all times a welcome visitor. Dick Dark, as we shall call him, although this was not his real name, was by no means the ordinary type of bar-lounger. His manners were, perhaps, rather of the swaggering order, but he was a man of striking appearance, with a keen, hard-featured face and a pair of piercing black eyes which told at once of an energy that would carry him far in any enterprise he under- took. ‘The one outstanding and predominant feature of his personality, however, was an absolutely masterly and overpowering flow of language ; in fact, if any man possessed the “gift of the gab” to the superlative degree, that man was undoubtedly Dick Dark. And the one subject that was capable of extending his powers of oratory to the full was that of flying machines. He admitted freely that he had never yet attempted anything in this line, but at the same time he asserted, and that in no measured terms, that if anyone was capable of effecting the conquest of the air it was Richard Dark, late of Queensland, and now a citizen of the city of Sydney. . Furthermore, he said, he was prepared to back his own idea on the subject against any other in the world, and put it into immediate execution—at somebody else’s expense —and the town of his adoption should thereby reap the glory of his inventive genius. Thus it was that Dick Dark first made his bow to the public as a constructor of flying machines. What was more to the point, he was able to inspire the confidence of some of his adopted fellow-townsmen to the extent of providing the necessary funds for carrying out his experiment, in itself no small achievement in the face of his manifestly slight credentials. The enthusiastic people of Sydney, however, were quite prepared to overlook any shortcomings on that score. The prospect attracting the attention of the world of science by the local solution of one of the most difficult problems of all time was much too tempting to be withstood, and Dark had only to fly gracefully to his ready-made pedestal of fame to become the town’s most popular idol. The financial arrangements being settled to Dark’s satisfaction, it was decided that the Chowder Bay pleasure-grounds should be the venue on the historic occasion of the aeroplane’s first flight. The place was eminently suitable for the purpose, being a natural amphitheatre with a high hill on one side, from which it was arranged the flying machine should start. Cover- ing a huge area, the grounds were capable of accommodating a vast crowd. This point in particular appealed strongly to Dick Dark, as his anxiety to confer a benefit on the city had not prevented his stipulating for a large share in the gate-money charged for admission—this in addition to a substantial sum down for working expenses.

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THE SYDNEY “FLYING MACHINE.” 33 The flying machine was to be built on the ground itself, and in a few days the delighted townspeople beheld its embryo form gradually taking shape and growing before their very eyes, each day’s progress being watched with an ever- increasing eagerness and an absolute conviction of the ultimate triumph of Dick Dark’s splendid genius. ; This worthy, it appeared, had not only made a study of human nature, but had gone to Nature uself in the initial stages of his inventive career. It was, he asserted, the method of flight adopted by vultures and condors that held the jealously- guarded secret of aerial flight, and having ee ~ The flying machine, it was soon seen, was of gigantic proportions, having a light framework of wood and iron covered with canvas. In shape it was certainly somewhat suzgestive of the anatomy and attitude of a bird in flight, having four huge, outstretched wings, each of which was some thirty feet in length. Although the framework was constructed in full view of an admiring audience, strict secrecy was maintained regarding the actual machinery by means of which the airship was to be propelled. In particular the boiler—which, it was currently reported, held the most brilliant conception of the master-mind —was put together in a specially- Ta] Chowder Bay, Sydney Harbour—" Dark" undertook to fly his machine across this stretch of water to « point some miles distant. From a Photograph. applied this to his own invention he undertook to produce a flying machine which, if properly worked, would, before the eyes of the entire population of Sydney—or as many of them as elected to pay for admission to the ground—fly from Chowder Bay across the harbour to South Head, a distance of some miles. Naturally enough, the building of the flying machine occupied some weeks, and as it drew nearer and nearer to completion so the excitement in- creased, until the aeroplane was the chief topic of local interest. This state of affairs was doubtless immensely gratifying to the inventor, but still more so was the fact that there was an unprecedented demand for tickets, and a record crowd was expected at Chowder Bay. Vol. xxiii.—6. erected shed by Dark himself, and guarded jealously from the ultra - inquisitive. The starting-point was to be the top of the hill, which. sloped gradually down towards the beach and ended in a steep incline of undergrowth, rocks, and stones, leading across the mud to the water. From the top of the hill to the edge of the slope a raised wooden track was built, down which the flying machine was to slide until it launched itself into the air, when, according to its inventor, it would not descend before it reached South Head, after a record flight across the harbour. It is, perhaps, as well to mention that Dick Dark, although he professed an unbounded confidence in his flying machine, had not the

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34 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The machine almost ready for the trial trip—Notice the inclined way down which it was to glide. From a Photograph. SS, ¥. Be Ga fist d r > = = Seer As rs Just before the start—The boiler, concerning which the “‘inveator" maintained « great deal of mystery, is seen in the centre, From a) covered with matting. (Photograph.

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THE SYDNEY remotest idea of risking his own precious neck on the trial trip. In fact, there were to be no Passengers at all. At length the eventful Saturday afternoon arrived, and proved to be an ideal.one for the purpose, with very little wind and_ brilliant sunshine. The entire town was seething with excite- ment. Special passenger steamers, rather more than full up, were running to Chowder Bay, and long before the start an immense crowd was waiting to witness the triumph of the local aerial navigator, while the bay itself was dotted with yachts, whose owners congratulated them- “FLYING MACHINE.” 35 odds against the chances of a successful flight. An anxious hour went by, and the flying machine still remained at rest. The spectators began to get restless and a little out of hand, several ugly rushes taking place towards the centre of the ground. The local roughs, known as the “Chowder Bay Chickens,” were quick to take advantage of the situation, and when the Australian larrikin starts out to make himself objectionable he does so with a whole-hearted- ness that is bad for anything breakable in his immediate neighbourhood. Consequently it looked as though the flying machine, if it did not achieve fame in the air, would surely meet 3 The “flight ''—The machine reached the edge of the slope, shot out « few yards into the air with the impetus it had acquired, From a) selves that they had secured an absolutely unrivalled position to view the flight. Dick Dark was, naturally, the central figure among the vast concourse, and, as he stood cool and collected, directing operations, he certainly looked every inch the hero of the hour. The flying machine, however, did not rise at the appointed time, and as Dick Dark and his assistants were .still actively at work on the fittings it was evident that some delay had occurred. The boiler, too, which was now in position, was still covered with matting, and the sporting element among the crowd began to lay and then dropped with a crash on to the rocks. (Photograph. with an untimely end on earth at the hands of the “Chickens.” Thanks to the disturbing influence of these gentlemen a riot was soon imminent, but fortu- nately, just as things were beginning to look serious, it was seen that a thin streak of smoke was issuing from the boiler, and a tremendous cheer was raised at this belated sign of life. After a few minutes more of eager suspense the flying machine, in response to a vigorous shove from Dick Dark, started on its voyage and began to glide slowly down the raised wooden staging. Gradually gaining speed as it went,

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36 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Inspecting the wrecked machine—The “boiler,"’ still smoking, is seen in the background. From a Photograph. and followed by a number of excited spectators, it reached the edge of the slope, and with the impetus it had acquired left the track and shot out into the air—for about a dozen yards. Then it swooped downwards, and dropped with a crash on to the rocks and mud below! For an instant the entire crowd stood dumb- founded; then a wild stampede took place towards the scene of the disaster. Those who had already reached the slope were jostled and crowded by those behind, and there was a frantic scramble over rocks and shingle to the water’s edge. A tangled mass of canvas, wood- work, and irorr was all that remained of the Sydney flying machine when the eager mob reached the beach. The framework was buckled up out of all shape, the wings were broken and hanging, and had, moreover, caught on fire, and the wonderful boiler lay on its side, emitting fitful gusts of smoke. At first nobody in the crowd would venture near the wreck for fear of an explosion, but at length a few of the bolder individuals started to investigate matters, while some of the water- police endeavoured to put out the flames. Most of those present had been inclined to condole with Dick Dark in his misfortune, but when a short examination revealed the fact that the mysterious boiler was nothing more nor less than a hollow iron drum containing a mass of burning bracken, which had produced the smoke, and that the machine was innocent of anything in the way of mechanism for propelling purposes, and consequently absolutely incapable of aerial flight, his much-advertised invention at once presented itself in a new and totally unexpected light. In fact, the flying machine, to all intents and purposes, was a bare-faced “ fake.” Then it was that a pretty general feeling arose that this too - enterprising gentleman justly merited some swift and sure form of retribution as a fitting reward for his duplicity. Up to that moment, however, the fact that he was more con- spicuous by his absence than anything else had, in. the excitement, escaped notice, and a hunt about the grounds failed to reveal his whereabouts. The last the people of Sydney saw of Dick Dark was a swiftly-moving buggy on the sky- line, and their appreciation of his genius was hardly helped by the quickly-acquired knowledge that not only had he eloped with the whole of the gate-money, but had left behind him a souvenir in the shape of a big unpaid bill for the cost of building the flying machine, erecting the staging, and the wages of the workmen he had employed !

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Mr. Bart Kennedy. From a Photo. by Geo. Newnes, Ltd. I. ] WAS in 'Frisco, doing nothing in ] particular, when Jimmy Reddigan | proposed a scheme to me. It was to the effect that I should embark " with him on his schooner to go down the coast in quest of buried treasure. 1 had met Jimmy that afternoon when I was feeling somewhat pessimistic. The day was a bright, golden Californian day, but for all that my thoughts were tinged with seriousness. The gold of the beautiful, glorious afternoon—if I may lapse into poetry—seemed to mock me. It somehow made me think of real gold—a thing I possessed not. In a word I was “ broke,” and I was waiting around this saloon on the F ont — waiting for some kind friend—when the hospi- table Reddigan turned up. “What's the game, Jimmy?” I asked. I had swiftly absorbed the refreshing fluid which he had in his kindness provided for me. And I was wondering hard. For you never knew what you were stacking up against in good old ’Frisco. Jimmy winked, and signed to the bar-tender to hand out the bottle again. I helped myself generously to the whisky and looked at him. He was a hard-faced, longshore-looking man, with a squint in his right eye. His name was Irish. In fact he was Irish, but it must have been a long time indeed since the Green Isle had had the honour of his society, for he bore the marks of the man who had travelled long and travelled hard. ““?Tisn’t opium?” I said. not on.” It had occurred to me that the buried treasure might be buried opium, and the thought made me feel slightly tender in the region of my conscience. Burglary was an unsafe and precarious method of acquiring wealth, but of the two it was safer and less chancy than helping to get opium into ’Frisco. The authorities had a prejudice against it. “For if it is, ’m An Odd Voyage. By Bart KENNEDY. Finding himself stony-broke” in San Francisco, Mr. Kennedy promptly closed with a somewhat mysterious gentleman, who wished him to sign on for an equally mysterious voyage. This story tells how the cruise eventuated. No; it wasn’t opium! Jimmy’s squint eye gave a mysterious wink. roundabout words. certain bay, after we had laid in provisions. to be very careful. And he went on to say nothing in We were to go down the coast toa And we were And I was not to tell anyone that he had spoken to me! “Jimmy,” I remarked, “even if I do tell anyone that you spoke to me, I sha’n’t be able to tell them what you said, for you've said nothing. What’s your game ?” His only answer was to make another sign to the bar-tender, who again handed out the bottle. “ Will you come ?” he asked. “Certainly,” I said, promptly. “I'd go anywhere with you, Jimmy, for I think you’re lucky. - You’ve got a lucky eye.” James smiled at the sally, and the bargain was concluded. I was to go down with him and take my chance. He'd do the fair thing by me! And he’d tell me all about it when we got out through the Golden Gates. He clinched the bargain by handing me a two-dollar bill, and we parted to meet again. Il. WE were moving on our little schooner out through the Golden Gates. Passing us were craft of all sorts and sizes-—ships coming and going. It was a beautiful day, and the broad, gently- heaving Pacific looked wonderful. But I was not in a Nature-admiring mood. I was wonder- ing as to what might be Jimmy Reddigan’s little game. I had chanced the voyage with him, for I was always a strong believer in the magic of Chance. Still, it is not always a good thing to plunge blindly into another man’s adventure. His game might be buried treasure after all, for Jimmy. had got two diver’s suits aboard. He was at the wheel, and I went up and stood by him. But his squint eye bore an inscrutable look. ‘The time was evidently not ripe for letting me into the secret. ‘There were five of us aboard, including Scanlon, who was Reddigan’s partner, and two loafers from the Front. Surely it was treasure he was after, I thought, and my mind became filled with visions of old- time Spaniards and Spanish doubloons. I was

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38 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. off on a real, romantic, authenticated, copper- bottomed adventure of the Elizabethan brand ; but when I gazed upon Jimmy’s squint eye as he stood at the wheel my visions faded quickly. It was impossible to connect him with anything other than the prosaic. Though he looked adventurous in a sort of way, he was painfully modern. True, he wore a much-travelled air, but it was diluted, so to speak, with a navvy- cum-longshoreman’s manner. I liked Scanlon. He was a short, powerfully- built man, with the sense of humour that Irish people are so often falsely accused of possessing. He f had left Ireland at the early age of ten, and had roughed it all over the world. In this way he had received the best of all possible educa- tions, and he had the alert, quick, sure judgment that is apt to come from such an education. But he would tell me nothing. He said he wasn’t him- self quite on to Red- digan’s idea. And we changed the subject. Why the Pacific is called the Pacific, I have no notion, for my experience is that you get heavier and uglier seas there than you do in the Atlantic. The man who christened the Pacific was evidently a man with a mis guided sense of humour. We got it hot and heavy on our second day down south. I thought the sticks were going to hop out of the schooner, and several times I wished myself safely back on the Front in ’Frisco. Reddigan and his mysterious venture no longer appealed to me. In fact, 1 wished both he and it were farther. The great long, rolling, smashing seas and the tearing, shrieking wind made me look upon ’Frisco as a home that I had no right to be tempted from. The schooner creaked and grumbled and growled, and seemed as if it were on the point He was at the wheel, and I went up and stood by him. of giving up the struggle every moment. There is a curious thing about a vessel when she is labouring hard in heavy weather —a thing that perhaps only a sailor would notice. It is: that the fight is not between him and the elements, but between the ship and the elements.! He is powerless. All he can really do is to stand aside and await the issue in which his life is at stake. II REbDIGAN seemed to have provisioned the schooner on some- what sparse lines. He seemed to have forgotten to get in meat. But, as Scan- lon explained to me, there was nothing like getting meat fresh. It was as well to have it on the hoof, waiting for you till it was really wanted. In a word, we went ashore and foraged the day after the heavy blow. We anchored in the cool of the evening in a little lonesome bay, the name of which has now gone from me, and = Scanlon and I, and the two gentlemen of ease from the Front, adventured _—_ forth. We came across a heifer, and the heifer’s span of life suddenly contracted. Slim Jim, one of the aforesaid gentlemen of ease, shot it through the head. Scanlon relieved the . unfortunate animal of its skin, and we carried away what we wanted. Of course, we were injuring the law. But I soothed my sensitive conscience by reflection upon the fact that it was not the first time that the law had been injured, especially in Cali- fornia. In fact, I had foraged in this very same manner before, once when I was with an opera company and again when I was on a pleasure cruise with my dear old friend Count Straps. We were baffled a good deal by contrary winds, and we had to be careful as we tacked

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AN ODD VOYAGE. 39 down the coast. The result was that we were a long time before we got to a certain bay, which, so Scanlon gave me to understand, was the object of our destination. This bay turned out to be Drake’s Bay. Herein had come to rest the brave and gallant Drake when fatigue was upon him after his brotherly labours with the Spaniards. ‘This fine old swashbuckling, Elizabethan pirate-cum- admiral used to come to this beautiful bay to do a bit of reflection after sinking Spanish ships. My soul was filled with romance as I thought of him. How much finer it would have been to have served under him than to serve under the squint-eyed, longshore, prosaic Reddigan ! In this bay, after some casting about for certain cross-bearings, we finally came upon a small and unobtrusive-looking buoy, and brought up beside it. With Drake still in my mind, I sighed as I let go the anchor. IV. THE next day we were at work overhauling things generally. We shifted things about in the hold, so as to get as much room as possible. And we cleared unnecessary things from the deck. It looked as if we were on the eve of doing something of an extraordinary nature. Reddigan went around looking more mysterious and conspirator-like than ever. By this time I had given up all idea of asking him what he was up to. I had grown indifferent. The diving-dresses were got from the locker. 1 had never seen a diving-dress before —at least, I had never seen one save in pictures. Reddigan was the one who was to take the first dive—if being let slowly and carefully into the water could be called taking a dive. How carefully he prepared himself! You would have thought that he was getting ready for a trip into the next world, which indeed he might be, for this diving business has its dangers. - He wrapped this around him and that around him, and whilst he was doing all this his squint eye was beaming more mysteriously than ever. When at last he was arrayed in his diving- habit he was indeed a weird object. His head peeped out of the top of his hahit, and his voice came forth curiously as he warned us to be careful about pumping air to him. I was quite pleased when Scanlon began to screw on his head—or, rather, helmet. I was beginning to feel interested again. ‘The beam in Reddigan’s eye had aroused my imagination. I was anxious to get to business. He had to be helped in the step or two that it was necessary for him to take to get to the gunwale of the schooner; for his shoes were weighted with lead, so as to correct his tendency to rise to the surface when he was careering around beneath after the buried treasure. I was now certain that it was treasure we were after. Squint-eyed Reddigan was a gallant adventurer in a commonplace guise, and I began to wonder what would be my share of the doubloons. I looked at Scanlon, He had a grin on his face as he directed us in the letting down of Reddigan into the romantic waters of the bay. But I took no heed of the grin. My mind was filled with pictures of the gallant and brawny Elizabethan days. How carefully we let him down. You would have thought that we were afraid the pressure of the water would break him. And I was the most careful of the four, for I had suddenly conceived an immense respect for squint-eyed Reddigan. I was sorry now that I had thought of his as a prosaic person. Down—down. At last he wasdown. He had . given the signal he had arranged with Scanlon. I took a turn at the pumping of air to Reddigan, and in my mind’s eye I could see him gazing around for the treasure. He had given the signal for his return, and carefully, carefully we drew him up. The rope came and came, and finally the round, smooth helmet appeared. I was terribly excited. After great trouble we got him on deck. ‘The bight of a hawser was around his chest. Evidently the other end of it was made fast to the chest of treasure that would soon be dis- turbed from its long rest beneath the waters. Scanlon unscrewed the helmet, and there before us squinted the eye of Reddigan. How triumphant and satisfied it looked! It was the eye of a hero returning home from victory. We hauled on the hawser. But the mysteri- ous object that was at the other end of it did not seem to like to come from its resting-place. We had to take a turn round the windlass before we could break it away. ‘ We hauled and hauled. And—well, at last the object did appear. And when I saw it I could not believe my eyes. It was not a chest. Nor indeed was it any- thing else that suggested treasure. It was an old, rusted, water-worn anchor ! And then the truth came out. Scanlon and Reddigan were occasional fishers for anchors, and their habit was to go and catch a load of them without going through the formality of taking the Government into their confidence. It was cheaper not. This had been the reason —together with” his informal way of foraging ashore—for Reddigan’s secrecy. And Scanlon had kept it up longer than necessary, just for the joke of the thing.

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re) THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. WS ae x SS 4 f 4 It was an old, rusted, water-worn anchor. ° Gone were my dreams of hunting after treasure! The pictures of the Spaniards and the gallant pirate-cum-admiral, Sir Francis Drake, faded from my mind. Squint-eyed Reddigan had, alas! turned out to be as prosaic as he looked. I sighed. We moved about for some time after that, looking for Reddigan’s marks, and at each. place —sometimes easily, sometimes only with diffi- culty—we hauled up an anchor, until we had a fair load. Then we sailed home. As my share of the proceeds, instead of the golden loot I had dreamt of, I received ten dollars—or rather, to be exact, nine dollars and one hopelessly bad one, which Reddigan palmed off on me. There is little romance left in this workaday world.

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THIE RESCUE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD. From a Phetograph. : By Haro.p J. SHEPSTONE. An interesting account of the work done by the famous dogs of the Great St. Bernard Hospice, on the pass of that name in Switzerland. The article describes how the animals are trained, their wonderful sagacity in discovering lost travellers, and the perilous life led by the monks in this desolate region of snow. (FES | ITUATED at a height of over eight QB) thousand feet above the level of the sea, amid the desolate scenery of the Alps, and near to the region of eternal snow, lies the world-famous Great St. Bernard Hospice. The mountain pass on which the monastery is situated is one - of the principal highways between Switzerland and Italy. Over twenty thousand persons traverse the road every year, and as nearly two- thirds of this number accomplish the journey in winter, the monks and dogs who dwell at the hospice, whose mission it is to render aid to these travellers when in distress, may be said to be responsible for thousands of lives every season. ; The hospice of St. Bernard is one of the oldest and most interesting institutions in the world, and although most people know that the hospice exists and have some vague idea of the work it accomplishes, yet few know how it Vol xxiii—6. came into existence, its varied history, and the dangers and perils that the brave monks who man it are called upon to face every winter. As M. Bourgeois, the present Provost, remarked to the writer, ‘To visit the hospice in summer, as most English and American tourists do, is a comparatively easy feat, but it is an entirely different matter in the winter months. The cold is intense and the snowstorms, from which the pass is seldom free, are terrible things to face. It is then that we have to go out and search for lost travellers with the help of our brave dogs.” The stories which the Provost had to tell of the wonderful sagacity of these faithful creatures and the miraculous escapes many of the monks have had from avalanches certainly make thrill- ing reading. Accompanying the Provost at the time I met him was Father Jules Darbellay, also of the hospice, and he, too, had many exciting incidents to relate of his hunts for lost men and women in this terrible region of ice and

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42 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. snow. Before narrating these, however, a brief description of the hospice will not be out of place. It was founded in 962 by Bernard de Menthon, a neighbouring nobleman, for the benefit of pilgrims journeying to Rome. For TMiany years after it was erected it was con- tinually being attacked by bands of robbers who infested the mountains. In those days the brave monks were compelled at times to barri- cade the doors of their stronghold and wait until the weather drove the besiegers away before they dared venture forth. Once it was destroyed by fire, while it was here that Napoleon was entertained when he took his army over the Alps into Italy in the spring of 1800. One hundred and eighty of his soldiers held the pass for a year. Tourists visiting the hospice from Western Europe naturally ascend the path on the Swiss side. The last village one passes is Bourg St. Pierre, and at the inn here the landlord will point with pride to the tiny table and cloth- covered arm-chair which were used by the great soldier as he sat at breakfast early on the morn- ing before he set out on that memorable journey across the Alps. His army numbered thirty thousand men, and for miles they had literally to fight their way, foot by foot, waist-deep in The Great St. From a) Bernard Hospice in summer, snow. Napoleon converted the hospice into ‘barracks, and the great room where travellers are now sheltered was turned into a huge hospital ward. At first sight the monastery is somewhat dis- appointing. Remembering that it is nearly one thousand years old, one looks for some vener- able edifice boasting of at least some archi- tectural beauty. As a matter of fact, the hospice _ Consists of a plain block of grey buildings possessing no architectural merit of any kind. In this region of almost eternal snow, however, such adornment is unnecessary. The great walls, though plain, are very thick, so as to withstand the fierce winds and the weight of the snow that is driven against them. In mid- winter the snow around the building is seven to ten feet deep, and sometimes is so driven by the wind that it forms huge drifts against the build- ings that reach right up to their roofs. If the exterior is disappointing the same cannot be said of the interior. On the side reserved for the better-class travellers the dining-room, with its panelled walls and ceilings, its large open fire- place and cosy air of comfort, rather suggests an Oxford common-room, while the bedrooms, with their spotless, curtained beds, are the essence of comfort. (Photograph.

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THE RESCUE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD. 43 From a) Anyone crossing the pass is at liberty to enter the hospice and accept of its hospitality; no traveller is ever turned away. Two good meals are served every day, namely, at twelve noon and at six p.m. At these gatherings representatives of almost every nation on earth may be seen. Italians naturally predominate ; next come Swiss, then Russians, Germans, French, Turks, Spaniards, and perhaps a couple of Englishmen and an American. The food is plain, but good and plentiful, and the beverage served is the famous red wine of Piedmont. At the head of the long tables sit the monks, who talk freely with their guests. In the same room is a grand piano, presented many years ago to the monastery by the King when Prince of Wales. He has recently contributed a second instrument, which occupies a place of honour in the guest-room. There is also a harmonium, which was sub- scribed for by English people, and among the list of donors occur the names of Gladstone and Manning. The rules of the hospice are by no means strict, and cheerfulness is the order of the day. Snowbound travellers spend the even- ings much as they wish. Some adjourn to the library and read the books to be found there; many inspect the collection of coins and other The Hospice in mid-winter, where the monks and their dogs perform the deeds which have made them world-famous—Observe the enormous depth of the snowdrifts. (Photograph. relics in the museum, and still others indulge in music and song. “Tt is seldom now that a life is lost on the pass,” continued the Provost, ‘owing to the telephone. Some years ago the hospice was placed in telephonic communication with St. Remy, on the Italian side of the Alps, and Cantine de Proz, a small inn on the Swiss slope. The number of travellers starting for the pass from either side is duly telephoned to us, and thus it is possible for us to keep an accurate register of arrivals and departures and to know exactly how many may be expected. “This reminds me of an incident that occurred last January. We were advised by telephone that three men and two women had started up the mountain. At the time the weather was very unsettled, and three hours later a blinding snowstorm came on. We knew where the travellers should have been by this time, and two brethren, accompanied by two of the dogs, hastened down the road with the intention of seeking the travellers and guiding them safely to the hospice. But they failed to find them. They tramped ‘miles, and could not possibly understand why the dogs did not scent where the lost ones were, After many hours of fruit-

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44 , THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE less searching they abandoned their quest and returned to the hospice. As it happened, we had occasion to speak to the people at the inn, and mentioned the fact to them. Imagine our surprise, and also our delight, when we learned that the missing people, after an hour’s journey up the mountain, decided to return, and were at that moment safely in bed at the inn. “The wonderful stories that have been told about the sagacity of the dogs are certainly not exaggerated. Near the hospice is a monu- ment to Barry, which always interests tourists. This animal died some years ago. During the ten years he was with us he saved the lives of forty persons who had lost their way in the snow. On one occasion he found a child ten years old lying in the snow under the influence of the fatal slumber which precedes death. The ‘The great statue of St. Bernard de Menthon, which stands on an eminence facing the Hospice. From a Photograph.

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THE RESCUE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD. 45 A dog discovering an unconscious traveller lying in the snow—The animals are taught to bark when they have found « man, to From a) dog warmed the child with its breath, and then roused it from sleep by licking it. This much accomplished, Barry, by lying down on its side, gave the child an obvious invitation to get upon its back and ride. The child did so, and was thus carried to the monastery. Barry was killed by some unknown person, probably in mistake. The inscription on the monument is: ‘ Barry the heroic. Saved the lives of forty persons, and was killed by the forty-first.’ “Yet,” continued the Provost, with a some- what serious air, “I feel’ convinced that we possess dogs to-day equally intelligent as Barry. In the kennels at the moment we have some fifteen trained dogs, all born at the hospice. rouse him if asleep, and when he stands up to lead him to the Hospice. (Photograph. Their training is really very simple. During the summer months, when we are not so busy, some of the assistants at the monastery take the young dogs out into the valleys or hollows, where there is always snow. One man will go and lie down in the snow and bury himself in it, and then a dog is sent to look for him. ‘The animal is taught to bark when he has found him, and also to rouse the man up if he is asleep. When the man wakes up and stands on his feet the dog leads him to the hospice, running along in front to show him the way.” The St. Bernard dog, according to the tradi- tions of the monastery, is the result of a cross between a Danish bull-bitch and a mastiff, a

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46 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. — Training the dofs—An avalanche is supposed to have occurred and the animals are locating the buried travellers. (Photograph. From a} native hill- dog, though at what time effected it is impossible to say. After the breed was once established it was kept pure until 1812, when, owing to the severity of the winter, the monks were obliged, contrary to their usual custom, to send out the brood animals as well as the dogs, with the result that all the females succumbed to the cold, and the monks found themselves with- out the means of continuing the pure breed. In this extremity a cross with the Newfoundland was tried, but at first failed owing to the excessive coat of the Newfoundland, which hampered the dogs in the snow. However, by breed- ing back to their own short-coated dogs, the monks obtained the desired short- ness of coat, though occasional speci- mens were born with the rough coats. These rough-coated dogs were sold or given away to the inhabitants of the sur- rounding valleys, who continued to breed them, so that St. Bernard dogs soon became general in Switzerland. The full-grown animals in the kennels at the hospice are magnificent speci- mens of their kind. They stand thirty inches high at the shoulder, and weigh ~ about a hundred and fifty pounds. They are exceedingly strong, and can carry a man a considerable distance. They have been known to drag an exhausted traveller over the rough snow for a distance of three-quarters of a mile. By nature they are gentle, though during the puppy season the mothers are apt to resent attentions. This little band of faithful creatures commence their work in earnest at the end of September, and continue looking for lost travellers right on to the middle of June, this period representing the winter season at the top of the pass. Even in July snowstorms occur. A party of tourists left the valley, bathed in sunshine, one July morning last year, to visit the monastery. The ladies wore thin muslin dresses, the weather being so warm. Before they reached their goal they were caught in a snowstorm and had to be supplied with extra clothing at the hospice on account of the intense cold. In the depth of winter not a vestige of a path is visible, the snowdrifts present formidable obstacles, and precipices are sometimes hidden under their shrouded covering. When the fogs come the traveller cannot tell+

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where he is. Often, too, the wind rises to a hurricane; it blows a cloud of snow into his eyes, under his eyelids, into his hair and clothes, and forms a crust over his whole body. Movement becomes difficult and the desire to lie down irresistible. Besides this, there is the danger from ava- lanches, which no one can foresee. ‘The snow gathers on ledges of rocks and may fall at any moment, _ blocking up the way com- pletely and hurling the hapless wayfarer beneath to destruc- tion. The monks will not hesitate to tell you that during THE RESCUE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD. 47 From a) Some magnificent specimens of the breed. (Photograph. the winter months it is virtually impossible for an the brave monks themselves. On the road to inexperienced traveller to venture upon the pass _ the hospice there is an iron cross to the memory and safely negotiate it without receiving help. of Francois Cart, a good and brave monk who Before now disaster and death have overtaken _was killed by an avalanche while endeavouring, A few of the young dogs in process of being trained. [ Photograph.

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48 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. with the aid of some labourers, to cut a track through the snow for some travellers. Just before the telephone was erected some of the monks left the monastery to accompany a number of visitors on their journey, the weather being unfavourable. The party reached the Cantine de Proz in the valley in safety, and labourers who were repairing one of the walls of the hospice were suddenly enveloped by a mass of snow. The monks heard their cries, and, hastening to the scene, managed, after hard work, to dig the men out alive. Considering the manifold perils of the pass one may well ask : Why do people venture upon From a) the monks set out on the return journey, escort- ing a party of twenty travellers on their way to the monastery. When about three-quarters of a mile from their destination a local avalanche swept down upon the party, killing five of them, including two of the brethren. Father Darbel- lay, who has spent many years at the hospice, related to me how a year or two ago some Monks and dogs on the way to the Hospice with an unconscious traveller found in the snow. (Photograph. it during the winter? The answer is obvious. They are poor labourers, either going or coming to work on the other side of the mountain. In February and March as many as a hundred will make their way across the pass in a single day. It is then that the monks have to spend the greater part of their time looking for the travellers with the help of their dogs. These

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THE RESCUE DOGS brave men think nothing of remaining out in the blinding snow, seeking the lost, for fifteen, eighteen, and even twenty-four hours at a stretch. Father Darbellay told me that he has known the dogs remain out in the snow for two and even three days, eating very little and taking practically no rest or sleep. “On one occasion,” he said, “we went down the pass to seek some travellers who, we knew, could not possibly find their way, as it was snow- ing hard, bitterly cold, and very dark. We had three dogs with us and sent them on ahead. Presently we heard one barking. I hastened in the direction of the sound, and there found the animal pawing away in the snow. I knew some- one was buried there and, pushing away the snow with our hands, we soon came across the body ofa man. We gave him some wine and biscuits. Hearing another dog barking, I was hastening away when the animal that had found the individual mentioned gripped me by the coat and pulled me over in the snow. I wondered what was the matter, and got up quickly, discovering, with the aid of a lantern, that I was on the brink of a precipice; the dog had saved me from stepping over to my death. OF SI. BERNARD. 49 On this particular hunt we found eight persons, including one woman and a little child. The latter was very weak and ill. One of thé brethren removed his outer coat, wrapped the child in it, tied it to the back of one of the dogs, and sent it off to the hospice. We then wended our way in the same direction.” g Many similar stories of rescues were told me by this pious monk. They were related in a quiet tone, as if these hunts for lost men and women on the mountain-side called for no par- ticular exertion. We at home, however, have no idea of what it means to venture out in a blinding snowstorm, with the thermometer standing below zero, in this desolate region. The cold is intense, one has literally to grope one’s way forward, and a false step~to right or left may mean instant death. Were it not for the dogs the monks themselves would be abso- lutely unable to leave their refuge when the storms come on. Before the advent of the telephone the dogs carried a flagon of wine tied to their collars and food strapped to a saddle on their back. Now they only carry the wine, because it has been found that the weight of the food only hinders A party of travellers being guided to the Monastery by a dog—The animals are often sent out alone in this manner to the From a) Vol. xxiii. —7. ansistance of wayfarers. (Photograph.

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5° : their progress through the snow. So well are «they trained that they are often dispatched down the pass by themselves to escort travellers up the treacherous path to the hospice. They always find them and guide them to the desired haven. In the same way the monks will allow the dogs to accompany travellers on their journey down the mountain-side if the weather is at all bad and the road difficult to trace. In this way the dogs often come across exhausted men when no one is with them. If they fail to revive a traveller they at once commence to THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. latticed bars of the window one can gaze at the dead within. The keen air, sweeping from end to end, preserves the poor relics of humanity for years in a semi-mummified condition, and unless they are identified there they remain. At the present time there are some twenty bodies in the morgue, one of which is said to have been there fifty years. The community numbers seventeen monks and some fifteen guards, assistants, and labourers. They are all chosen men, possessed of great physical strength. They remain at the hospice The Monks of St. Bernard (the Provost is indicated by a cross) -They are all selected for their physical strength, and serve for From a) bark loudly. Should no one come to their summons, they make their way home, but long before they reach it their bark is heard, and instantly a brother from the monastery is on his way to the spot. An unconscious traveller, when found, is strapped to a kind of improvised stretcher and carried as speedily as possible to the monastery. It may possibly be that help has arrived too late. In that case the body is left strapped to the board and placed in an upright position in the mortuary chapel, by far the most gruesome place in the whole monastery. Through the low: fifteen years, unless their health breaks down previously. [ Photograph. fifteen years, unless their health breaks down previously. Generally speaking, it has been found that twelve years’ work at this, the second highest inhabited dwelling in Europe, ruins the constitution. Indeed, twenty years is.the utmost a man may live under such conditions. On account of the great altitude at which the monastery is situated, the air is naturally rarer than at the villages a little way down the slopes. As already stated, no one is refused hospitality at the hospice. There are over a hundred beds for travellers, and they are never empty during the winter months. Often the monks are called

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THE RESCUE DOGS OF ST. BERNARD. St eee ae. i, th rf upon to find shelter for as many as three or four hundred persons at a time. Alas! one has to record the fact that the hospitality so generously extended is frequently abused. In the beautiful chapel, where mass is held every morning and services every evening, is the collecting-box ; but many, we are afraid, close their eyes as they pass it. Those who take food and enjoy a night’s rest at the monastery should certainly, if they can afford it, deposit in this box the amount they would have paid for such accommoda- tion at an ordinary hotel, but it is clear that they do not do so. This means that the monastery has to depend to a large extent on other means of support. The expenses are The principal entrance of the Hospice—Twenty thousand people traverse the pass annually, and no traveller is ever From a) turned away. (Photograph, heavy, for almost all supplies have to come from Aosta and the neighbouring villages. The monks have a deep cellar where they keep their wines unfrozen, and fresh meat is procured from the valleys in the summer, but fur the winter they lay up a store of salted meat. They also keep a number of cows in the summer to supply them with milk, butter, and cheese, but only one is retained in the winter. Wood for firing is one of the most important necessaries. Not a stick grows within several miles of the hospice, and all fuel has to be brought from a forest on the backs of mules. For this purpose alone about thirty mules are employed daily during the brief summer,

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How We Bluffed the Bushrangers. By Dane Maxwe tt, OF HAWTHORNE, MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA, The author writes: ‘‘ This story is true in every particular, and is a faithful account of an exciting experience in the life of my own parents, set down as nearly as may be in my father’s own words.” URING the ’fifties my young wife and I travelled upcountry from Melbourne in search of adventure — and gold. We finally camped on the bank of a tiny and_ tortuous creek in the heart of the dense mallee scrub, lying some twenty miles north-west of the big Bendigo Rush, and quite one hundred miles distant and due north from Melbourne. For two months we enjoyed life in the Austra- han bush and had also accumulated over two hundredweight of gold in nuggets of varying weight and size. At last, in January, 1855, we prepared to return to Melbourne in the big American covered wagon, with its pair of good horses, in which we had left Melbourne in the early spring. “Over two hundredweight of gold is not a bad result for two months of prospecting, old girl,” said I to my wife, as we commenced to pack up for the return journey to the coast. Although we had not seen a single stranger during our prolonged picnic, we were yet sorry to leave the scene of much joy and great profit. Our most serious consideration at this juncture was how and where we should secrete our golden treasure while en rouze to Melbourne. The “ Black Forest,” through which we had to pass, was literally swarming with “l’othersiders ” —convicts and cut-throats, the escapees and time-expired men from the convict settlements of Tasmania—together with the scum of the four Continents and the overflow of the Cali- fornian goldfields, then possessing the unenviable title of the “Sink of Europe.” That we should be overhauled more than once before arriving at our destination appeared more certain than probable. “We mustn’t hide a// the gold,” replied my cute little partner, when we discussed the problem. “We must let them find some of it pretty easily, after which they may let us go without a closer scrutiny.” Many holes and corners—every conceivable one, indeed, it seemed to me—were sugyested by one or other of us as “the very best,” but each was abandoned in turn. Of fairly good and reasonable spots in which to conceal our weighty treasure there were many ; the difficulty was to decide upon one that should constitute our main strong, room, So to speak, That I should carry some twenty pounds’ worth of small nuggets amongst the notes and coin in the canvas bag in my breeches pocket, and my wife a similar quantity in the strong, loose bag-pocket that hung from a waist-band beneath her dress, was soon decided. These were necessary for the many requirements of the long journey, and would, of course, be “ lifted ” by the first bushranger who might “ bail up” our wagon, unless we were more than usually lucky in dodging these gentry of the road. Another parcel—say several hundred pounds’ worth—we placed almost, but not quite, at the bottom of the flour barrel; the said barrel being always bolted to the floor of the wagon when we were travelling to keep it from rolling about. This fact, we calculated, would also keep the crape-masked rascals from testing the weight of the cask by handling it. ‘Then there was Mary’s chair—also secured to the floor of the wagon. This chair my wife—now a white-haired old lady, and the possessor of many befrilled, becushioned, and bevelveted seats — still de- clares to have been the most comfortable * chair she has ever used. It was made out of an ordinary barrel, well cushioned and padded. ‘This was also bolted securely to the floor of the wagon, and had, beneath the seat, a double bottom (cunningly contrived, I flatter myself), which held a considerable quantity of gold, topped off with some of Mary’s odds and ends of femininity. An old bucket, filled with damp sand from the creek—and a goodly quantity of nuggets — was daily supplied with lovely wild flowers and heaths, and adorned the centre of our wagon. My own driving-seat consisted of a log sixteen inches high and about as many inches in diameter, the top well padded and covered with the legs of a pair of Wellington boots. The said covering, though ostensibly to add to the comfort of the driver, was really intended to

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HOW WE BLUFFED THE BUSHRANGERS. hide the otherwise too patent fact that the log had been subjected to a rather severe anatomical operation, and that within its internal economy had been crammed a large quantity of the precious metal. Spite of these hiding-places, we still had the greater portion of our valuable cargo to ship. “How about wxder the wagon?” suggested my wife. A bright idea struck me. “On the axle!” I cried. “The very place.” I had frequently seen a “sprung” axle strengthened by a rough log, and I soon decided that ours was going to be a “sprung” axle. It, too, should be strengthened and supported by a substantial log, and, between you and me, by much metal also. A few hours later a rough and heavy—very heavy—green sapling was bolted the full length of the axle from wheel to wheel. The rough, bruised green bark still adhered to the wood, but many a chip of “blue gum” scattered around the camp told the tale that much of its heart’s fibre has been removed—though there was nothing to hint that within that rough gum sapling over a hundredweight of pure alluvial Australian gold had been secreted. At dawn next morning—rst February, 1855 —we made our final arrangements and started out upon the long bush road that lay between our “camp” and the young metropolis of Melbourne. Everything was snugly stowed away in the capacious American wagon, Mary and I had our last plunge in the granite basin, over- flowing with clear sparkling water, our two stanch horses—Dandy and Dolly — received their last bucketing in the bed of the creek, and Bill, the faithful watch-dog, had his final run before being chained to the axle beneath the wagon. Road, of course, there was none ; we travelled by compass to the Loddon River, urging our horses along the line of least resistance. Dodging the heavy timber, we pushed through the dense undergrowth slowly but surely, the pressure of the broad chests of our nags and the weight of their heavy bodies thrusting the thick scrub down and apart before the wagon’s progress. We struck Catto’s station without seeing a human creature, our journey so far having been “off” the track to any of the diggings. John Catto, whose “run” lay on either side of the Loddon, was an old squatter, and he very kindly offered us the use of his well-grassed paddocks, making, however, one stipulation—that we were to attempt no prospecting for gold upon his’ land! To this, of course, we promptly agreed. From him, too, we thankfully received a three- weeks-old Melbourne newspaper. During .the first evening of our camp on the 53 Loddon cattle “run,” one of the shepherds— speaking of the recent Ballarat riots—added that most of the men who were “out on the roads” (bushranging) would, in all probability, be now congregated in the neighbourhood of the Ballarat bush. We sincerely hoped that such might be the case. It was a few miles south of Bendigo that we experienced our first encounter with a bush- ranger. We were now upon the main road between this “rush” and Melbourne, and were jogging along the rough, well-beaten bush track, which was then the one route between Mel- bourne, the Mount Alexander diggings, and Bendigo. The horses were trotting down a steep hill, with a rough bush-log dragging heavily along the ground behind the wagon as a brake. At the foot of the hill a big man, with his face covered by a dirty red pocket-handker- chief, through holes in which his eyes, lips, and teeth showed freely, stepped suddenly from behind a gum tree and covered me with his revolver. “Get down !” he growled. I got down. “You get down too, missus,” continued the man. Disregarding, or probably forgetting, his cover- ing weapon, I made a movement towards my wife. Quick as thought, as the bushranger's attention — and revolver——was turned upon me, my brave young wife instantly had him covered with the pistol she carried in her bosom. “Tf you move I shall fire into your right eye!” she cried, sharply. The fellow took but little notice of Mary’s words other than to say, somewhat sarcastically : “You'd better not play with that there toy, missus, or else p'r’aps you'll do a mighty sight more hole-makin’ in yer own man than yer will on me.” At the same time he covered me securely with his firearm. Crack ! went Mary’s pistol, and almost simul- taneously, with a vicious curse, the bushranger allowed his weapon to clatter to the ground, while his bleeding right hand fell to his side. Mary, observing his left hand raised to his - breast, pointed her smoking pistol directly at the fellow’s head. “Throw up your left hand, or I shall fire again,” she cried, firmly. “Done, by thunder, and by a woman!” groaned the rascal, and promptly obeyed her command. : With a cry of “Oh, poor man! I am so sorry—so very sorry !” my impulsive wife sprang to the ground. This would have left us again at the mercy of a now wounded, though by no means helpless, outlaw, had I not quickly covered him with my own revolver.

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54 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I had the fellow's left arm strapped to his side and his feet tied together at the ankles. In a few minutes—after I had handed him over to my wife’s “cover”—TI had the fellow’s left arm strapped to his side and his feet tied together at the ankles. Then, under the shade of an ancient leafy gum tree, Mary supplied “first aid” to her victim, over whose bleeding knuckles she shed tears and many sympathetic words, to the no small amusement of the rough bushman. Our next step was to get the wagon drawn off the road into the shade, unharness and hobble our horses, loose Bill the dog, and prepare a meal. At the latter Mary insisted that I should administer nourishment to her “ patient”—and that, too, forsocoth, before refreshing my own inner man! For the sake of peace, of course, 1 obeyed orders—again to the vast amusement of our uninvited guest, whose appetite, I well remember, was in no sense impaired by his cap- ture, wound, or the feeding process to which he was perforce subjected. “What is to be done with the wretch?” I whispered to Mary. “The poor beggar has been sufficiently punished by you, you blood thirsty little person, but we can’t give him his

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HOW WE BLUFFED liberty and risk having a bullet fired into our backs, neither can we leave him trussed up here. I suppose we ought to take him on to Mount Alexander in the wagon. We can’t be many miles from there now.” *He can’t harm us if you take his firearms from him before setting him free,” rejoined my practical little wife.“ Let’s talk to him about it.” The crippled man-——who had given the name ot Bob Smith, no doubt for the sole reason that it was not his — begged us to give him his hberty, and urged that he could only travel at a walking pace, his horse having severely strained a leg and being now dead lame. Mary—it goes without saying—sided with the injured bushranger ; and after I had helped him to his feet and he had preceded us to an adjacent clump of trees, where his horse was tied up and stood disconsolately resting a much-swollen leg, I, too, agreed to the request. During our midday meal we had a long con- versation with our bushranger (Mary again, of course, doing nineteen-twentieths of the talking), from whom we heard a strange and, I believe, probably a true life-history. Before finally parting from ‘“ Bob Smith” Mary shook hands with him, at his own earnest and very humble entreaty. Our final view of our first bushranger before we turned a bend in the bush road is as clear to my mental vision to-day as if the affair happened yesterday. The big man sat astride his three-legged, dejected-looking mare, his right arm in a sling, while with his left he repeatedly and respectfully raised his billycock hat. Reaching Bendigo and Mount Alexander, we tarried at each of these busy diggings for some days, enjoying the strange and animated scenes. Little thought the tens of thousands of diggers who bestowed a passing glance upon our comfortable wagon of the big golden hoard we carried! After our adventure with Mr. “ Bob Smith,” it was only natural that frequent conversations took place between my wife and I regarding these Australian Dick Turpins, with discussions as to what we might, could, would, and should do in the event of a serious hold-up. One afternoon, shortly afterwards, we were camped a hundred yards or so off the dusty track in a well-wooded hollow between the hills. Mary, who was sitting on the ground, writing- pad on knee, suddenly succumbed to an industrious attack of scribbling. With a merry laugh she exclaimed, ‘ Listen to this, Charlie. This 1s a letter to grandma in London :— ““*©Tn the Bush, “*26th February, 1855. “*My Dearest GRANDMAMMA, —I am writing THE BUSHRANGERS. 55 this at our camp close to the wagon, so that it may be ready to post at the first opportun.ty that offers. Now that we are travelling along the main track between the “diggings” and Melbourne we never know when we may get a chance to send a letter on in advance by some trusty and quick-travelling messenger. You have already had a full description of our wagon mode of travelling through this wild bush country, and also several letters concern- ing life on the “diggings” and in the Australian bush. We have just finished our dinner of roast cockatoo, damper, cranberry pie, and “billy” tea, and I feel at peace with all the world, including even Charlie. “ «We are travelling “down country ” (towards Melbourne that means) after having been upon the Bendigo and Mount Alexander Rushes. “*We didn’t get one speck of gold at either of them, but you will be glad to hear that we gota few nice little nuggets at another place “© As there are so many bushrangers along the road we have been obliged to hide all our gold very carefully, in case we get “stuck up,” you know. Where do you think we have planted it ? Well, we have put our pretty little nuggets— about three or four hundred pounds’ worth—in an old bucket, below some wet sand, in which we stick fresh wild flowers to make the wagon look a bit like “home.” We are obliged to use wet sand instead of water, as the latter would get spilt with the jolting of the wagon, and sand answers the purpose equally well. “¢The bushrangers would never think of look- ing there, you know. I must try and make this a good long letter, because ’ “ How does that read, Charlie?” she asked, looking up suddenly. ‘That would bluff the bushrangers if they saw it, eh?” “Direct them to where there was four hundred pounds’ worth of good gold, you mean, little girl,” IL replied. “That is, if ——” Suddenly, to my amazement, Mary, who was sitting opposite me on the ground in the deep shade of a noble eucalyptus, appeared to have gone violently, and even dangerously, mad Without warning, or any apparent reason, she threw her heavy leaden inkstand at my head, and, as it barely escaped my ear, fell back upon the grass with a_ shrill scream—just as an unusually large black snake rustled off with an angry hiss amongst the dry leaves and strips of shed bark which were thickly strewn around. When she had recovered herself Mary told me that, as she lifted her eyes from the letter she was so merrily reading, they had encountered the red sparky optics of the deadly reptile, whose erected head was drawn back ready to strike at my neck—but a few inches distant !

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56 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. She threw her heavy leaden inkstand at my head. We gathered up the few articles scattered around, harnessed the horses, and quitted the neighbourhood with haste-— for Mary will never sit down or rest a minute after a snake has visited the scene. Next day we entered the “Black Forest,” of illreputation and sinister story. We met, passed, and were passed by numerous travellers — large parties, small parties, and lonely ‘“hatters” — travellers on foot, on horseback, and in vehicles of every descrip- tion. Occasionally, however, there were long stretches when we appeared to be the only living beings on the lonely bush track. The night succeeding my snake adventure we camped unmolested, though Bill, who was lying beneath us, whined restlessly towards morning A few hours later, as we were enjoying breakfast a few yards from the wagon, three horsemen rode out suddenly from different directions and covered us with their firearms, one man saying sternly, “ Bail up!” Without reply, we bailed up in the usual orthodox manner. The leader then directed one of the others to cover us. ‘Shoot them through the head if they move an inch or attempt to coo-ee,” he growled. He then proceeded, with the aid of the third man, to ransack our wagon. Mary and I looked at each other and said nothing. As we stood side by side facing the bush- Digitized by Google

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HOW WE BLUFFED THE BUSHRANGERS. 5? ranger’s firearms, with our backs to the wagon, we heard the two men talking hurriedly together as they commenced to drag and throw the articles about. Then followed a sudden silence, and we saw the fellow in front of us look inquiringly in the direction of the wagon and its silent occupants. During that moment of intense quiet I thought how noisy were the birds and insects, how unusual the breathing of the mastiff, the grinding of the horses’ teeth upon the bush grass, how distinct the usually trivial bush sounds. A duet of rude guffaws abruptly broke the spell, causing the man who covered us to fairly jump with surprise. - Another burst of laughter was quickly followed by the sound of a blow or fall. Notwithstand- ing our keeper’s levelled weapon, we both turned around involuntarily—in time to see wild flowers, sand, and bucket thrown out over the front wheel ! Almost at the same moment the two men followed and advanced towards where we were standing. The man who had previously spoken, and who was evidently the captain of the gang, walked up to Mary and, with a sardonic grin, handed her her own letter of the previous after- noon, addressed to “ Dear grandmamma.” “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, jeeringly. “I will give this back again to ye, as, of course, you'll want to write some more to yer granny !” He kept us covered while the other men mounted and got away, finally disappearing backwards himself into the bush, which re- sounded with his loud laughter long after he had disappeared from our view. Mary stamped her foot, shook her small fist at the waving gum trees, and fairly roared: “You beast! You wretch! You—you—bush- rariging deast!” Mary can’t stand being laughed at. Now, I, seeing how things had befallen, rather enjoyed the joke, but, of course, I daren’t be anything but sympathetic, and after I had called them “cut-throats” (which was not true) and “ mid- night marauders” (which was ditto) she began to weep and said, sobbingly :— “Tf it had—hadn’t been for my s-s-silly l-letter, and that beast of a snake making me forget to tear it up yesterday, th-that w-wouldn’t have happened.” I, on the other hand, urged that the three men would have ransacked every inch of the wagon most thoroughly, got all the gold, and per- haps have shot us into the bargain, but for being so cleverly and thoroughly bluffed by her letter. “Why, Mary, old girl,” quoth I, “it was a Vol. xxiii.—& sprat to save a whale—and did the job, too, and no mistake. Pooh! What is four hundred pounds’ worth out of eight thousand pounds? What a clever wife I have got!” Many curious and interesting sights passed before our eyes during the ensuing days, which were occupied in travelling southwards through the colony of Port Phillip, then unpierced by railway or “made” road. Shortly after leaving Mount Macedon we again came in touch with bushrangers—though at second-hand this time. For some distance we noticed the absence of a horse from a “turn-out” that was stationary at the roadside. As we approached nearer the harness was seen to be festooning either wheel, and two men disconsolately seated on the empty shafts of a strong and well-laden spring-cart. “The horse has got away,” I remarked to my wife. “Poor begg Zar 3 they haven’t much chance of finding it again.” A few minutes later we heard that it was another case of bushranging. The young chaps were two fine, stalwart Scotchmen, brothers, who had but just landed from Aberdeen, and were en route to the Mount Alexander diggings with a well-selected load of general stores and a more than usually good stamp of horse. ‘Three men, it appeared, had ridden up to the brothers but a couple of hours previously. In all probability one of their horses had been double-banked, as simultaneously with the order, “Throw up your hands!” a fourth man had emerged on foot from the thick scrub. Under cover of the bushrangers’ firearms the two brothers had been forced to unharness their horse and hand him over to the gang. In less than five minutes the bushrangers had made a hurried departure, without touching the contents of the dray or even demanding the loose cash of the robbed Scotchmen. We drove on, leaving the two honest Scots sitting by the roadside, hoping and waiting to do a “deal” in horseflesh with some passer-by. Later in the day we saw the body of a horse from which saddle and bridle had been removed hastily. The poor animal had evidently been shot. A conflict had taken place, we were told later, between the mounted troopers and the gang of outlaws, who had struck through the scrub for the ranges, followed closely by the police. On hearing this we felt more com- fortable. However, we were not to escape scot-free. Our final encounter with the bushranging fraternity occurred near Sunbury. Six miles from this place we were “bailed up” in great

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58 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. style by the four men so well described by the two Scotchmen. As the leader of the gang cried, “ Bail up! Throw up your hands!” my impulsive wife exclaimed, loudly :— “You have got the Scotchmen’s horse !” As vile-looking a specimen of humanity as it is possible to conceive spurred his horse up to our front wheel and raised his pistol point-blank to Mary’s head. My blood ran cold as I leant forward to shield my wife with my own body. Half a glance was sufficient to tell me that the human brute before me was equal to any deed of violence. Unless his face cruelly belied him, he’ would perform an act of fiendish cruelty with greater enjoyment than one of kindness. In tolerably pure French (or so I flatter myself) I urged Mary to say and do nothing to

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HOW WE BLUFFED irritate the gang, which was composed of men evidently bad enough for any evil. At that moment the first speaker—evidently the captain of the band—jostled the man and his horse aside with a muttered curse; then, doffing his cap politely to Mary and bowing low over his saddle, he emphatically assured her— and me—in the purest idiomatic French, that no indignity would be offered to the lady; that her person would be sacred, even if he knew that all our gold was secreted amongst her garments. ‘Then, lapsing into cultivated English, he rapidly gave orders to his men. ‘I'wo were to watch the road from a point several hundred yards distant in either direction, while the third was told off to cover us with his revolver, and also to hold the captain’s horse — or the Scotchmen’s, as Mary had so correctly, if imprudently, declared. The’ captain himself then dismounted and clambered into the wagon. Stating that he was pressed for time, and giving a hasty glance round in all directions, but especially up and down the track, he said :— “Give me your gold.” ; To this we made no reply. “Well, then,” he continued, impatiently, “where is your gold?” Still we made no reply. “ Hand over your gold, or I’ll puta bullet in you, man,” he said, sternly, looking me full in the face. I made no answer, and we stared into one another’s eyes for a long time—or so it seemed to me. I noticed his beautiful, bold, yet frank and boyish blue eyes; his curly golden hair and regular white teeth, and even thought how proud his mother must be of his fine young manhood. Face to face, with a pointed pistol between, we gazed at one another sternly. Woman’s quicker wit, swifter mind, clearer intuition—what you will—was again to the fore. Mary sprang to her feet suddenly, blazing with indignation. “You couldn’t do it. sir. You dare not do it, You can’t forget that you are a man and a gentleman—an English gentleman, too! Take a life? What would your mother say? You can’t—you mustn’t— do it, for your poor mother’s sake. Here, take the gold! It is here in this chair.” With a toss of her head she uncovered the seat, threw the cushion out over the front of the wagon, and pulled up the top of the chair-seat. THE BUSHRANGERS. 59 “There!” she cried, emphatically. Exposed to view were a pair of tiny slippers, some stockings, a partly-knitted red comforter for yours truly, a blue bag, and a petticoat. The young bushranger actually blushed and stammered (it’s a positive fact, I assure you), and his hand went involuntarily to his cap as he drew himself upright and commenced some sort of an apology. Suddenly there was a warn- ing shout from the villainous looking fellow who was holding the Scotchmen’s big horse some yards distant. The scout forward was making our way at full gallop, signalling vigorously as he approached. In an instant the young captain had sprung out of the wagon and into his saddle, by which time he of the villainous countenance had darted into the thick scrub. For what seemed a long minute the bright young face turned lingeringly to my wife’s. The latter, ever quick at retort, leaned forward and exclaimed, passion- ately :— “Give it up! Oh, give it all up! your mother’s sake.” Then, with a wave of the hand, he was gone. Out of the cloud of dust ahead emerged the Mount Alexander Gold Escort, and in a few minutes they had pulled their horses down to a trot and had surrounded our wagon, eager for information. Before the spokesman could formulate his question Mary sprang to her feet, excitedly pointed to the opposite side of the road from which the captain had disappeared, and cried, “ Quick, quick! Hurry, hurry!” So soft and impressionable are the hearts of women! The bushrangers, needless to say, were not arrested upon that occasion. From that moment we pushed on towards Melbourne “for all we were worth,” reaching it without further mishap. On our arrival in Melbourne our wagon was immediately driven into a coach-builder’s shed in Elizabeth Street, which was fortunately occupied by an old fellow-townsman of my own. . There our gold was transferred into a strong, rough box and taken to the Colonial Bank in Elizabeth Street, where, an hour or so later, I opened an account with the bank’s own cheque for the tidy little sum of eight thousand four hundred and fifty-one pounds eighteen shillings and threepence. Do, for

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wr rire, an From a) A general view of the Sugamo Prison and grounds. (Photograph. Life in a Japanese Prison. By ANDREW SoutTar. Most people imagine that a prison is a place where malefactors are punished for their crimes. It is not so in Japan, however. There a convict may earn enough money while in jail to maintain his family, has the best of food and lodging, is taught a trade, and, if he wishes, pursues the study of foreign languages and other subjects under qualified teachers. sixty per cent. of the prisoners return soon after release. AA HERE are many less pleasant ways . 1) of spending one’s life than in a st % Japanese convict prison. ‘The PMH} healthiest of the Japanese are in prison. I came to these somewhat startling conclu- sions after paying a private visit to Sugamo, one of the six great convict settlements in the Island Empire. If the gentlemen enduring a forced residence in similar institutions in England were aware of the solicitude that Japan evinces for her criminal classes I think the majority might be tempted to change their field of operations. For the Japanese evil doer is the most pam- pered individual in the Orient. Japan’s idea of justice is painfully crude; she seems to be putting a premium on crime by establishing such asylums as Sugamo. Having seen both places, I would rather spend a fortnight in Sugamo than a single night in one of Tokio’s 4tchin-vado, those lower-class inns that stifle you with their dreary oppressiveness. Let me describe this Arcadia of conscienceless vagabonds. Sugamo prison lies about five miles from the centre of the city of Tokio. Standing clear of the congested mass of toy-houses, which reek with the pungent odour peculiar to all Eastern Cities, it suggests, at the first glance, a well- appointed hospital. Passing through the eastern gateway, which might have been designed for a second Marble Arch, you pass along the gravel So attractive is the life, in fact, that walks through a flower-laden garden. Cherry trees nod and smile, and the cicadas in the branches hum a melody. The cost of the grounds alone was over eight thousand pounds ; the buildings ran into something like twenty- nine thousand. The Minister for Justice had been kind enough to inform me by letter that everything had been so arranged for my visit that it could not fail to go smoothly. Unfortunately, he had wrongly calculated that, my linguistic abilities reached the average standard of Western in- quisitiveness. When I arrived at the prison I learned with dismay that the Governor, Mr. T. Yamagani, a charmingly polite little gentleman, could speak only his native language and German. When a boy, I broke the heart of a “coach” because of my astounding non-progress in the tongue of the Kaiser ; my Japanese con- sisted of a few vulgarities for the encouragement of dilatory jinricksha boys. I suggested French as a compromise, but for every single Japanese who can speak French you will find a thousand who can manage English or German. At last we found that one of the Buddhist priests or chaplains had worried through an English phrase-book of the familiar “ I-have-the-pen-of- my-brother” order. The chief warder proved to be an artist in gesticulation, so the four of us commenced our pilgrimage of the buildings. The peacefulness that rested on the whole

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LIFE IN A JAPANESE PRISON. 61 = ——— = re From a) place made me envious of the convicts. When you have been a resident for a few months in an Eastern town you welcome a passing breeze as a sighing lover welcomes the postman. “It would have been more convenient had you come here a month ago,” said one of my guides, apologetically. “We had an editor with us for two months; he could speak many languages fluently.” “Did he come here to rest?” I asked, and the little man turned a reproachful eye on me. The eastern gateway of the prison. (Photograph. “He made ornamental hairpins,” he replied, coldly. ‘ He insulted public officials.” I knew of several London editors who would cheerfully have sunk a battleship for the chance of such a holiday. There is accommodation for two thousand three hundred prisoners in Sugamo. On the day of my visit only nineteen hundred and seventy were at home. I suppose that even a Japanese convict likes a change. The main building is designed in the form One of the central watch-stands, from which the warder on duty can see the whole of the cells in his charge. From a Photograph.

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62 ; THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of a dumb-bell, the two ends being divided into five-ray stars. From the central watch-stand the warder can see along the whole of the rays, which comprise three hundred cells. And what cells! Think of it—twenty feet high and double-windowed! The convicts are housed in groups. In a cell of eight mats—all rooms in Japan are measured by mats—twelve con- victs are accommodated. The floor was covered with mushiro or soft matting, and on this the men’s bedding is spread when they are ready to turn in. Everything was spotlessly clean. The chief warder stopped before a door at darkened. The third and most severe is con- finement in this totally dark room, the maximum punishment being five days. I have never known a man wish to come here a second time,” he added, significantly. Near by was another special cell. I.ooking through the peephole, I discerned the solitary occupant diligently engaged in mending fishing- nets. The notice on the door explained, so I understood, that the art of swindling was not unknown among the nobility of Japan; but this individual's rank was considered even in prison, and he was kept away from the commen herd. From a) the extreme end of the corridor and, after trying a dozen keys, succeeded in throwing it open. With some misgivings I entered. The room would have gladdened the heart of an amateur photographer. Not a single ray of light pene- trated its walls. It was ventilated by means of small tubes that ran through the cement in such a way that they did not admit light. The warder explained the uses of the structure. “There are three forms of chobatsu (punish- ment) for insubordination,” he said. ‘ The first is confinement in an empty room, the offender being compelled to sit on a mat without moving or speaking from morning till night. The second form is confinement in a similar room slightly A Buddhist priest addressing the convicts. [ Photograph. There was something ironical about net-mending in the case of a man who had caught so many human fish. We next passed through the bath-rooms— spacious buildings with huge tanks let into the floor. Each convict takes a hot bath every three days. Thence we went to the kitchens, where the midday meal was being prepared. The food consisted of a mixture of wheat and Tice, cabbage, a little pork, and pickles. And the convicts ! In the well-lighted and splendidly-ventilated workshops that surround the main building I found some of the finest-looking men I had met during the three months I had been in Japan.

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LIFE IN A JAPANESE PRISON. 63 In the first shop we entered there were a hundred men and youths engaged in making mats and sandals. Only those prisoners who have learned no trade are kept in this shop. Squatted on mats, they were plying their needles with extraordinary rapidity. As we passed through the door the warder in charge of this group—a chubby little fellow in white drill, and wearing a sword almost as big as himself—put his hand to his mouth, raised himself on his toes, and shrieked a command. ‘The convicts dropped their work on the floor, got on their knees and stared straight ahead, not a single muscle of their faces moving. Another shriek, Tokio’s East-end. A faithless wife, a hypo- critical friend, a surprise, and in the narrow hovel a fight to the death had been waged, the guilty wife the only witness. He did not look up as I passed him, this humble Othello. With marvellous dexterity he was fashioning, in bamboo, an angel with outstretched wings. In the weaving department the convicts were making uniforms for the army. Piles of the finished garments lay on the shelves around the shop, and here again the workmanship was perfect. And how they worked! The shuttles were thrown through the warps by hand, and it was obvious that the weavers were old “lags.” From a) and a hundred closely-cropped heads bowed humbly to the ground. This procedure was repeated in each of the other workshops. In the bamboo-carving shed was a different class of men. The physiognomy was a reve- lation—large, intellectual foreheads; bright, intelligent eyes; clear-cut mouths. Only one man reminded me of other convicts I had seen in England. He was short in stature, the eyes were small and oblique, the forehead narrow and receding, the ears large, and the jowl flabby. His crime was manslaughter. He was the chief actor in a drama of jealousy that was played to a fatal finish in one of the hovels of A scene in the weaving-shed. (Photograph, “Tt pays them to be industrious,” said the warder. ‘The average convict makes ten sens (twopence-halfpenny) a day; four sens go into his own personal account. A skilled worker will make twenty sens a day, eight being his own again. Some of these men actually sup- port their families on what they earn in prison! As you know, the average coolie can live on fifty sens a month.” One old man, whose eyebrows reminded me of white feathers laid on the forehead of a bronze statue, was critically regarding a newly- made khaki coat. He was an old burglar, who had spent most of his declining years in the

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64 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Cee | rT oem eet Rit . From a) prison. He had become an expert tailor, and was held by the authorities in something akin to esteem. He had sons who had fought for the Emperor in Manchuria; one followed Nogi to Port Arthur, and never returned. I tried to tead the old man’s thoughts as I watched his nervous, wispy fingers fold the dun-coloured coat. I wondered if he ever pictured in his mind a bruised, shell-maimed, huddled form Convicts making clothing for the army. (Photograph. lying on the slopes of that mighty fortress of the East, a form enfolded in a garment that his old father might have made in the peaceful calm of Sugamo prison. In the bronze - making workshop skilled convicts were fashioning images of high artistic value. One man, about thirty years of age, with keen, black, shifty eyes, was sitting at work with mallet and chisel upon what I judged to be a From a) A priest at the bedside of « sick man. (Photograph.

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LIFE IN A JAPANESE PRISON. 65 bronze idol. I stood for a moment watching the hideous features grow under the sharp little taps. ‘The convict never raised his head, but I knew that his beady eyes were searching me from head to foot, out of their corners. I asked the guide if he knew what the man was making, and he informed me that it was the statue of a famous hero in Japanese history. The bicycle shop was perhaps the most inter- esting of all. Here the men were turning out beautifully-finished cycles for the use of the Japanese “‘lommies” on scouting expeditions. The physique of these convicts was surprising to one who had become accustomed to the Lilliputian townspeople. Big, muscular men they were, with clear, healthy - looking complexions. would carry her zeal into a convict cell. At Sugamo a qualified teacher instructs the younger prisoners in reading, writing, and arithmetic. Prisoners of twenty and upwards who are in seclusion for the first time are taught geography and history. If, on entering the prison, a man states that he has a knowledge of English he is carefully examined by a linguist and the extent of his knowledge fathomed. He is then allowed to pursue his studies, the necessary books being supplied by the authorities. When there are several in together a teacher is obtained from outside and lessons are given regularly. In the offices a record of each prisoner is kept during his stay. This serves to show From a) If they can fight as energetically as they wield their hammers it would be worth while considering their abilities in the way of gun- manning. It was Admiral ‘Togo’s great regret that eleven Japanese were required to work a gun that could be handled like a_ toy by five Jack Tars. If brawn and muscle count for anything, these convicts could carry a six-inch gun to the fighting tops and use it there. But, perhaps, even patri- otism would not lead these men to give up their peaceful life for the blood and slaughter of a cruiser’s deck. Standing there in their magenta-coloured dress, they seemed quite con- tent to go on swinging hammers and turning drills for ever, so long as they were not asked to find fresh lodgings. Japan’s ambition to Westernize her people is now proverbial, but I never dreamed that she Vol. xxiii—9. . The prison hospital. (Photograph. whether the convict is prompt to obey the officials; whether he shows affection for his parents and relatives; whether he writes letters home ; and whether he makes progress or not in his scholastic studies. It was natural that, after parading this para- dise, I should doubt if Japan’s treatment of her criminals led to a decrease in crime. The officials confessed that, of robbers, burglars, thieves, and swindlers, sixty per cent. came back to the prison. Of those who had been twice im- prisoned, sixty per cent. returned ; of the first offenders, forty per cent. found their way back. And I did not wonder. Looking back at the pile of palatial buildings set in a garden of green and gold, I marvelled that only one little man with a very big sword was needed to guard the gates and prevent the hordes of Tokio from rushing in !

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SHORT STORIES. Another instalment of this fascinating series. This month’s narratives deal with an alarming experience in India, a young Arab bride’s tribulations at the hands of a jealous mother-in-law, and a prospector’s advent AN ADVENTURE IN THE By St. MicHaEL PopMoR HE object of my visit to India was to collect material for a comprehen- sive guide to the British Empire. T had travelled extensively through Canada and Australasia, and arrived at Bombay in the early spring of 1908. I spent the first part of my time interviewing leading Mohammedans and Brahmins with reference to the prevalent unrest, and then explored Southern India and the lesser-known parts of Bombay. One night, while riding in a car to the native quarters, I found myself sitting next to a Parsee who spoke good English. I had written articles in the Advocate and the Zimes of /ndta which had created some interest, and this gave rise to conversation between us. The Parse ex- pressed himself as a_ great admirer of journalists, and politely offered to take me to places where his influence alone would gain me admission. He suggested that, as I was a stranger in Bombay, we should first visit the Parsee ‘Towers of Silence, and promised to con- duct me there the following day. Next morning, having pro- cured the necessary permits, we proceeded to Malabar Hill and inspected the outside of the round walled enclosures within which the bodies of the dead are exposed to the vultures. The Parsee directed my attention to a small model which shows how the corpses are placed in three rows—men, women, and children—with a pit in the centre. “ But can’t I see the inside of a real one?” I asked, much disappointed at the bare, uninteresting outside of the ‘Towers. “Tt is not allowed,” he explained. Then a sudden thought seemed to strike him. “ There is an old, deserted one to which I might take you,” he added. “But we must go with great caution; there would be a bother if we were discovered.” I expressed my anxiety to inspect the place, and accordingly, after glancing keenly around to see that we were unobserved, he led the way along a path which conducted us to a remote ‘The Author, Mr. St. M.A., F.Z.S., F.R.G.S. From a Photograph, ures in forbidden country. “TOWERS OF 5, M.A, F.Z.S., F.R.G.S. SILENCE.” and unfrequented corner of the grounds—which, by the way, are of great extent, and located some distance from human habitation. Here, behind a mass of neglected vegetation, we found an old but perfectly solid tower. The walls were perhaps a trifle higher than those of the more modern buildings, but in all other respects it looked the same. “Here, quick!” said my companion, who was most undeniably nervous. We ran up a gentle slope and he opened the door, about four feet high. I scrambled in and stood upright within the charmed circle. The place was exactly like the model, and much more inter- * esting, so I walked to the centre, and looked into the well to see if there were any bones or other relics of .departed Parsees, but could see nothing. “It must have been long deserted,” I observed. There was no answer. Glanc- ing over my shoulder to see what had become of my com- panion, I was just in time to see the door close stealthily on its hinges; in another moment I heard the grating of the bolt. Alarmed, I sprang across to it and tried hard to force it open, but it was as firm as a rock. “Ts this some practical joke?” T shouted, angrily. ‘I have no time to waste while you play the fool.” ‘The sound of footsteps re- treating along the path was my only answer, and a deathly silence ensued. ‘Time and again I made the round of the place, seeking some other avenue of escape, but without success. Although the stones of the wall were somewhat broken away higher up, affording some possibility of obtaining a foot- hold, the lower courses were still sound and quite unscalable. I was as effectually trapped as though at the bottom of a well. As the day advanced and the Parsee did not return, I became seriously agitated. What was the man’s object in imprisoning me in this horrible place? Was it a joke, was it blackmail, or worse? I decided that the probabilities pcinted to blackmail. Micheel Podmore.

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SHORT STORIES. ma: 67 ‘Time passed on, and at Tength it began to get dark. I heard the chimes from the clock-tower of Bombay, and strange shadows gathered round the uncanny place. Oh, | those awful hours; how slowly they dragged along ! How well I came to know every inch of that miser- able, dreary pit! At length, with my — back against my prison wall, I fell into a troubled sleep, but awoke with the first rays of dawn, racking my brains for some means of | escape. There was little | hope of anyone hearing me if 1 shouted, for the neighbourhood of these places of the dead — particularly the deserted ones — is usually shunned by the living ; and the grounds, as I have said, are of considerable extent. As the daylight increased, vultures collected overhead, regarding me_ fixedly with — their cruel, savage eyes. I made several efforts to scare them away, and, when these failed, I drew my revolver—a five-chambered one—and fired three shots at them. One bird fell, wounded ard fluttering, into the pit. Then a disgusting scene followed ; the remaining vultures attacked and devoured their wounded comrade. Later on some of these loathsome birds settled on the walls of my tower to devour portions of human flesh which they had stripped from recently- deposited bodies in the other buildings. I would have used my remaining two shots upon them had I not made up my mind to reserve them for desperate emergencies. These revolting sights tried my nerves sorely +” moreover, I suffered terribly from hunger and thirst. It was not until darkness had once more fallen that I heard the grating of a ladder against the wall of my prison and saw a dark head against the sky. It was the villainous Parsee! Lora moment I had a wild idea of covering him with my revolver and threatening to shoot him if he did not instantly release me, but I soon saw the futility of such a proceeding ; the villain had only to duck his head to be safe from me. My only hope of freedom lay in temporizing with him. My captor endeavoured to get me to open a conversation, but I remained dumb, determined to force him to show his hand. Finally, after feigning to depart, he returned with an earthen- ware water-bottle, which he lowered to me by means of a small rope. Bombay we 3L. ey Lvcekatl Sohne N.B.--Visitors are requested to withdraw from the Compound when the ; ‘ funeral and other religious ceremonies are performed. allowed to enter the Compound on the day of Farvardeen. Visitors are requested not to smoke, and not te carry any camera with) them within the Compound. This permit is issued free of charge. Nothing is to be paid at the Towers istors wil) not be i The general hour of visit is from 1-30 to 9a M. (Standard Time.) The Author's permit to visit the Towers of Silence. “That is good, is it not?” he asked, as I took a long pull at the precious liquid. “Let us get to business,” I retorted, angrily. “What do you want out of me?” “T want money,” replied the Parsee, calmly. “How much will you give me for your freedom ?” “T'll give you a hundred rupees,” I answered readily, knowing it was useless to argue with the villain. I was hopelessly in his power, and must make the best of it. “To want a hundred times that amount,” he sneered, “and a signed pledge that you will do me no injury.” “Do you think I am a millionaire ?” I cried. “1 don’t know or care,” was the reply. ‘ But if you do not give me the sum I have named I shall go away and leave you to die. (Good night, my friend ; perhaps I may find you more sensible to-morrow.” With that he descended his ladder and disappeared. Another terrible night and day followed, but towards evening the Parsee appeared again. 1 offered him five hundred rupees, the total amount of my ready cash, but this he ridiculed. He was once more descending the ladder when I recalled him. He returned hastily, hoping, no doubt, that I had raised my price, but I only begged him to lower some water and food. This he consented to do, as he had evidently no wish that I should die, and as he let down the water-jar I jerked the rope by which it was suspended from his hand. “All right; keep the rope if you like,” he jeered. ‘‘ You cannot hang yourself or escape, for there is nothing to which you can attach it.” This was true, as I knew full well. With rage and despair in my heart I loosened the

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Setting my feet against the brickwork, and half climbing, half walking ay the wall, I managed it.

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SHORT cord from the neck of the jar, while he watched : me, grinning evilly, and, enlarging the noose, flung it at him. “It might serve to hang jou,” I cried, furiously. And thena most unlooked-for thing happened. The circling noose settled over the rascal’s head, and in an instant I had drawn it tight. “Ah, ah!” he gurgled, clawing wildly at the taut-stretched cord. “et me loose; I am choking! Let me loose!” “Not if I know it,” I cried, seeing my advantage. ‘It is my turn now!” “ Ah, do not jest; let me go,” he implored, chokingly. “Tf IT don’t pull you in, I’m coming out myself,” I told him. With that, paying no attention to his groans, I began to climb the rope. It was terribly hard work, for the cord was very thin indeed. I do not know how it held at all, or how I contrived to climb it. Somehow or other, however, setting my feet against the brickwork, and STORIES. 69 half climbing, half walking up the wall, I managed it. I drew a long breath of relief when I finally got one leg over the top. My first care was to examine the Parsee, who looked more dead than alive, Dut he soon recovered when I removed the noose from his neck, slipped it over his arms, and lowered him into the tower. He fell to the ground with a bump, nearly dragging me over, too, after him, and lay on the floor in a semi-conscious state. Descending the ladder, I unbolted the door, so as to enable him to crawl out when he recovered, and then hurried off to Bori Bunder to catch the next train to ‘Tuticorin. I did not report the matter to the police, for the reason that I had myself been guilty of an illegal act in entering the Tower of Silence, nor did I wish to be delayed by the tardy routine of Indian justice. Moreover, I did not even know the Parsee’s name. I was only too thankful to have escaped with my life without creating a fuss, and I had learnt a lesson in prudence which I shall never forget. HASSAN’S BRIDE. By May CroMMELin. THE following story is absolutely true, though I have been compelled to change a few of the names. It was told me some years ago, when on a visit to the British Legation in Tangier. Its hero was at the time one of the guard appointed by the Moorish Government to each foreign mission. He was a fine-looking and intelligent young man, whose girl-wife, after her narrow escape, was then living quietly and most happily in the rear of the great house standing on what is free British soil so long as the flag flies overhead signifying that here dwells the repre- sentative of Great Britain. Hassan stood on guard at the gateway of the British Legation. Young and tall, he looked well wearing a snowy turban and a long blue cloak gracefully draped. And he was happy ! Since his father died in Tangier prison, tortured on false accusation, ten years ago, Hassan had eaten bitter bread served with blows. As an acrobat the boy travelled with a Moorish troupe round Europe till he grew up. When he returned to ‘l'angier, a man of twenty, his soul rejoiced. It was joy to hear the Arab tongue everywhere, to listen to the muezzin’s call, to watch the fun of the market. Then, one day, Salam, his rich, childless uncle, said, “ Hassan, you are a fine youth, and truly I like you. Stay therefore in my house as my son.” Further, the old man added, “ Having favour, I can have you made a soldier to guard the English Bashador. It is a fine post, and we shall be under British protection. Remember your father’s death. I, too, have enemies.” Hassan joyfully accepted this good fortune. His shrewish aunt, Elbatzul, took him into favour and declared that he must get married. All day in the harem her tongue clacked on the exciting theme of finding her new son a bride. She sang the praises of several maidens to Hassan. One of these, named Ayeesha, had blue eyes like a clear sky and skin as white as milk. Her hair-plaits fell to her knees; she embroidered delicately ; her voice babbled like the plashing of a fountain; and her step was light as that of a desert gazelle. Hassan heard, and his blood was fired. He entreated Salam to speak next day in the Basha’s gateway to Ayeesha’s father. He urged his aunt next sundown to go across the roofs to visit the girls mother. This they did, laughing at his impetuosity. Briefly, he was accepted by the maiden’s father, and the marriage portion duly bargained over, but quickly settled, so eager was the bridegroom. It was a splendid wedding! Nearly all Hassan’s clan came down to ‘Tangier from the mountains. They made “powder play” on horseback, firing off their long guns at full gallop. At night they caroused gloriously at Salam’s feast. ‘There were sheep roasted whole,

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NN eeeeEEEEEEEEE—————————______—__—_—_ ____ 70 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. with stewed fowis and ducks by the dozen, and kous-kous for all. And when the bride’s pro- cession passed through the narrow streets with torches, fifes, and tambourines, its curtained wedding box lurching on muleback, the volleys of musketry were deafening. The words of Elbatzul were true. When, alone with his bride, the bridegroom lifted Ayeesha’s veil and saw her face he gave a loud cry of joy. For, indeed, as is often the case in Morocco, Ayeesha was fair as a daughter of the Goths, who invaded Northern Africa and were massacred by the Romans—but perhaps not exterminated. Verily, then, Hassan was a happy man. Even paradise, he thought, could not give true believers greater bliss. Only to see Hassan standing on guard one might guess his joy by his face, bright as bur- nished bronze, the erect bearing of his supple figure, and his frequent smiles, displaying his megnificent teeth. All went well for weeks and moons until— until one day Ayeesha, blushing, told her lord a secret. Kejoicing greatly, be hastened to tell his uncle. And the old man stroked his grey beard, smiling, too. “This is good news ! ason!” How contrary are the ways of women! Elbatzul burst out angrily when she heard the news. “What! That chit of a girl to be a mother? Well, she need not try to give herself airs over me! Ayeesha must learn her place in the harem.” And she shuffled away, her red slippers flapping ominously. Salam stroked his beard again. He knew why Elbatzul was bitter. But there! Had not they adopted Hassan? Should not his son be their grandchild? And he wondered that “the woman of his house” had not wisdom to see this. Poor little Ayeesha! She was only fifteen years old, and tender as the white gum-cistus flowers on the hills. She, happy at her lord’s delight, was astonished to meet only black looks in the women’s apartments from her aunt. ‘The slaves gave her no congratulations—nobody praised her. It was too unkind; besides, it was extraordinary. This same evening Hassan was on guard all night. Next morning quite a sad-faced little wife nestled into his arms, telling her trouble, at which the strong man laughed. To-morrow Elbatzul’s whims would have blown away like a sea-fog, he declared. Meanwhile, his song-bird was the chief treasure. So Ayeesha felt joyous again. Days passed, but still Elbatzul looked on Allah grant it may be darkly, all the more that Ayeesha carolled. Indeed, the reckless girl silently defied her aunt’s displeasure by the poise of her pretty head. Was not she the future mother of Hassan’s son? Why should she grieve for the envy of a childless woman ? Alas! Elbatzul was a bitter foe. Day by day she poured into Salam’s ear tales of their niece’s impudence, of her levity on Fridays, when the women visit their family graves, and Ayeesha, forsooth, giggled and gossiped with the girls she formerly met on her mother’s roof “Peace, woman! I value peace above all blessings!” commanded Salam. ‘My soul is weary of this strife, as if an evil spirit were in the harem. And, as saith the Koran, ‘Whoever hath Satan for a companion, an evil companion hath he.” Go—leave me to meditation.” Elbatzul raised her unwieldy person from the divan cushions, and, clapping hands for a negress- attendant, smiled wickedly behind her thick veil, as she waddled out to visit a cousin—with a marriageable daughter. “Truly no peace shall Salam know till T oust Ayeesha. I lied to him and said she and Hassan mocked his childishness,” she exulted to her crony. “Oh, Elbatzul, you show a right spirit. Why, at your age, should you be forced to take a secondary place? Now, my daughter is modest and meek. Marry her to your heir, and you will tule in all things,” replied the cousin, with guile. So there came an evening when Hassan approached his uncle and, kissing his shoulder deferentially, entreated that Aycesha might be more kindly treated by his aunt. Salam gravely shook his head. “It is useless to ask, the girl.” “What?” cried Hassan, in dismay. chose Ayeesha herself !” “Know, my son, that women’s minds twist like goat-paths on the hillside The end of the matter is that we shall enjoy no peace in the house until you do your aunt’s bidding.” “ And what is that, my uncle?” “It is that you send Ayeesha to her father’s house. We will return her marriage portion Tell the cadi that her temper does not agree with yours.” “What! Divorce her?” Hassan caught his cloak between his strong hands, as if he must rend it. His heart hammered hard; his eyes shot sparks. ‘Never! Ayeesha is more ravish- ing to me than all the dark-eyed houris of Paradise. Her voice is more melodious in my ears than that of the angel Israfil. Nay, my uncle, surely this is a—a jest?” But Salam looked down with lowering brow. Elbatzul does not like “She

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SHORT STORIES. vB “Peace may be dearly bought —but still it is peace,” he muttered. Then he rose, it being the time of evening prayer. Hassan went along the gallery to Ayeesha’s narrow room. Its only window, look- ing on the staircase, was closed. In the twilight Ayeesha crouched on her divan, half fainting, tears dried on her cheeks. “Oh, Hassan, they are starving me,” she moaned, as he lifted her soft, weak form in his arms. “These three days past I have scarcely been given any food, but would not vex my lord by complaint. To day, out of spite, Elbatzul bade me keep my room, and the negresses have brought me nothing.” Hassan ground his teeth and stood thinking. Then he said :-— “Have patience, beloved. I will go out quickly to a Spanish cook-shop and bring you food. ‘Then I will ask- our slaves for tea; they will not refuse me.” ‘This he did; and when his child-wife had eaten well and her eyes looked like fresh iris-buds, Hassan whispered, fearing spies outside. “Listen, my bird. Often when a boy I was hungry and ill-treated, but I put my trust in Allah, remembering the Prophet said, ‘He careth for orphans ; and, verily, God wrongs no one, not so much as the weight of an ant.’ Then, resigning myself, my master became friendly again. Now, see, Salam has showered kindnesses on me—a good home, and fine clothes, slaves, and the promise of inheritance. Till late my soul was as a lonely desert. Now, thanks to Allah, it is a garden ona hill, where both a violent rain falleth and a gentle dew—so that it brings forth twofold. Thou, beloved, art the dew. So, not to lose the fruits of the rain, go to-morrow, humbly, into Elbatzul’s room. It may be her hard heart will melt, even as Allah has made water burst from a stone.” Obediently Ayeesha promised, and obeyed. She found her aunt giving coppers out of her leather purse because a negress reported that a She found her aunt giving coppers out of her leather purse because a negress reported that a holy man in rags begged at the door. holy man in rags begged at the door. the girl, she flew in a rage, crying :— “Away! Away! Back to your room and punishment.” Softly Ayeesha stammered, “Oh, Elbatzul, remember the Koran, ‘A fair speech and to forgive is better than alms followed by mischief.’ Pray forgive me, and I will be as your daughter.” “ You are to me no better than an unbeliever,” snarled Elbatzul. ‘What? You who are to be divorced to-morrow or next day—you be my daughter? No, verily! I have chosen your successor.” A scream of piercing woe within the harem penetrated even to the kitchen quarters. When two or three negresses came running, they found Ayeesha swooned on the floor. “Take and fling her on her bed!” said their mistress. And the slaves carried the little figure Seeing

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72 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. upstairs, but they laid her gently down. “‘ Poor child! Her’ lord is the light of her eyes,” they murmured. When Hassan’s step sounded on the tiled stair that evening Ayeesha roused from lying prone on the floor. With her red-brown hair tossed in waves about her she crawlec supplication to his feet and laid her head there. She wound her arms around his knees; she prayed, besought him passionately, yet tenderly, by the love between them, by its pledge, not to divorce her, his innocent wife—not to send her hack disgraced to her parents. “© Allah, help me!” groaned Hassan. Now he understood why Salam, passing by from the prayer-hill that day, had stopped, saying to his nephew, on guard, “ You show obedi- ence to your pos A son should also be obedient to his parents. Truly it is said, ‘The fath a vin ‘d to the , but the son never gave a bunch of grapes to the father.’” Then, pulling the hood of his jelab over his head, the old man went on to the cemetery. What! must he, Hassan, sacrifice She wound her arms around his knees.

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SHORT STORIES. 73 the crowning gladness of his new life, its top- most minaret? Must he, long lonely, give up the rapture of knowing himself beloved; that his step, his voice, were waited for by this beautiful being? And to think that because she promised him the greatest gladness a Moor can know she should be ill-used, threatened with separation. Allah! another man might marry her and feast his gloating eyes on that sweet face unveiled ! “Nay, nay!” Hassan exclaimed, gnashing his teeth. Then he raised the terror stricken girl and soothed her frenzied fears, promising all she repeatedly entreated. ‘Thus, before the night was half spent, Ayeesha, worn-out, fell asleep like the tired child she still was. But Hassan lay awake. In another part of the big Moorish house, with its inner courts, Elbatzul was wearying Salam’s ears as he smoked, cross-legged, on his divan. For the hundredth time she kept repeating, like a gadfly stinging, “ Any peasant can buy a divorce paper for fourpence half. penny. What peace whilst we two women are in the same harem? And Fatima, my cousin's daughter—Oh, she is a rare pearl! Her eyes are big and black as balls of pitch, and her skin of white velvet. True, she is poor, but you are rich. I say you are mocked, O Salam, as a childless old fool by this shameless Ayeesha !” At that last Salam muttered wrathfully in his beard. “The wound by the hand heals, but that by the tongue is incurable.” Haggard and red-eyed, Hassan stood on guard next day. After silently long watching him, Absalom, his comrade, said :— “You look like a whipped slave for sadness, brother. Can I, perhaps, lighten your mind by hearing your trouble ?” Hassan reflected, then answered: “ You are older than I, Absalom. Listen! My rich uncle holds open a purse into which my fingers have but dipped. But he threatens to take it away unless I put down a cup of wine scarce tasted. Counsel me. Would you seek divorce at a father’s bidding ?” “On so delicate a subject he could not say more ; nor durst even a friend inquire. Absalom replied : — “Verily, that would I. After years of con- sideration I see nothing better than riches.” After this the battle began again in Hassan’s troubled soul. Do not judge him, or Absalom, harshly. For Moors, like Jews, have come through centuries of oppression to cherish overmuch their earnings won by toil and self-denial, which ever a stronger is on the watch to wrest from their grasp. At last, his guard ended, Hassan went back Vol. xxiii, 10. to his uncle’s house. Entering Ayeesha’s room he saw her form dimly behind the muslin bed- curtains. Going nearer he perceived a brass tea-tray set on a low mother-o’-pearl inlaid table, and thereon a cup of tea and almond cakes. Ayeesha’s head was buried in the pillows ; every now and then she shivered. “Wake, my bird!” cried the young man, uneasily. ‘Why have you left this food ?” “ Because ” Ayeesha raised a piteous face, then drew Hassan’s head- down, whispering, “I only swallowed one sip, then felt a burning in my throat. Itis poisoned. Hush, my lord!” For Hassan, starting, uttered an outcry like a leopard’s growl. Seizing the cup he would have tasted it, only that Ayeesha held it fast. “Nay, nay! Spare your life at least. I drank only a little. I dared not eat.” Stuffing the cakes within his sash, Hassan bade his little wife take courage. Hastening into the street, he threw two cakes to a pariah dog, which devoured them greedily. He trieda third; however, after snifting it suspiciously, the yellow beast slunk away to where its puppies gambolled on a refuse heap, and howled. “ But for the blessing of Allah, Ayeesha would be moaning likewise,” reflected Hassan. With his soul full of anxiety and his face stern, the anxious husband bought provisions and returned home. On the threshold he met Salam, who asked :— “What have you there?” “Wherewithal to keep myself and another alive without fear of poison,” said Hassan, meaningly. “This is an insult, boy! poisoned in my house?” “Even so,” replied Hassan, sadly. “Listen, oh, my uncle, and do not be angry until you hear my story.” Then, in words hot from his heart, he described what had happened. “Go indoors, my son, and eat what you have there in peace. I will inquire mto this matter ” So saying, the old Moor, stately and deeply angered, went to the kitchen, where he sternly questioned the slaves. These, rolling their eyes, vehemently outchattered each other. Their mistress herself had prepared the tea and strewn powder on the cakes for her niece. Then Salam, finding Elbatzul alone in her sitting room, looked down at her with fury so great that she cowered on her low divan, and her fingers dropped the silken embroidery that was like a scarlet spider-web. Nevertheless, she asked, feigning surprise :— “What ails the head of the house?” “Tmpudent woman! Have I not borne with your shrewish tongue and childlessness these Besides, Shall any be

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14 THE many years? And now, when I adopt a son to bea prop to my old age and that my name shall not die out, you—fiend !—would poison his unborn son, who is my grandson.” “Ha, ha! Why, it may be only a girl, shrieked Elbatzul. “Turn Ayeesha out, and then you shall have peace. I hate her. She jeers at you, too. Go—go yourself, and get the piper of divorce. I will bear with Fatima in this harem, but with no other young woman.” “ Well said,” said Salam, with a grim chuck “But if not, I may seek a divorce from yow. Wherewith he stalked out, and Elbatzul sat and wondered. All night poor little Ayeesha writhed upon her bed, for even the few poisoned drops she had swallowed burned within and parched her lips. All night Hassan sat by, cold fear in his heart, but cheering words on his lips! “ Be brave, my soul's delight! The pain will soon pass,” he murmured. Yet in his soul he feared greatly. At last, when the dawn showed rosy behind the snow-tipped Atlas Mountains, Ayeesha fell tranquilly asleep. Then Hassan went softly upon the roof. There, reciting his morning prayers, he bowed in deep devotion, the cool breeze from the sea fanning his brow. And as the sun rose with the new day, a new purpose and life, born of great gratitude, began in Hassan’s soul. ‘Truly: Allah was” merciful. Going down into the house he gently woke Ayeesha. “Rise! It is my hour to mount guard, but I will not leave you here alone.” Ayeesha, wondering, thrust her feet into her ® 1” WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. slippers and, dressing quickly, swathed her great white veil about her head and face, all but one blue eye. Womanlike, she hastily clasped on her few jewels, guessing Hassan’s purpose. Then she looked longingly at the red leather trunk containing her bridal finery, her velvet and gold jacket, her silken skirt, and beautiful sash. But Hassan touched her arm. “Come quickly. I can send back for that gear. Life and liberty are worth more than fine clothes.” Out both went into the street—past where a dead mother-dog lay on a refuse-heap, its hungry puppies moaning. Hassan glanced at the sight, then strode faster ahead, followed by Ayeesha. On through the Sok, where the crouched camels still slept, and but few sounds of waking came from the rude tents. On, by the rough cause- way uphill to the great gateway, where stood Hadj Hamed, kindest of comrades, on guard. “Whom have you there, brother?” asked the Hadj. “One for whom I seek protection,” answered Hassan. So they two passed within the gate and stood on British ground. That night there was great noise in Tangier town. For Salam took to him as second wife Fatima, his first wife’s cousin. Elbatzul, crouched in a corner, awaited the coming of her younger rival in bitter silence. Henceforth she would be first in the harem only by name. But Ayeesha’s gurgling laugh sounded from a small house within the British Bashador's grounds. She was safe under the Union Jack, and Hassan smiled PROSPECTING FOR YAQUI GOLD. By R. R. Kermack. In 1897 I was working in the Blue Bird Mine, Cripple Creek, Colorado. Among my fellow-employés was an old buffalo - hunter named Aaron K , Who was full of tales of the pioneer days of the West. We got to be very good friends, despite the difference in our ages, and he frequently told me a yarn concerning a rich deposit of placer gold in the Yaqui Indian country of Old Mexico. He used to refer to this deposit as the “Old Mission Placer,” because the ruins of a Spanish mission on the banks of the Yaqui River were one of the land- marks of the country—the last guide-post, and one that there was no mistaktng, on the road to the placer. I had drifted around mining camps in the West considerably, and had heard many wild tales about lost mines and buried treasure, so that I was very sceptical about K ’s story ; but finally the old man’s earnestness and the knowledge that he was absolutely honest began to have its effect upon me. One day, therefore, I intimated that if he would give me the neces- sary data I would look into the thing if I ever chanced to be anywhere within a few hundred miles of the Yaqui country. Then, as nearly as I can remember it, we had the following con- versation :— “If I give you the map,” said Aaron, earnestly, “and tell you all I found out on my trip down there to help guide you along the road, will you divide any gold you get fairly and squarely ?” “Well,” I told him, “ I’ve never been tempted with anything very big, and, of course, can’t be dead sure, but I believe I would.”

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SHORT STORIES. 15 The old buffalo-huntet sized me up for a minute or two. , “I believe you would,” he said at last. “Come over to my cabin to-night and we'll talk it over with the old woman. I’m too old now, I suppose, to ever make another try for the gold myself.” That night the old man, his wife, and myself duly talked the affair over, and I left in posses- sion of the “ map,” which, if any credence could be attached to the tale, pointed the way to the richest placer deposit in the world. The story relating to it was briefly as follows : In the ’seventies, when the world-famous camp of Tombstone, Arizona, was in its boom days, three adventurers, who had failed to find fortune there, decided to make a prospecting trip across the line into Mexico. ‘There they stumbled on an incredibly rich placer deposit. Almost the same day, however, the Yaqui Indians—who have for centuries claimed that section of Sonora and jealously guard their rights—gave them peremptory notice to clear out. Men trained in the hard school of ‘Tombstone and similar camps are not easily bluffed, and the pro- spectors ‘refused to move. For some weeks, therefore, two of them “stood off” the Indians while the other washed out the gold. At the end of six weeks they had seventy- two pounds of “dust,” and, as things were beginning to get too warm for comfort, they decided to make for the United States line. It was a running fight all the way, and one of the party was killed by the pursuing Indians, while another was so badly wounded that he died soon after reaching Tombstone. The precious gold dust, however, they managed to retain. Shortly after this the survivor, a man named Slater, was deputized to go out after some cattle- thieves, and never returned, the supposition being that the outlaws killed him. The other two men had no known relatives. Slater had a sister in Leavenworth, Kansas, where she kept a boarding-house ; and Slater’s effects, which were forwarded to her, included a small rough sketch of the “ Mission Placer.” She also received, in Mr. R. R. Kermack, who was captured by Yaqui Indians. From a Photograph. hard cash, about twelve thousand dollars, and as her brother had gone out to Arizona without a dollar, a year or two before, he had certainly acquired money from some source or other. Aaron K—— was boarding with this sister at the time, and received from her the sketch her brother had made. In 188g Aaron and two companions started out to find the gold, getting as far as the Yaqui River, when their supplies began to run short. About this time, also, as he confessed, “their feet began to get cold,” for the Indians, by all accounts, were fiends incarnate in their treat- ment of trespassing white men. Anyway, they decided to go back to Fairbanks to replenish their outfit and talk it over. For one cause or another they decided not to make another attempt, and Aaron drifted back to Colorado, and, in time, to Cripple Creek, where I met him and worked with him in 1897, as already mentioned. It was a couple of years later—about Christmas, 1899—that I found myself down in the new town of Naco, on the Sonora- Arizona line, a town half Mexican and half American, where one strolled over into Mexico and bought his cigars and sauntered back to the United States to smoke them. ‘The road, stretching south into Sonora toward Fronteras, scemed to call me to make an effort to find the old Mission placer. I talked over the sub- ject of the Yaqui Indians with — stage- drivers and others who were familiar with the conditions, and _ while . they all agreed that a man was as good as dead when he left the beaten road or trails, I could not believe it. Accordingly, after saying good-bye to my companion of hundreds of miles of hot, dusty trails—who assured me that I was crazy to think of tackling the trip—and telling him that I should be back in three or four weeks or else never, I got together a light outfit such as I could pack on one burro or on my own back if necessary. Then I started, travelling wih a Mormon party who were freighting between

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76 THE WIDE Naco and Nacozari; I kept with them as far as our roads held together — about thirty miles south of Fronteras. Here I purchased a burro from a Mexican for ten pesos, loaded my light outfit on him, bade farewell to my Mormon friends, and started out alone. I found the hot springs—“ aguas calientes ”— marked on the map—all right, and concluded I was on the proper road. Shortly afterwards I struck another landmark, a box canyon of “cemented” rock, a curious conglomeration usually known as ‘ pudding-stone” in the south-west, and having round, smooth boulders scattered in the mass. Early the next morning I reached the bank of the Yaqui River, and, going up the edge of the mesa, saw some huge natural pillars some eight miles up the river. As these were indicated on the map, and I thought I could make out the ruins of the old Mission on the opposite bank, I felt sure I was on the right trail. The river, however, was in “spate,” caused by a three days’ rain, and the only way of crossing seemed to be to swim for it, though usually it could be forded anywhere. I had gathered from some Mexicans that there was a launcho—a five miles up the river from this point, but to think of getting the burro through the chive and chaparral that grew like a jungle in the river bottom was absurd. I finally decided to swim, and, wrapping my clothes and provisions inside a rubber blanket, I strapped them on the burro and headed him into the stream, much against his will, My feet were still touching the ground when the burro was struck by something —a log, I presume—and went under, turning over and over like a cartwheel. I retained my hold of his tail, and finally managed to drag him out, some hundred yards down, on the same side of the river, but his days on the trail were over. I attempted artificial respiration, but, though I made him throw water like a pump, it was no good ; the poor brute seemed to be as dead as he was ever likely to get. My rubber blanket had been burst) and = the tobacco, sugar, coffee, and bacon were badly mixed. After lying down and trying to sleep for an hour I decided to try to make my way up the river bottom to the dauacho. I finally got there, scratched and bleeding from the thousands of thorns that grew on the bushes. Some of them were straight, like an ordinary blackthorn, only about two and a half to four inches long, while others were fashioned like a fish-hook, so that they got you going and coming. Just across the river lived a ranchero who had setded there a year or two previously. When I made my plight known he was kindness per- WORLD sort of ferry-boat— some, MAGAZINE. sonified, assuring me that his horses, cattle, and goats were all mine. I stayed with him that night and next morning, hired a pony from him, and by ten o'clock was at the old Mission, across the river from the scene of my catastrophe of the day before. Viewing the Terras range, which lay to the east of the river, I saw several gaps (or saddles) that looked passable, and was rather at a loss to pick the one most likely to lead to the placer. I thought it over while I ate lunch, finally deciding on what appeared the lowest pass, and after about an hour struck a fairly good trail going just my way. So far I had seen no Indians, though my friend of the night before had assured me there were many bad Indians about, and I had settled into a dreamy sense of security and contentment. ‘Things were going well; I had found everything as represented, and I could already, in imagination, see the string of gold in the pan as | washed out the sands on that plateau just over the divide. I was rudely awakened from this pleasant state by the stern command, ‘.4rrivos sus manos!” and looked up to find myself covered by the muzzles of three guns, held by three stern-faced Indians who had sprung from goodness knows where. I promptly held my hands as far heavenward as possible. : I had often heard that when one has a gun shoved under one’s nose in earnest the barrel looks “as big as a cannon,” and had considered ita joke. Itisn’t. ‘The bore of a gun, under such conditions, is something immense, and it has a compelling look about it impossible to resist. I was relieved of my Colt revolver, a beautiful gun that was the pride of my heart and the only thing in the way of artillery the Mexican officials at the frontier would allow one to take into the interior (I understand they have even shut down on that concession nowadays, on account of the way arms have been smuggled to the Yaquis). Then I was told to get off my horse. I did as requested, though inwardly resentful. After walking a mile I stopped, tell- ing my captors that my feet were sore and I was not used to walking. Besides, I fancied that I was probably as good as dead that minute, and there was no use in undergoing a lot of unneces- sary discomfort, for struggling up that slope with the afternoon sun strikipg you fairly in the back of the neck was warm work. After some jabbering between themselves they let me get back to my saddle, one of the men riding behind me, and about sundown we reached a camp where there were probably thirty or forty Indians. Here they made a fire for me, for the evening was chilly, owing to the altitude, and brought me some tortillas (a kind of pancake),

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SHORT STORIES. I promptly held my hands as far heavenward as possible. * 77

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78 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. coffee, beans, and dried beef. After supper the Indians strolled over, one at a time or in little groups, and sized me up as I sat and smoked and thought what an everlasting idiot I was. I fancied they would probably dispose of me by sticking a knife between my shoulder- blades while I slept, and whenever I heard any noise behind me I experienced a chill along my spine. In spite of this I was beginning to feel drowsy from the day’s ex- citement, and was dozing when someone said, ‘“ Buenos tarde, senor,” and 1 answered, “ Buenos tarde.” ‘Yen followed a lot of Mexican, spoken so fast that I was unable to catch the meaning, and I had to break in and tell him to go slow as I understood very little Mexican. ‘Then, to my astonishment, he said in English, “What the dickens do you want here ?” and I sat up and took notice. He was a somewhat bigger man than the average Indian I had seen, but was dressed and looked very much like one of them, though his eyes and skin were considerably lighter. I told him briefly what I was after, and he listened, smok- ing cigarettes steadily and occasionally putting a question, Finally he asked if I had any letters or papers to prove what I said. It happened that I had, and he took them and looked them over by the light of the camp-fire. When he left he told me he couldn’t say whether he could help me or not. He would do what he could, he said, “ But they think you're a spy for the Mexican troops, and you know what usually happens when ‘a spy gets caught.” I had heard, and it was not specially consoling, but after a while I went to sleep and was awakened by one of the Yaquis coming to build a little fire for me. Later he brought me some breakfast, which was a repetition of thé supper of the night before. After breakfast my horse, gun, and bunch of letters were returned, with the explanation that everything was all right and I could go when and where I pleased. I never saw my English-speaking friend again. I went over the pass in the mountains I had sized up as being the one leading to the plateaux beyond, in one of which was the placer or alluvial gold. I passed a good many days in the vicinity of where the Mission placer was supposed to be, but, although I found a few spots that showed a little gold in the pan, there was nothing that indicated any deposit as rich as Slater’s “Old Mission Placer” must have been. Whenever I could I camped with the Indians, and invariably I found them aware I was in the country and always courteous, though not defer- ential like the Mexicans. My prospecting caused them much amusement, and they would show me little bags full of placer gold, from dust and fine shot to fragments as big as good-sized wheat, and ask me, in jest, if I would like to see whence it came. I purposely avoided their villages, and never saw one of their squaws except from a considerable distance, as my observation has taught me that one is most likely to stay on friendly terms with Mexicans and Indians if he steers clear of the females. One morning I started to go south on my search, and they told me I could not go any farther in that direction. When | asked which way I was to be allowed to go they pointed east, west, and north, so I drifted east, touching a little Mormon settlement in Chihuahua. That there is gold in that vicinity there is no doubt. Gold beyond the dreams of avarice there must be in the Yaqui country somewhere, and I believe it to be within a few miles of where I was prospecting. Was it just a little farther south, or had the Yaquis some surprise awaiting any Mexican army that might make its way into that section that they wanted no one to see? There is a new crop of fools, like myself, coming to maturity every minute, and I do not want any of them to imagine for a minute that they can find the old Mission placer, because merely to attempt it spells death. Of late years the Yaquis have grown more relentless in their raids, more careless as to whom they kill. It used to be the case that a white man—-by which I mean an American or Britisher—was abso- lutely safe so long as he attended to his own business and kept to the regular trails or roads. Now I understand the Mexican Government has commenced a war of extermination, and naturally the Yaquis retaliate by killing when and where they can. They told me they owned that land by treaties dating back to the days of Cortez, and I believe that to be a fact. My sympathies are entirely with them in this fight. The Indians are fighting for their very existence, and they know it. Only numbers will beat them, and the topography of the country is such that one man can keep off a hundred. 1 got back to Naco, Arizona, a few weeks later than I had agreed and found my old partner waiting, though not expecting me. I wrote my experience briefly to old Aaron, but evidently it did not entirely discourage him, and he apparently determined to make another attempt to find his Mission placer despite his age, for about two years ago I saw the following advertisement in the Zngineering Journal :— “Partner wanted who will grubstake me for six months’ prospecting. Am confident I know of something big. Address: Aaron K. 1: Cahanea, Sonora, Mex.”

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The Sportsmen of the Near East. By REGINALD Wyon. In this topical article the well-known war correspondent chats entertainingly concerning his experi- ences among the fierce yet lovable peoples of “the cockpit of Europe.” They have practically no games, as we understand them, yet they are sportsmen to the core—with man-killing and the dance as their favourite pastimes. HE word “sport” has such an variously applied, that in an article of this sort some special definition =~ is necessary. My own idea of the meaning of the term “sportsman” is a man who goes in for some more or less strenuous exercise, dangerous or the reverse, for the pure love of it, and is besides a good fellow and trustworthy comrade. Like all other travellers in the Near East, I have my likes and dislikes of the various nationalities. I cannot, for instance, by any stretch of imagination include the modern Serb under the name of sportsman, neither do I love the Greek. But what these two nations have been we can still see to-day in their practically unadulterated originals in Montenegro and Crete. Here you find the old fighting and sporting Serb and Greek, and glorious fellows they are, too. I love the Bul- gar, too, though in the peasant class he is somewhat ponderous. The Turk is hard to classify. I saw him under a great dis- advantage. Per- haps the new régime—if it lasts — will im- prove him. But the most unique sportsman of all, when once you get to*%know him, is the RomanCatholic Albanian, Games, as we in England un- derstand them, are practically unknown among the heterogeneous population of Near Eastern Europe. Cricket, football, and From a) elastic meaning nowadays, and is so. Three typical Montenegrin sportsmen — The centre figure is ® priest. golf cease east of Budapest, and rivers and lakes are used for strictly utilitarian purposes. There is a certain amount of shooting to be found, of the rough kind, but this branch of sport is followed only by a very small minority. The two chief sports are man-hunting and the dance, with a decided predilection for the former. Guerrilla warfare is undoubtedly the king of games in the eyes of the Balkan peoples. It began centuries ago, when Servia and Bul- garia were in turn mighty fighting empires. Then the Turk arrived, and by reasom of his superiority put a very effectual check on the national pastime of fighting—at least, against himself. Little Montenegro alone withstood the conquering Turk, and thus had five centuries more of this inspiring game. To-day, now that the Balkan peoples are mostly freed from the enervating yoke of the once mighty Turk, their greatest grievance is that the rest of Europe objects to the settling of their differences in their own pet way. They re- gard the Central American Re- publics with a great envy. But if they may not indulge in real warfare or thorough - going revolutions, they have at least the com- pensation of border - raiding and __ insurrec- tionary bands. To-day the Balkan sportsman, be he Serb, Bulgar, or Greek, bored with the inanities of (Photograph, modern civilization — in

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80 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A band of Bulgarian “ Comitatchis""—Spending a few weeks with one of these insurgent bands is a recognised form of From a} other words, the juxtaposition of mighty pre- datory European Powers—joins a revolutionary band and spends a few glorious weeks in Macedonia. Here, in this happy hunting-ground of the Balkan sportsman, the opportunities are immense, for his hand is against everyone of other nationality and creed, and there is no fear of spoiling fora fight. It is a game of no quarter, and if he and his little band are cornered by a superior force it means a grim fight to a finish, with no uncertainties as to the ultimate result. There is no “ professionalism,” either, in this game ; it is a genuine sport, whose incentives are patriotism and a love of fighting, and a lack of funds merely means intense disappointment to a number of poorer enthusiasts for whom no arms or ammunition can be provided. I have met many men lounging in cafés in Balkan towns — well-to-do, and often army officers — who delight in these periodical out- ings. The officer, tired of humdrum garrison life, takes his annual leave unofficially across the border, greatly to the profit of his own experience and that of his Intelligence Depart- ment, and he thoroughly enjoys killing a ‘Turk or a rival Christian “ Comitatchi.” Once, when I was in Crete, a very striking- looking Greek was introduced to me. As his clothes were obviously from the neighbourhood of Bond Street, I was not altogether surprised when he addressed me in perfect English, spoken with the unmistakable ’Varsity accent. We chatted on many subjects pertaining to Western sport in the Balkans. (Photograph. civilization ere we parted. Some few weeks later a little revolution—the periodical pastime of all good Cretans—broke out, and a couple of thousand sportsmen, including all my _ local friends, suddenly found their long-lost rifles and took to the mountains. Finding myself condemned to the society of the Philistines, and consequent loneliness, I took horse one day and rode up to their mountain fastness. A “Provisional Government” of three had been appointed, and one of the triumvirate was my immaculate Greek. He wore, I remember, the Cretan jacket, the black “fighting” kerchief knotted round his head, a well-filled bandoleer, a pair of well-cut English breeches, and the Cretan untanned top-boots. A fine Mauser rifle and repeating pistol completed his equipment, and a very fine and picturesque outlaw he looked. He was thoroughly in his element, and very different to the somewhat supercilious and blasé man I had met in the Cretan café. Yet he had enjoyed the advan- tages of an English public school and Oxford education, and his family was noble and of great influence in Greece. During the very enjoyable days I spent in Therissos we talked much together, and he told me of the life he had led the past few years, personally conducting parties of simi- larly-inclined compatriots through Macedonia. Indeed, I found, on comparing notes, that I had reported in my journalistic capacity many of his encounters with Turks and Bulgars whilst

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Vol xxiii.—tt. THE SPORTSMEN OF THE NEAR EAST. in Monastir and Salonichi. In order to obtain informa- tion he had sojourned in various Turkish towns disguised as a cattle-dealer, and had once been im- prisoned on suspicion. Here in Crete he was hopeful of some more fun, and it was not his fault that the outing proved so unproductive of sport. Neither the International troops nor the rest of the islanders would oblige to any exciting extent. I have mentioned this particular instance at some length to show the type of man often to be found taking his life in his hands for the sake of excitement. Whatever the rank and file believe, such men know very well that the action of a band of twenty or thirty desperadoes ¢annot very well nowadays influence the destinies of kingdoms and empires. Also it must be realized that trips into Macedonia do not partake of the character of picnics. The hard- ships are terrible, as many sport-loving Englishmen can testify. I knew of two well-known men who tried it, both of them thoroughly inured to very rough lives. One came back in such a terrible state of nervous breakdown that we feared for some days for his reason; the other collapsed physically only a few days out and had to be carried back to safety on the backs of his rather disgusted comrades. Even the endurance of the hardened “ Comitatchi’ is not unlimited, and a band does not usually remain on the war-path for more than six or eight weeks, unless in the height of summer and with a very safe hiding-place. Once, talking to the great chief Boris 81

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82 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Tarafoff (since assassinated) in a café in Sofia, I asked why he, in common with so many Balkan men, incessantly twiddled a string of beads. “That habit,” he explained, “has saved me from madness many a time when we have had to lie hidden all day surrounded by Turkish troops, not allowed to smoke a cigarette and afraid even to whisper.” That sort of a strain is far worse to bear than actual fighting. ‘The heroism and utter fearlessness of these fellows is remarkable. ‘Ihe strongest men carry bombs, or rather hand-grenades -- things the Turkish soldier particularly abominates. I was told once how a certain man, whom I knew well, saved his band from destruction. They were fairly cornered and the Turks closing in, when the bomb-thrower stood up amid the hail of bullets, lit the fuse with his cigarette, and rushed towards the soldiers, who, seeing his intention, promptly made tracks. It was, of course, lucky that the Mohammedan soldier, who does not much mind being sent to Paradise with a bullet, thinks his chance of eternal bliss very doubtful if he is blown up with dynamite. The nerve required to be a bomb-thrower is worthy of a little reflection. He must absolutely expose himself, and as the fuse is very short the ignition must be coolly considered. If prema- ture, it means the destruction of himself and comrades ; and when it is fairly alight the bomb must be thrown with mathematical exactitude. In other words, the man must leave his cover and charge an overwhelming force alone, and not throw till he is close up to it. Another correspondent and myself once had very good reason to be thankful for the phe- nomenal endurance of these ‘‘ Comitatchis.” We were hopelessly lost in the snowfields of the The bomb-thrower rushed towards the soldiers, who promptly made tracks. ~ eee

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THE SPORTSMEN OF THE NEAR EAST. 83 Rilo Mountains, unpleasantly near the Turkish frontier, and without food, when we providentially fell in with a band conveying supplies across the border. One of them at once placed himself at our disposal and guided us to safety. When we met him he had already done an eight, hours’ march up the mountain—we had had about the same, and were pretty well exhausted — carrying two hundred rounds of ammunition, two bombs, a rifle, and a_ well- filled haversack. For seven more hours he gambolled blithely ahead of us across those abominable snowdrifts, laughing and talking inces- santly, and at last saw us tumble into bed, completely knocked out, about mid- night. When we awoke, stiff and aching, next morning we discovered that in the night he had walked to the nearest town, two hours each way, to order a carriage for us. That made about nineteen hours’ hard going at a stretch with no sleep, and he was still as fresh as paint ! Then, bidding us farewell, he started off to catch up his band. It may perhaps be argued by my readers that this is not “sport,” and the doings of turbulent fanatics should not be described under that heading. Yet my idea is that what a man does for the love of doing, and not for gain—in fact, with the odds all the other way—is the greatest sport of all. Granted he is a fanatic, and a_blood- thirsty one, too, the physical accomplishments necessary to play this game must be of the highest. He must be a crack rifle and revolver shot, his nerve and muscle must be of iron, and if he be not a born leader he must observe a per- fect discipline not only towards his leader, but over his own body. Also, from personal experience, I have found him possessed of that Me outry, who ls now ia the Montenegrin vervice.”” Shuffle. When exhausted, the From a Photograph. other great attribute of the true sports- man—off duty he is a thorough gocd fellow, a genial companion who will sing.a song or lead a dance with the best. Very much of the above refers to the Bulgars and the Cretans, who, though they hate each other worse than they do the Turk—which is saying a great deal— have very much in common in character and habits. Both are absolutely fearless, tire- less dancers, and boon companions. In Canea, the chief town, for purposes of “copy” I used to frequent the wine- shops where the inland hillmen and_ peasants were wont to congre- gate in the evenings. A very little encourage- ment was necessary to induce them to dance, which they did to a weird, one-stringed violin—not unlike the guslar of the Serb and Montenegrin. When they are not fighting, men of Near- Eastern Europe love to dance. “When the enterprising burglar isn’t burgling he loves to hear the little brook a- gurgling,” always recurs to me when I think of those fine medieval men of the East. But, whereas the other national dances of the Balkans are distinctly monotonous, the Cretan introduces a very unique feature. Four or. five men stand up hand in hand, but only the leader—who, in order to obtain more freedom of action, holds a handkerchief as con- necting link with his neighbour —does the dancing. To the time of a jig he cuts the wildest of antics, turning even somersaults in a very limited space, while the tail, so to speak, keep time with a kind of leader drops ut, or joins the

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84 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tail, and the next man endeavours to outdo his predecessor in feats of agility. I never learnt the name of this dance, but I only saw it in Crete, and never tired of watching it. A really clever performer combines the skill of an expert step-dancer and an acrobat. The Bulgarians have a very similar dance— the “ Horo”; but twenty or thirty men join in this, and the leader merely sets the step, attempting no solo performance. ‘They dance to a primitive kind of bagpipe and to the accompaniment of a clarionet anda drum. The peasants dance it every Sunday in the village square, or at any time when strolling gipsy musicians arrive. I cannot say that it is par- short time I was on the terms of “long-lost brotherhood” with the officers, and the men, crowding round our table, where we sat in the open air, began todance. Some of the officers sprang up to lead them, and in a few minutes a couple of hundred men —all in heavy marching order, remember—were dancing as lustily as if they had not already marched twelve miles and had another twelve miles or more before them. It is a curious thing in the Bulgarian army, where the discipline is particularly severe, that officers, if present, invariably lead the “ Horo ” hand in hand with their men. The Bulgarian peasant, however, it must be confessed, is a very stolid individual, and goes through the “ Horo” Men and women dancing the “ Horo,” the Bulgarian national dance. From a Photograph. ticularly interesting to watch, nor is it very difficult to learn the step, but I do know from experience that it is extremely tiring for the novice to take part in. On one occasion I was dining at the mess of a Bulgarian artillery regiment in an out-of-the- way garrison, and, as usual, the fun became fast and furious. There are no jollier companions than Bulgar officers. Suddenly this dance was started round the mess-table, and sedate majors and merry subalterns vied with each other, com- pelling me to join in, too. It was my first actual experience of the “ Horo.” I should say that I lasted about ten minutes before I retired com- pletely ors de combat. On another occasion, during the midday halt, I met an infantry regiment out route-marching. Within a very more as an act of duty than pleasure. But it is an extraordinary fact that if he is educated he becomes a most polished and light-hearted man. I cannot leave this subject without recounting one incident of many showing the sportsman- like instinct of the Bulgarian officers, I had spent twenty-four hours at a small garrison on my way up to Batak, and, as usual, had been magnificently received by the officers. They had fetched me out of the wretched inn, put me up, and fed me at their mess. Next day a dozen of them rode out with me and accom- panied me about two hours up the gorge, pro- ducing at alarmingly short intervals flasks of excellent native wine from various saddlebags. Finally the Major in command dismounted and.

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~ THE SPORTSMEN OF THE NEAR EAST. 85 all following suit, we drank the last bottle stand- ing. After a demonstrative farewell I remounted and rode up the gorge, my late companions cheering me to the echo, till a shoulder of rock hid me from view. Suddenly I heard the thunder of galloping horses behind me and the whole cavalcade swept up. They had discovered one more flask ! A few weeks later I rode down that gorge | than anywhere in the interior of Turkey itself. On any holiday there was always a crowd watch- ing a number of brawny Turks stripped to the waist wrestling on the village green. As is well known, Turkey has produced some of the finest wrestlers in the world. I remember squatting in orthodox fashion, minus my boots, on a mat in a tiny café, when a benevolent old gentleman in turban and flowing robes was introduced to me as the proprietor. He startled me somewhat The whole cavalcade swept up. They had discovered one more flask! after nightfall accompanied by the subaltern in command at Batak. I found I was expected to dinner at the mess at eight, and we had about an hour and a half to do the ride, which ordin- arily, and in daylight, takes four hours. However, the subaltern provided me with a fresh mount, and led me at a breakneck scramble down that terrible ravine in the pitch dark in time for dinner. It was about the most reckless ride I have ever undertaken—a slip would have been fatal—yet my companion did not, apparently, think it very wonderful, giving the merit to the marvellously sure-footed horses. While with my Bulgar friends in the Rhodope border districts I saw more of the Turks at play by addressing me in broken English, and inquired affectionately after London and New York. Many years ago he had wrestled with the champions of the West, and the café was a part result of his achievements. In my remarks about Montenegro it must be understood that I am referring to my previous visits a few years ago, before the people were suddenly cursed with a full-blown Constitution, free speech, politics, and other evils of civiliza- tion. Then indeed it was a delightful country, full of the greatest sportsmen of the Near East. As I mentioned before, the people of this tiny cluster of rocky mountains alone success- fully defied the all-conquering Ottoman Empire

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E. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN 86 sydvadopoye] v mos “eyapUaA Jo 489} WO UL 9UIOD sBy OY afnJo2 UNIUBG]Y UB BI UBUI o4;U90 OY) —J9NUOYy UBIUBGTY-OARIUZIUOW OY UC

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THE SPORTSMEN OF for five centuries, and finished up thirty years ago by forcing the Sultan, once and for all, to recognise their independence. It is a unique record, and every Montenegrin knows it. Their neighbours, the Albanians, run them very close, but they are, at least nominally, under ‘Turkish rule, and are disgraced in Montenegrin eyes by actually permitting ‘Turkish garrisons to exist in their large towns. Both races, however, carry arms as a matter of course, in the same _ Manner as we wear boots, and are in the habit of using them on every sporting opportunity. The result is a race of men quite fearless, of splendid bearing and physique, and possessed of most polished manners and speech. A man does not call another a liar or tell him that he is a rogue unless he is ready to shoot first. On entering Montenegro the traveller goes back a couple of centuries. At the Monte- negrin-Albanian border he finds himself in the fifteenth century, and. can watch, if he is lucky to come at the right time, border-raiding and acts of vendetta such as he has read about in ancient history, when Englishman and Scot indulged in this pastime. If he can get across the frontier and sojourn amongst the Albanians he may put the clock back another century or two. It is a pitiful sight to see these medieval warriors thrust into the twentieth century, but I will not dwell on this painful fact. As is only natural, the Montenegrin excels with the rifle and revolver; he also loves the dance, and he will listen to songs by the hour. The music of the one-stringed gus/ar is dis- tressing to Western ears, but the songs reek of gore and legendary acts of heroism. To listen to a Bulgar singing is to make one’s flesh creep or want to weep. The centuries of cruel oppres- sion are only too manifest in Bulgarian music and words, but a Montenegrin grows restless over his songs, and curses the Powers that forbid him to emulate his forefathers’ deeds en ‘masse across the frontier. He does so when- ever he can, but only in twos and threes. When the Montenegrin goes raiding across the border it is really a more sporting affair than the well-equipped and organized outings of the Bulgar “Comitatchis.” With him it is usually a private act of revenge, or vendetta, to which he invites one or two friends. Then they steal across the border at night, find their man, do their best to kill him, and then make tracks homewards with the whole district at their heels. Besides, any Albanian he might meet in daylight on the wrong side of the border would shoot him at sight. Perhaps the method of killing is not up to the standard of Western sport, for they shoot their victim THE NEAR EAST. 87 “sitting,” so to speak, and do not give him a chance, but as it is the recognised system on both sides little can be said. I made a Monte- negrin very indignant once when I alluded to the system as “assassination.” This custom makes men very wary, and the stranger can appreciate the reason when he sees a ploughman, for instance, attending to his duties with a rifle slung over his back. But in spite of this laxity of observance of the sixth commandment, as a Franciscan monk once put it to me, they are the essence of honour and hospitality. As their guest no one can come to any harm, and they will do all in their power to make his stay amongst them pleasant and safe, not even fearing to risk their own lives in the latter case. I was privileged to witness two or three border fights on a larger scale on the Montenegrin side, but in each instance I was stuck behind a boulder, and a man was told off to sit upon my head (figuratively speaking), in order that I should not pop it up injudiciously and stop a stray bullet therewith. Such a catas- trophe would have been an indelible disgrace to my hosts. Furthermore, I was greatly amused at the intense mutual hatred and mistrust of Albanian and Montenegrin. When I first announced my intention of sampling the Albanian in his own home, my Montenegrin friends besought me, almost in tears, to desist, and bade me farewell ultimately for ever. Across the borders, the Albanians marvelled that I had sojourned so long among the treacherous denizens of the Black Mountain, and had lived to tell the tale. This fearful racial animosity is just as vivid between Cretan and Bulgarian, and yet four finer specimens of honest manhood would be hard to find. Each, however, is firmly con- vinced that the other is the incarnation of everything evil and is animated by the basest of motives. Try as I would, I could never make one realize a good point in the other. That I was equally well received by each nation is only to be ascribed to my nationality. Few English- men realize how intense and sincere is the love borne to their country by the Balkan peoples. Even the Albanians, the most rigidly exclusive race in Europe, admit an Englishman into their midst ; but let an Italian, Austrian, or Russian endeavour to enter! He will first be warned, then fired at as a final hint; and if that is not enough they will take better aim. Journeying through Eastern Montenegro and Albania alike a rifle and revolver must be carried, chiefly out of deference to the local custom. “A man without arms is a man with-

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88 The Governor of « Province. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A Montenegrin troubadour playing the “‘guslar,”” or one-stringed violin, From a Photograph. out honour” runs a Montenegrin proverb. The Albanian would say he was an idiot or a priest. It is also useful to be something of a marksman. Scores of times, when making my midday halt, I have been challenged to an impromptu shooting-match, 1 had a fine Mannlicher carbine fitted for big-game hunting, and it was always the admiration of the shepherds, who, after hand- ling it with loving appreciation, would challenge me to hit some chance object in the vicinity. They were marvellous at judging distances, but owing to a hair trigger, lighter rifle, and special sights I could, happily, always beat thein at plain shooting. I owed the success of my Albanian trip chiefly to two lucky “shoots ” —one at the very commence- ment when I fluked in the dead centre of a biscuit-box and my adversary only got a corner, and later on when I shot away five chaikstone ~ Sn A Montenegrin officer in gala dress.

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THE SPORTSMEN OF THE NEAR EAST. 89 targets with consecutive bullets at a crowded rifle meeting, all the other competitors, happily, being armed with well-worn Martinis. One chieftain, after that occasion, followed me for two days offering me his horse—an unusually fine animal, and locally worth five times the value of my carbine—if I would exchange. I had not then the heart to “do” him, an act of honesty I have regretted ever since. A very pleasing custom of the Montenegrins - is that of discharging revolvers in the air at meeting or parting. A score or so of men will accompany a popular guest to the outskirts of the village, and as he rides off they speed him with a deafening fusillade. ‘hey will fire their revolvers, too, at the conclusion of a jollification, and are not then always very careful of the angle of discharge. In the accident ward of Montenegro’s only hospital the majority of cases are men thus accidentally shot. ‘There is also a certain dance where a ring is formed and a man and a girl prance round, the -former striving to leap as high as possible, emitting fearsome yells and firing his revolver at every leap. When that was in progress I always took a front seat lying down. The Montenegrin revolver, by the way, has a barrel eighteen inches long, fires a cartridge more suitable for a rifle, and is specially made for these children of Nature by a well-known Austrian firm. I fired six shots out of one when new to the country and nearly jarred my arm off; my funny-bone tingled for hours afterwards. There is considerably more ‘ powder-play” in Montenegro and Albania than I have seen in any other country. i The national dance of Montenegro is the “ Kolo,” somewhat similar to the “Horo” of Bulgaria. Both sexes take part, crossing hands and forming an unjoined circle. The music they supply themselves, each end of the horn alternately singing a verse in honour of the Prince and his warlike deeds. The “Kolo” is always danced at any great national festival, and the effect of the sonorous voices and swaying ring is very fine. Then there is another dance per- formed by four or five, usually youths, to the accompaniment of a fiddle, the leader setting a lot of intricate quick steps which the rest imitate at once. It is really a sort of jig and makes the spectator’s head swim if he watches it for long. I never saw any dances in Northern Albania; though certain Slav artists love to depict won- derful sword dances, with beauteous maidens swaying gracefully after the style of nautch girls. A casual observer, who has seen the Albanians come into Montenegrin markets or to their great weekly gathering in the bazaar Vol, xxii. —12, of Scutari, could never picture these stern, lean men dancing or at play. ‘They never smile, and they look the life they lead, each clan ever ready for war with its neighbour and absolutely pitiless in the vendetta. ‘The Red Indian is not more stoical in his bearing than the Northern Albanian clansman. I remember talking with a fierce-looking Albanian during an early visit to Scutari. Several men had been shot down the day pre- viously while riding into the town, and he had taken me out to see the place where they fell. “Do you put no value on human life?” I asked him, surprised at his utter callousness. “Yes,” he replied, taking a cartridge from his belt ; “eight kreuzers.” After a moment's reflection I gathered that a Martini ball cartridge costs eight kreuzers, or three halfpence. Yet when I went amongst them in their own homes I found them very different. I was once, luckily, present at a great gathering of several clans—then at peace—to solemnize a religious festival. During Mass they had stacked their tifles round the church and adjacent walls, and immediately at the conclusion each man hurried to his weapon and fired one shot in the air. The effect of several thousand men discharging rifles into the air almost simultaneously was stupendous. On ordinary occasions my hosts would sing to me for hours, plying me diligently with “raki” (a kind of spirits of wine, common all over the Balkans) the while, and these stern men relaxed into very festive companions. But the greatest marvel of all that I witnessed was on the occasion of a special holiday of the clan of Clementi, reputed in Montenegro to be particulafly bloodthirsty and treacherous, but who were in reality—at home—nothing worse than a band of high-spirited children. The day began with a celebration of Mass in the open air. Then followed hut-to-hut visiting, while the young men had a shooting match. I was dragged round to all the important men of the clan, and suffered exceedingly at their hospitable hands. Then in the afternoon the men played games—real childish games, such as I have never seen outside a nursery or play- ground, shouting with laughter, the women and children watching—the only sedate spectators— from a discreet distance. One game I failed at first to see the point of. A man bound his shoes round his head in the form of ears, and, crouch- ing on all fours, ran and hid among the boulders. He was stalked by another man, also on all fours and barking like a dog. ‘The “hunter,” with a gun, followed his “dog.” Suddenly the “ dog” spotted his quarry, the hunter raised his gun and

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go THE WIDE cried “Bang!” and the “game” rolled over “ dead.” 1 soon discovered it was merely “ hide and seek” adapted to their more sporting instincts. And I laughed tll I cried as I watched young men and old, their headcloths pushed back dis- closing their half-shaven heads, playing plain unadulterated leap-frog, and then a kind of WORLD MAGAZINE. It was on the next day that I left, and a score of them escorted me to their frontier, stern men once more, but my friends for life, and bade me at parting go warily as I entered the domain of the villainous Montenegrin. There is no farewell few-de-joie on the frontier by tacit agreement. A few shots in quick succes- sion is the signal of a fight in progress, and The author and his escort on a dangerous part of the frontier. From a Photog aph. rounders where the players were mounted on each other’s shoulders and had to run and catch in this fashion. Yet these were the men who had shot down some Montenegrin shepherd boys in cold blood for straying on their pastures a few months earlier, and who would, if they heard a few shots fired by strange rifles, immediately seize their own and become in a moment fierce man- killers. That evening they roasted a sheep whole and. sang far into the starry night, applauding a good singer with a volley of pistol shots. every man within earshot would hurry to the spot. An hour or two later I was met by a body of Montenegrins whom I knew, and they celebrated my safe return with a joyous fusillade. Some day I hope to go back to the Albanians. Of all the Near Eastern races they are the only men who set their faces against the stranger and modern civilization. Yet when they admit a visitor his life is sacred in their eyes, and he will learn what all men once were and the true meaning of hospitality and honour. Such peoples are a tonic for a blasé sportsman.

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NING WO THE WONDERFUL. By LituTenant-CoLoneL DonaLtp MacKENZIE. A striking instance of the wisdom of ‘setting a thief to catch a thief.” Whilst acting as Chief of Police in one of the Malay States, the author engaged a Chinaman, an ex-jail-bird, as a sort of secret detective. In this story Colonel Mackenzie tells how his reformed thief put an end to a mysterious series of robberies which had completely batfied the authorities of a neighbouring State. My Dear Mac,—You will have seen by my circular the other day that several robberies have taken place here lately from Europeans’ houses. So far my detectives haven’t been able to find out anything, and it has occurred to me that an outsider might be able to pick up some clue. Will you do me a favour, and bring one of your detectives with you on Tuesday? Of course, he must come incog. ; that I will leave to you. Bring a Chinaman for choice; I don’t think it is a case fora Malay. I'll give you all details when we meet. Brydon is putting you up. -I wish you were coming to me, but I've got two chaps from the regiment at Singapore and haven't another room. Chin chin. —Yours, J. Stuart. peers UCH was the letter I received one (“7 day in 1892. The writer was the Chief of Police of the neighbouring State, and the cause of my proposed ~ journey was one of those periodical occasions when the residents of one State visited another, ostensibly for a two days’ cricket match. The cricket match was a convenient excuse — the visit always resolved itself into a week’s festivities—and every man and woman who could do so went with the eleven. It was providential, for the sake of the national game, that the match invariably took place on the first two days ; if it had come off on the last two it would probably not have resulted in very brilliant cricket, for a week of tiffins, dinners, teas, and theatricals is not conducive to a steady hand and éye—in the Tropics, at all events. Judging from the list of stolen property which he had sent me, poor Stuart seemed to have been having the reverse of a good time lately. Some enterprising thief had apparently taken the European houses as his “lay,” and had proved himself a past-master at the business. Stuart’s detectives had the name of being the smartest in the Native States, and I could not understand how this thief managed to.be too much for them. It was a good suggestion to employ a detective who was not known in the place; one of the greatest difficulties we had to contend with in detecting crime was the fact that every detective was so well known in his own State. Such a thing seems absurd to any- one in England, but amongst Asiatics it is a melancholy fact—to a police-officer, at least. Thanks to a Chinaman’s advice, however, I had lately found a means to rectify this state of affairs to some degree, so far as my own territory was concerned. Some six months previous to the time I am writing about a Chinaman was arrested in our head-quarters town for being on enclosed premises at night, and the charge of being there “with intent to commit a felony” was preferred against him. He was a stranger, and had apparently been a house-boy in China, if one could believe the two or three letters from Europeans which he had in his possession. He said he had been at Singapore and Malacca trying to get work, but as he could not, or rather would not, account satisfactorily for being in the house where he was arrested, he got three months. I saw him daily at the jail, and I must confess I took a great fancy to him; he was such a bright, cheery fellow, and always appeared to want to work; so different from his wooden- faced, sulky-looking fellow-prisoners. I spoke to him several times, and, though he spoke Malay, as everyone does who has been in the country three months, two or three times he answered me in a jargon I could not make head or tail of, though I recognised that it was an attempt at English. Later on, in China, I learnt to speak it fluently myself, for it was “pidgin” English. On the afternoon of the day on which he was discharged he waylaid me on my way home from the office, and addressed me in his weird language. ‘ “Hil talk Malay,” I said. “I can’t under- stand what you are speaking about. What do you want?” “T want the Tuan to give me work,” he replied. “What kind of work do you think I can give you? What have you been doing ?” “T have been a ‘boy’ in Hong-Kong and Swatow for two years, and I was a steward in one of the steamers between Hong-Kong and Canton for six months. Iam a Cantonese, Tuan.” “Well, why did you leave these jobs and come down to this country?” I asked. He smiled, so I thought it might be indis- creet to press the question, but after a moment he came out with the inevitable answer :— “Twas told that a house-boy could always get work in this country, and that he could save plenty of money.”

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y2 THE WIDE “But you won't be able to get a boy’s place in this State,” [ said. ‘No one knows you here, and if you apply to anyone he is sure to ask me if I know anything about you, and I shall be forced to say. you have been in jail.” “T know that, Tuan; but I would like to be a policeman.” “Oh, you would, amused at his effrontery. Sikh and Malay police.” “To mean a mala mata glap (a detective). ‘The ‘Tuan has two Chinese detectives here.” “Yes, and neither of them any good,” I muttered to myself, adding aloud, “They don’t find out so very much for me; so how do you propose to do better? Besides, you have been in jail; all the detectives, both Malays and Chinese, probably know you; and the Tuan Besar (the Resident) would not, for that reason, let me take you on.” “How does the Tuan expect the Chinese detectives to find out anything?” asked the man, quickly. Everyone knows who they are, and every thief is on the look-out for them. And does not the ‘Tuan know that nearly every thief has accomplices who watch the detectives for him? How can it be otherwise when a detective is always seen about the police- station ?” “How would yow propose to set to work, then?” I asked. ‘The man was no fool, I decided, and had evidently been studying his subject. “The Tuan could take me as one of his house- boys—I know the work —and he could say I had brought him a letter, one of those the police found on me. 1 could go down at night and smoke opium in the village, and listen ; perhaps I could pretend to be an accomplice, and in any case TL would be sure to hear a lot, and I could tell the ‘Tuan, and he could tell the detectives what to do. No one would know I was a detective, for T would be the ‘Tuan’s ‘boy,’ and even the detective sergeant: would not suspect me, for I would never go to the station.” Jove! here was an ingenious idea! It might not work; the man might be an unmitigated blackguard and this might be a deep laid plan for some villainy, but, anyway, I knew him, and the novelty, from its mere audacity, attracted me Fortunately no other European had seen the man’s letters; the Malay) sergeant, who had taken the charge, could not read English, and I had entered the charge myself. “For all T know you may be wanted in China for a dozen crimes,” [ said. “ But there is a yood deal of truth in what you say about the detectives, so 1 will do as you ask, would you?” said I, “But L have only WORLD MAGAZINE. and try you; but if I catch you at any crimes 1 will get you ten years as sure as you stand before me. Now get that bundle of yours, and go to my house and report yourseif to the head bey; [ will tell him) you have brought me a letter, and that I have taken you on as travelling: boy.” My boy was a Cantonese himself, so I knew that the fact of my new acquisition having been in jail would not trouble him; he was sure to hear of it, but the fact that they were both Cantonese would be sufficient for him. If he had been a Fuhkien or a Hylam it would have been a very different matter. Ning Wo, as my new assistant was called, certainly knew his work as a “boy.” I would not ask to have a better servant ; he was always cheerful and willing, and invariably on the spot, so that I never had to make myself hoarse by yelling for him. And he carried out his agree- ment in the matter of detecting crime ina way that far exceeded my expectations, for he speedily found me the clue to two or three serious crimes. He said he merely found it out by listening, pretending to be under the influence of opium. No one ever suspected him, and Sergeant Cassim (my detective-sergeant) once asked me if I employed a “hantu” (ghost) to give me information. ‘The Malay believes implicitly in ghosts, so I said, “ Yes.” Ning Wo always accompanied me on my travels when I had to be away at nights, and many a long yarn did we have. Gradually he became confidential, and one night, after dinner, he confessed that in the days of his youth he had been “educated” as a professional thief. Once the ice was broken, he told me the most marvellous things about the “ profession” and how they were taught. He told me in particular how pocket-picking was done. 1 asked him why he had given up the trade, whereupon he replied that he had seen so many thieves caught that he thought it better to live an honest life—which was probably only a mild biuff on his part. “T don’t believe you could pick my pocket, Ning Wo, and I not find it out,” I said. He-did not reply, but he seemed rather pained at my want of confidence in him. I returned home the next morning, and in the afternoon, after office hours, was dressing before driving to the club, Ning Wo assisting me in the operation. When I was dressed he handed me my watch and chain, and then made a great show of brushing my clothes—a work of super- erogation, for I am sure he never put them away unbrushed. I got into my dog cart, and had hardly reached the compound gate when I heard Ning Wo calling me. I pulled up, and he handed me my watch and chain,

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NING WO THE “The Tuan has forgotten his watch,” said he, with a seraphic smile. Considering he had given it to me himself, and I had put it in my waistcoat-pocket, I could not very well have forgotten it. The beggar had taken me at my word, and picked my pocket while I was looking at him! It may readily be surmised that I determined to take this unofficial detective with me, to try to assist in catching Stuart’s thief. I told him this, and impressed on him the absolute necessity of secrecy in the matter. “Can't the Tuan trust me yet?” said he. “Yes, I can trust you all right,” I replied ; “but you have got to remember we shall be after a very clever thief. He is sure to find out who I am, and he will probably watch me. He is certain to see me talking to Tuan Stuart, and if he is the man I take him to be he will be sure to jump to the \ conclusion that I have s brought a detective with me to help Tuan Stuart, so you will have to be very care- ful.” “Sergeant Cassim is a clever man, Tuan, but he has never sus- pected me, and yet, if he only thought, he ought to do so. He knows I am the Tuan’s boy; he sees me every night at the opium shop, and he knows the Tuan gets infor- mation which he can’t get. Who else could get the information? He doesn’t think.” The following Tuesday after- noon we arrived at the capital of the neighbouring State ; by “we” I mean theeleven and _— everybody else who could get away. We WONDERFUL. 93 were met at the station by the entire European male and the majority of the European female population of the place, and received such a royal welcome as the East alone knows how to give. Our various hosts sought us out, and I was talk- ing to mine, Brydon, when up came Stuart in his immaculate spick-and-span white uniform. “Delighted to see you, old chap,” he said. “T say, Brydon, you drive on to the club and we will join you there. I want Mackenzie to stroll up with me.” “Oh, rubbish!” said Brydon ; “you two can yarn as much as you like afterwards, but at the present moment I know he is suffering from a terrible drought after his railway journey, and “The Tuan has forgotten his watch,” said he.

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94 THE WIDE talking to an old gas-bag like you will kill him before he gets to the club.” “You don’t know the amount of drought a policeman can stand; he rather likes it at times,” retorted Stuart. “You adjourn this Court” (Brydon was a magistrate among other things) “and go and get a drink, and before you can call for a second we'll be there to join you. Joking apart, I want to speak to him on business. Come on, Mac Catch your boy and send him to Brydon’s with your kit.” We caught Ning Wo, put him and the baggage in a rickshaw, and sent him to Brydon’s, and Stuart and I set off for the club on foot. “You didn’t mind walking, old chap, did you?” asked Stuart, as we left the station. “TI want to put you In possession of the facts about these confounded robberies as soon as possible, and this is our only chance, for, once at the club, goodness knows when we'll get the chance of a few minutes’ quiet yarn. Of course, you will want to tell your detective everything, so that he can begin to work at once. It was awfully good of you to say you would bring one, though I was certain you would.” “T don't mind walking a bit,” I replied. ‘In fact, I prefer it after being so long in the train, so fire away.” “Well, there’s not much to fire away about,” said Stuart. “The simple fact is that some thief has gone in for stealing jewellery, for pre- ference from. Europeans’ houses. Over a dozen things have been stolen, including a watch of my own, and my detectives can’t make anything of it. But the queer part of,the whole business is that these thefts have so often taken place during big dinners. Of course, every blessed servant has been suspected, and at the request of their employers the effects of several of them have been searclted, but without any result whatever. ‘The servants are frightfully indignant at being suspected, and some have given notice. Read me the riddle, old chap.” “If 1 had Sherlock Holmes’s magnifying glass I might be able to do so,” said I, “but as I have never yet discovered one big enough I am afraid all I can do is to join my wits to yours in the matter; two heads may be better than one. But let’s hear how you have been working the case.” “Well,” he replied, “rather a brilliant idea occurred to me; but keep it to yourself, for it has not worked yet. When the first two or three thefts took place I at once said, as you would, ‘It’s the servants.’ Now I have a very smart Chinese detective, who has been on the job from the beginning, and my brilliant idea was to take him out with me as my ‘boy’ to tiffins and dinners, and so give him every WORLD MAGAZINE. chance a detective could wish for in the matter of watching the servants. . He entered into the spirit of the thing at once, and he now accom- panies me everywhere (ea/re nous, he's a duffer at waiting, so they usually assign him the soda- water bottles, which he occasionally empties on the table), but the thefts still go on merrily. He says the thief is a ghost.” So Ning Wo’s idea wasn’t original, after all ; and here were Stuart and I playing the same game. But I saw the flaw in his at once. “Pardon me, old chap,” I said, “ for not con- sidering your idea so very brilliant. You need not look so horribly cross about it! If you were to go to Singapore to help old Tim work up a similar case, well and good, and the thing would possibly work excellently; but has it never occurred to you that here, in your own State, your pet detective is as well known to every servantin the place as the Resident? We policemen should know better than anyone that a Chinese thief, and a clever one like the gentle- man in question, is not quite a fool. He'd know the detective was there to watch for him.” “ By Jove, that never occurred to me !” cried Stuart, somewhat ruefully; “you are quite right, and I will drop it.” “No, don’t do that,” I said. ‘“ Your scheme may turn up trumps after all, though I doubt it. Besides, you have asked me, or, rather, my detective, to try a hand at the game, so don’t disturb the cards ; leave matters as they stand. To you know, from what you have told me, I begin to doubt if it is the servants after all, and I fancy you have got to aim at a different quarry.” “T hope you impressed on your detective the necessity of keeping his presence unknown, and, above all, not talking?” observed my friend. ‘All the natives know of these thefts, for a reward of five hundred dollars has been offered for the apprehension of the man. By this time it will be known you are here, which the thief is safe to hear of. He will be certain you and I will talk the matter over, and he is quite as likely as not to jump to the conclusion that you have brought a detective with you, and he'll be on the look-out for him.” “] have impressed all this on my detective,” I replied, “so you can trust him not to give himself away. But a word in your ear. You and I know quite well the difficulty we labour under—the fact that our detectives are only so in name ; they are thoroughly well known. Now I came across my man in rather a peculiar way ; it is too long to enter into details.” (I wasn’t going to tell Stuart the fellow had been in jail.) “ Anyhow, he came to me one day and asked to be taken on as a detective, not in the ordinary

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NING WO THE WONDERFUL. 95 sense, but in a private capacity, strictly between him and me. He pointed out the fallacies of our detective system in a way which showed me he knew what he was talking about, and I was so struck with the force of his arguments that we entered into an agreement, which, so far, I have not repented of. Though a detective, he is only known to me, and he has certainly managed to obtain some most useful information. Old Cassim imagines I have got hold of a ‘familiar,’ and will be frightened to go out at night soon.” “That is a mighty good idea of yours, or rather his,” said Stuart. “I can quite see the possibilities in it, and I’ll try the dodge myself.” “Mind you know your man, then,” I said; “try to get one over whom you have a hold, and a mighty good hold, too. But I'll tell you a secret. This man and I have become quite pals, and one day he told me, in the strictest confidence, about his early life. He had been brought up as a professional thief, and he has given me lots of hints about their way of doing business. Without thinking, I once questioned his ability to pick my pocket. He did so in front of my very eyes!” “You must be a mug!” said Stuart, politely. “Till bet he wouldn’t have picked mine /” This put my back up. “What will you bet he doesn’t do so within twelve hours?” I asked. “Ten dollars, and full liberty to call me the biggest fool you ever met if he succeeds,” cried Stuart. “Thanks for the tip; I’ll keep my eye mighty close on every Chinaman who comes within a yard of me for the next twenty-four hours. Here’s the club, so we'll have to dry up. We shall meet to-night, as we are both dining at the Scotts’, and we may get the chance of another yarn.” -I got Brydon to go home early to dress, as I wanted to have an interview with Ning Wo before dinner. Of course, he would go to it, - as everyone takes his “boy” to help wait at table. I found him in my room, and told him everything Stuart had told me. His first words were :— “Tuan Stuart will never find the thief in that way, as he has not succeeded yet. Every servant must know his detective. Do Tuans (meaning European gentlemen) ever steal, Tuan?” I would not have confessed it to him for a moment, but the idea had occurred to me that some idiot had been playing a huge but risky joke at society’s expense in general and Stuart’s in particular, and I had made up my mind to try to do a little detective business on my own account in this direction. ' “No; Tuans don’t steal, Ning Wo. All the same, it is your business to suspect everybody and keep your eyes and ears open. By the by, did you notice the ‘Tuan in uniform talking to me at the station this afternoon?” “Ves, Tuan.” “Well, that is Tuan Stuart, the Capala Police (Chief of Police). In spite of his present experience he says he does not believe in thieves being really clever. Do you think you could manage to pick his pocket at dinner this evening? He says there is not a Chinaman in the State who could do so. I suppose you will know him again?” “T did not think Tuan Stuart looked a foolish man,” was Ning Wo’s reply. The bare idea seemed to pain him. 3 It was a very festive dinner we foregathered at—about a dozen men and four ladies. Stuart looked aggravatingly cool in his white mess-kit, and I wished I could have worn mine, but etiquette forbade it out of my own State. Punctilious to an absurd degree where uniform was concerned, he would not even wear a watch- chain, but I noticed the top of a tiny silver . Cigarette-case showing above his waistcoat- pocket. I knew Ning Wo, and I knew Stuart was “done.” I tried to watch the game, but it was impossible, for, of course, I had to talk to the lady I had the-honour of taking in. All I know is that towards the end of dinner the little gleam of silver had disappeared. As soon as the ladies left Stuart came over and took the vacant chair by me. “Well,” he began, “I hope things have gone serenely to-night and nothing been lifted. I tried to keep an eye on the servants, but I saw nothing suspicious, and as old Scott kept jabbering all the time about his blessed railway- embankment at Kwala Gaja, and would drag me into the conversation, I couldn’t watch as much as I wanted. I suppose you saw nothing, old chap ?” With truth I could say I had seen nothing, unless an unseen theft could be called something. At that moment Ning Wo handed me the box of cigarettes, and at the same time he touched my hip with his disengaged hand. I put mine down, received Stuart’s purloined cigarette-case, and stuck it in my pocket. “TI hate Turkish cigarettes,” said Stuart ; “don’t you? I always smoke Virginians. Have one of mine instead of those. But what the dickens have I done with my cigarette-case ? Iam sure I put it in my pocket.” “ Have one of these,” I said, offering his own case, Stuart’s eyes bulged out of his head with amazement. “You confounded thief!” he cried. did you get that?” “Ask my detective,” I replied, smilingly, “and hand over those ten dollars. By Jove! “ How

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96 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “You confounded thief!" he cried. ‘* How did you get that P” it was the neatest thing I ever saw, or rather didn’t see. Ever heard the proverb about laughing last? 4m I such a mug? And you accepted the warning, too.” “Well, I’m jiggered!” exclaimed Stuart, apparently hesitating between rage and laughter. “And pray where may your detective be?” “The gentleman handing round the cigar- ettes,” I replied. ‘ Innocent-looking bird, isn’t he?” “Who’s the fool now, employing his detective in the capacity of ‘boy’?” demanded Stuart, sarcastically. “T expected that,” I said. ‘‘ But there is this vast difference : my man is not known even in my own State, much less in yours, so they are not parallel cases.” “That's true. Well, he has won the bet, or rather you have, for I suppose you will give it to him. Pray Heaven he may win the five hundred dollars’ reward as well.” On arriving home at Bry- don’s that night I found Ning Wo waiting for me in my room—an unnecessary little bit of atten- tion, as I was quite capable of turning in alone. “There was a theft ‘at Tuan Scott’s house to- night,” he said. “Tt was very well done, too.” “Then you have found the thief straight off!” I said, de- lightedly. “ But why didn’t you tell Tuan Stuart at once and have him arrested ?” “Because I do not know if he is the same man who committed the other thefts. Will the Tuan kindly say nothing about this, and let me have leave from dinner to-morrow night ?” “Of course,” I replied. I saw at once that he wanted to carry on his investigations under cover of darkness. It was no good my asking any more questions, for he would say nothing. The following morning I went round to Stuart’s office out of curiosity to verify Ning Wo’s report. “Read that,” said he, savagely, as soon as I had shut the door.

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NING WO THE It was a note as follows :— Dear Mk. Srvart,--I am so sorry to bother you, but [have lost a bracelet. It is a gold curb chain, which a times tumbles off, so I may have dropped it. I know I wore it at dinner last night, and I may have taken it off during the meal and put it cn the table beside me, but we can't find it anywhere. — Yours sincerely, ETHEL Scorr. “T am awfully sorry for you, old fellow,” I said. “But look here; I'll bet you back the ten dollars that you recover this bracelet within forty-eight hours.” “Do you know anything, or are you feebly trying to imitate Job’s friends?” demanded Stuart. “These things are beginning to weary me.” “T know nothing,” I answered ; “but I am suffering from an accession of faith.” “ By Jove, I believe your detective has found out something! You might tell me.” “Ask no questions, don’t think about the thefts, and sit tight,” said I, oracularly. The second day of the cricket match was over just in time to save daylight; we lost. As I came into the pavilion 1 was met by Ning Wo carrying my blazer. Why he should have troubled to come down just to help me into my coat beat me, for I had not seen him for thirty- six hours, but as he held it up for me to get into he whispered :—- “Go home now, Tuan, and take Tuan Stuart with you.” I found Stuart at the bar. “Your dog-cart here, old chap?” I asked. “You might drive me round to Brydon’s.” At the same time I gave him a dig in the ribs to let him see it was something particular. He tumbled to it promptly and we drove round, both of us in dead silence and on the tip-toe of expectation. I went to my room, but Ning Wo was not there, so I returned to Stuart on the veranda. About ten minutes later Ning Wo appeared and said to me :— “Will the Tuan give me his keys?” Now, as the beggar had them himself, I saw he meant us to go to my room. He shut the door after him and then handed Stuart Mrs. Scott’s bracelet. “Have you found the thief?” he asked, excitedly. “Yes, Tuan,” replied Ning Wo. “Where is he?” we both exclaimed. “Tf the Tuans will come down to the village with me, I will show them where all the stolen property is.” “But why didn’t you bring it yourself it you have found it?” asked Stuart. “Tf IT had, Tuan,” he replied, “1 should have © Vol. xxiii —13. WONDERFUL. 97 had to be a witness in court, and I should be no more use as a detective.” ‘There was a nice slap in the face for our much-vaunted police methods ! It was now dark, so we walked after Ning Wo till we arrived at a small Chinese house standing by itself on the outskirts of the village. Here Ning Wo stopped and, handing Stuart a key, said :— “If the Tuans will go into that house they - will find a box under the bed; they can easily find it by lighting a match. Bring it away, lock the door, and go back to Tuan Brydon’s with it.” We went in, found the box, and removed it. When we three burglars were safely back in my room we burst it open, and there was every scrap of the stolen property ! Stuart simply gasped. “Your man is a fiend incarnate!” he said. “ Here he has been at work less than forty-eight hours, and he has done what my whole detective staff couldn’t do in a month. How on earth did you manage it, Ning Wo?” “TI saw him steal Mem Scott’s bracelet, Tuan,” he replied, “‘but I had to find out who he was, and then, if he was the thief, who had stolen the other things. My Tuan gave me leave from dinner last night, and I burgled the man’s house when no one was in it. It is very easy to open locks. The Tuans have found all the stolen property themselves, so their evidence is sufficient, and everyone knows that the house where the things were found belongs to Mee Chung.” “But who is Mee Chung?” I asked. | “Tuan Stuart’s detective, whom he takes with him as his ‘ boy,’” replied Ning Wo, impassively. In due course Mee Chung came up for trial, was found guilty, and received a sentence of seven years’ penal servitude, while Ning Wo— strictly on the quiet—received the five hundred dollars’ reward. How the burglar was able to carry on so long undetected I am unable to say; probably his audacity had been his safeguard, for no one would think of suspecting the detec- tive whose work it was to find the thief. The one flaw in his plan was the fact that he was unable to dispose of his loot immediately, but he never dreamt that there was a rival in the field capable of burgling his own house, and to this day he does not know who did it. One point in connection with the affair caused Ning Wo much grief—Sergeant Cassim guessed he was my mysterious “familiar.” But we took the detective-sergeant into our confidence, and he never betrayed the trust.

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INDIAN TRAIL MARKINGS. MONG the many methods of marking a trail that of tying a knot of grass as practised by the Sioux, the plains Indians of North America, is one of the most ingenious. A bunch of grass tied in an upriyht position, as in the first illustration, signifies ‘‘ This is the trail,” as tied in the second ‘‘ Turn to the left,” and as tied in the third ‘Turn to the right.” The forest Indians, such as the Milicetes, denote their trail by ‘‘blazing” trees. The blaze in the fourth illustration means ‘‘ This is the trail,” that in the fifth ‘‘To left,” that in the sixth ‘To right.” Stones and smudge fires are other well-known’ Indian signs. — MALCOLM C. BROAD IN ‘* COUNTRY LIFE. THE NORTH PACIFIC BRANT HUNTERS. O* many of the lonely spits, on the little- visited islands, at the mud-banks of the rivers that along the British Columbian coast debouch into the Northern Pacific Ocean we find little shacks and scow-houses, gasoline boats, and ketches, inhabited by a class of men who fish during the summer months and shoot brant and wildfowl for the market in winter. There is many an untold tale of life among these men. Some, it is true, are rude fishermen, but others are descendants from families whose names are well known. Truly these ends of the earth are strangely peopled !—FROM ‘‘ FRY’s MAGAZINE.” MATRIMONY IN THE GREEN ISLANDS. HE inhabitants of the Green Islands, in the China Sea, are largely engaged in diving for sponges. No girl there marries until she has shown skill in bringing sponges from the depths. In some of the islands the father of a marriage- able daughter bestows her upon the most success- ful diver — he who can stay longest under water and brings up the biggest load of sponges. —‘* WOMAN'S LIFE.” A QUEER EGYPTIAN DISH. A GREAT dish at Egyptian harem feasts is that of a lamb roasted whole. After the manner of a nest of Chinese boxes, each smaller than the other, the lamb is stuffed with a whole turkey, the turkey with a chicken, the chicken with a pigeon, the pigeon with a quail, and the quail with a becafico, the smallest bird known, except the humming-bird. The lamb is roasted over a slow fire until it is almost ready to fall to pieces. —‘ TIT-BITs.”” A STRANGE PRACTICAL JOKE. HE following photograph, by Webb Bros., of Santa Monica, California, shows a coach occupy- ing a most remarkable position. When it is explained that it was placed at the top of the building between sunset and sunrise without the owner having the least knowledge of what was being done, and without the perpetrators of the deed leaving the slightest trace behind them, it seems the more remarkable. On the festival of Hallow-e’en the inhabitants of California think it proper to perform all kinds of practical jokes, especially any dealing with vehicles, and this is one of the extra- ordinary positions in which owners found their carriages on the following morning. —‘t THE STRAND MAGAZINE.’ i | BATHS — paride SANTA MONICA AUDITORIUM

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Odds and Ends. A Chinese Lottery-Ticket—A Wandering Monument—The Mysterious Ring, etc. ] TAA) HE curious-looking document shown | below is a Chinese lottery-ticket, which cost the owner one shilling and sixpence and returned him twenty- ~ three pounds—not a bad investment ! It is an exciting gamble and is played thus: The player obtains a blank ticket from the “bank,” and also a pen—or, rather, a brush— which he dips into some black mixture, and dabs on to any of the queer characters which he fancies. If he pays sixpence he marks ten; if a shilling, two sets of ten with a line between them ; if one shilling and sixpence, three fives, and so on up the scale, an extra batch of five for every sixpence up to a certain limit. ‘he bank says when the result will be announced, and if the player likes he can watch the drawing. Let us go into the queer Chinese house and watch. There is at one end of the room.a crowd of expectant players, pencils and tickets in hand ; a long table in the middle, at which are seated four Chinese clerks, who have in front of them a blank ticket and a dish of Chinese red paint. Also at the table sits the president, who has in front of him a bowl with crumpled slips of paper, on each of which isa character corresponding to those on the tickets. There is a great pile of marked tickets at one end (duplicates), with a huge knife lying on the top ; this must not be touched or it will “cut the luck” of the bank. -In a corner is a small table at which stands a man with another deep bowl. Someone present is invited to pick out ten bits of rolled paper from the president’s bowl, -and he is then directed to put them in the other bowl. The whole perform- ance is most solemn and quite silent. The Chinaman in the corner then stands with his back to the rest ‘and picks out one slip at a time, holding it up and singing its name in a most melancholy way. Meanwhile the clerks are very busy, for as each xe 1 es ced A Chinese lottery-ticket, which cost eighteen pence and brought the owner twenty-three pounds. symbol is declared they make a red dab on its corresponding character on the ticket, while the audience eagerly lean over to see if they ‘catchee im.” If, of the player’s “splodges,” five are the same as the red dabs, he receives one shilling later on; if six are the same he receives about nine shillings; if seven, about three pounds fifteen shillings ; if eight, twenty-three pounds, as I did from my lucky ticket, and so on in an increasing ratio. ‘They pay cash down. If a player has marked two sets of ten he can only count the divisions separately ; if he has marked divisions of fives he can count any two divisions, and he may make three wins with a three-division ticket, and so on. In the ticket below I “catchee” eight, as a Chinaman said. Notice the bank’s signature at the side—it was written with a brush, beginning at the top, and is the same as a “ bookie’s” signature. The next day - I won three pounds fifteen shillings, but in the long run I was not much to the good. We are constantly receiving gratifying proofs of the truly world-wide circulation of this Magazine —a circulation which puts us in touch with the remotest corners of the globe, and often enables us to be of real assistance to readers living far from civilization. Here is a case in point, relating to an affair which sorely puzzled a correspon- dent in South Africa. The correspondent in question, Mr. C. C. Vialls, wrote to us some time ago as follows :— “TI am resident at a trading station on the eastern border of the Kalahari Desert, in Khama’s country. On March 15th, 1908, a native be- longing to one of the numerous. staats (kraals) which are situated here and there along the border brought me the enclosed alumi- nium ring, telling me he had obtained it from some bushmen who were under him

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too THE WIDE as serfs, They in their tum - got it from some other bushmen in the more re- mote part of the desert. Some of these men, while out hunting, ap- proached a very large salt- pan, on which they saw some large white birds. As , they drew nearer these Lirds flew off, with the exception of one, which was seen to be unable to rise, though it made frantic efforts. On their reaching it the bushmen found it to be quite exhausted, and it died immediately afterwards. The natives carried it off to some shrub close by, where they intended to have a feast, when one of them drew the others’ attention to some- thing on the bird’s leg. Being dirty and dull, it had not attracted attention before. On rubbing it, they found it to be this ring, and immediately threw the bird away, shouting, ‘Modimo! Modimo!’ (which means ‘God’), and hastened off to the others of their camp, where they related the story. One of the men, more brave and perhaps less superstitious than the rest, offered to go and get the ring if one of the others would accom- pany him. This any one of them was reluctant to do, saying that if any approached the place again some dire calamity might befall them. At last one man volunteered, and the bird was found and the ring cut off. The inscription on the ring is: ‘ Vogelwarte, Rossitten 769, Germania.’ I am quite un- able to ascertain the species of the bird, as none of the bushmen could describe it intelligibly ; they were positive, however, that they had never seen any other bird like it. What is the explanation of the mystery, I wonder?” We have made inquiries concerning _ this mysterious ring, and the equally mysterious bird which bore it, and now have pleasure in laying the result before our readers. The “Vogelwarte” of Rossiten is a The mysterious aluminium ring which was found by a “ Wide World" reader in the Kalahari Desert—Its story is here related. . From a Photo, ty Geo. Newnes, Ltd. WORLD - selves. MAGAZINE. passage travel during their migrations—a subject concerning which very little is known. To this end storks, seagulls, crows, etc., are captured while still in the nest and marked by means of a numbered aluminium ring. If, later on, the marked bird is killed or captured, and the ring returned to the ‘ Vogelwarte,” it is easy for the authorities to trace just how far the bird has travelled from the parental nest. The ring 769, obtained by our correspondent in the Kalahari Desert, was placed by the “Vogelwarte ” on the leg of a young stork found on the shores of the Baltic. It must have travelled thence something like six thousand miles before being captured by the bushmen—a truly remarkable performance. We have now returned the ring itself to the director of the “Vogelwarte” at Rossitten, who, needless to say, is keenly interested in the case. Long before the “diabolo” craze had even been dreamed of in England or France, the well-known medical missionary, Dr. A. W. Westwater, took the accompanying photograph at Liaoyang, one of the chief cities of Man- churia. The picture is another piece of evidence of how universal are the games and sports with which people all over the world amuse them- ‘The “spool” used by this Chinese player is almost an exact reproduction of that used in this courtry, and Dr. Westwater believes that “diabolo” is one of the oldest amusements of the Manchurian people. society of ornithologists whose aim een 5 Chi lay it is to find out how far birds of 4 Soma ere "'diabolo"’ — The game is believed ¢ to be one of the oldest amusements of the Manchurian people. (Photograph,

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ent Garo earrings of this tribe have @ superstition that < the spirit of the rings with it into the future life and uses them as an offering to a demon at who bars the road. & From a Photograph. 1S ‘The Garo lady is as fond; of ornaments as her sisters | in more civilized countries. s The illustration depicts a €. ; really good set of earrings, ' though the wearer was not content, and expressed her desire to add to her col- lection. She had no fewer than fifty-two rings in each | ear, and their collective , weight ran into several pounds. There is a curious superstition attached to these rings. After death, it is believed, the spirit of the owner takes the rings , with it to the land of be- yond, and uses them as an offering to a demon who bars the way and must be propitiated before he will allow newly-arrived spirits to pass. . It. is probable that no burial monument in exist- ence has a more peculiar position, and history than the one shown ae AND ENDS. A wandering monument — A landslide has knows whether 101 in the photograph reproduced below. It was placed over the grave of a young man who was buried on the banks of the Assini- boine River, in Manitoba, Canada, and there everyone naturally supposed it would remain. The ground, however, is sloping, and owing to the nature of the soil the bank—grave, monument, and all—has been gradually sliding downhill. Recently, the new Grand Trunk Pacific Railway constructed their roadway some little distance away, and the immense weight of the embankment greatly accelerated the pace of the landslide. ‘lhe stone, still bravely endeavouring to preserve the perpendicular, is now at least a hundred feet from its original position, and the question arises as to the whereabouts of the grave which it formerly covered, but undoubtedly no longer does. In 1853 there was born at Hillsdale, Michigan, U.S.A., a lad named Frank Durga. For about twenty-five years there- after he lived very much like other people, but during the ’eighties he suddenly took it into his head to commence what can only be described as a “freak diet,” swal- lowing p.eces of glass, nails, cvins, live ¥ shifted it at least a hundred feet from its original the rave it originally covered is still under it or not. From a Photography ~~ D py La OC

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102 cartridges, and anything that was not too large to pass down his throat. Incredible as it may appear, Durga suffered no ill-effects from this extraordinary “food” for over twenty years. In 1908, however, one or other of the many articles he had swallowed must have overtaxed his powers, for he became ill, and the doctors at the Mercy Hospital, North Bend, Oregon, decided to operate upon him. ‘The operation lasted fifty-five minutes, and there was extracted from his interior the remarkable collection of articles seen in the accompanying photograph. How this human ostrich had managed to exist for so many years with these miscel- laneous_ pieces of hardware and glass jostling one another in his stomach was altogether beyond — the surgeons’ com- a [— J — prehension. At the = time our picture was g taken the patient {| ______.._} was on aliquid diet, 41] init all the articles here shown were removed from the stomach of a man in Oregon—He is still alive and doing well! From a Photo. by W. Douglas. and progressing satisfactorily. The facts of the case are vouched for by the doctors of the hospital named. The inscribed stone seen in our next photo- graph has a curious history. The wall in which it stands was formerly part of a house, the tablet THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) A traitor’s memorial. (Photograph. occupying the place of a door. The house was occupied by a man named Pieter Erberveld, who tried to act the part of a traitor towards the Dutch, but, his treachery being discovered, he was arrested and lost his life on the scaffold in the year 1722. His house was destroyed, only the walls remaining, and the inscribed tablet, sur- mounted by a stone head pierced by a lance, was placed in its present position as a warning to others. The inscription on the stone states that it is forbidden for anyone to build or to plant trees or shrubs on this particular piece of ground, which is to be held accursed. This order has been strictly observed and will be carried out for ever. In the centre of Ceylon stands the Rock of Sigiriya, or Lion’s Rock, once a place of refuge. Rising some four or five hundred feet above the forest, it is most difficult to ascend. At first it is approached by stone steps, then ladders made of bamboo are fixed, and an iron railing finally leads the climber to the summit. Owing to the almost precipitous sides the ascent

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ODDS AND ENDS. Travellers climbing the Rock of Sigiriya, in Ceylon—It was once a place of refuge, and its ascent is both difficult and dangerous, From a Photograph.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 104 is difficult, and at places even dangerous, as may be judged from the photo- graph we repro- duce. At the top one sees the remains of an old fortress, with the genius of a bygone race, and a wonderful view of the surround- ing country is obtained. The Rock of Sigiriya at. certain seasons is_ in- fested with bees, and a notice in the Government Rest House at the foot warns explorers’ to cover their heads with netting when these vicious little insects are abroad. Our illustration ground. This painting has only lately been dis- covered, and is being — carefully preserved by the Archaeological Commissioner of the Island. Here is an ex- traordinary sisn- board which was displayed outside a drinking saloon in Nauplia, Greece, during a visitof the British Mediterranean Fleet to that port. After reading the sign one is hardly " bs —— inclined to en- '—The odd sign-board of « Grecian drinking saloon. dorse the pro- From a Photograph. prietor’s cheery assurance that Jack will find “ Enklish well spoken,” although the intimation that “everu kind of drink” is “* Enklish well spoken shows two Europeans ascending one face of the rock at a point where there is an ancient painting, some three hundred feet above the to be found probably makes up for the short- comings both of the saloon-keeper’s linguistics and of the “ dansin ” and “sinkin.” = oO ] | AWanderin, WANARCTIC LIFE INA Aner PRISON Monument Sarat Ss N-HUNT Svo TSMEN OF ron Zz Qu | Cen, STR 4% 3 THE NEAR EAST ny 3 | RE, ‘g } ) a PS) sare Y A Chinese creer ae “si Latlery Ticket ¥° My JOURNEY in BuutAN . “PROSPECTING FOR * Yaqui GoLD ra TURE IN < SS OWERS/OF SILENCE gel Wonaeae ais | THE BUSHRANGERS a THe SYDNEY e.” TeMysteriags Ring # - Fiyinc MACHINE” The map-contents of “The Wide World Magazine,” which shows at « glance the locality of esch article and narrative of adventure in this number.

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ja toe — 3

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el : i t I LOOKED ROUND JUST IN TIME TO SEE FOUR MACHETES FLYING TOWARDS THR TERRIFIED SPANIARD. (SEE PAGE ITI.)

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Vol. XXIII. JUNE, 1909. No. 134 cee CoLDEN The golden beetle, given to the author by the Indians, which served him as a pass- port on his wanderings in the hostile San Blas country. From a Photograph. BreTLe. By Dr. T. A. StopparRb. The story of a traveller’s exciting experience while exploring the little-known San Blas country, at the head of the Chagres River, in Panama. Captured by hostile Indians, he narrowly escaped losing his life, but was later able to turn the tables upon them effectively, Perhaps the most curious part of the narrative is that relating to the insect which subsequently formed the author’s passport while journeying among his erstwhile enemies. aml HURSDAY, December 19th, 1907, found me starting from Matachin, a station on the Panama Railroad and a point near the sphere of operations of the Canal diggers, for an exploring * trip in the neighbourhood of the head waters of the Chagres River and the San Blas country. I began the journey in a cayucca, or native boat, hewn from the trunk of a tree, and was accom- panied by two natives, to propel the craft, and a Spaniard. Our first stop was at Las Cruces, a native village with a population of about two hundred. We remained here for the night, and were hospitably treated by the primitive inhabitants, who are Indians with a strong strain of Spanish blood in their veins. From this point the river runs in a north- easterly direction, but has many turns and bends, so that sometimes we would be going south, west, or north. We were able to make about eight miles a day by keeping steadily at it. The sun and rain poured mercilessly down on us alternately, the sun predominating, for, as the dry season was approaching, it did not rain continuously, Vol, xxiii.—¥4, Nu bP. ic BM ES We progressed without adventure until the fourth day, when we were about four miles above a native town called Las Campanas, and about five miles below the mouth of the Rio Pegueni, the largest branch of the Chagres. Here the stream widens into a lake about a mile wide and two miles long, having an island in the middle, which is covered to the water’s edge with the densest vegetation I have ever seen, even in this “jungly” country, I directed the boatmen to land if possible, as I saw several trees loaded with luscious guava. The boat had hardly touched the bank, however, when the man in the bow gave a terrific scream and threw himself overboard backwards. Looking for the cause of his terror, we beheld a huge alligator pushing his way into the water, while the vegetation behind was literally alive with others. Hurriedly I seize¢ my Winchester, but I was too late; the beast had disappeared. In the meantime our terrified oarsman had been rescued by the man in the stern of the boat. We decided to abandon all thought of landing on the island, and started for the upper end of the lake, but soon discovered that we were objects of great interest to several immense saurians, which seemed determined to

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108 THE WIDE poche —— emcee ta ee sia meaee ae * . Then began a battle royal. follow us. My ignorance made me reckless, and, not thinking of there being any danger from our inquisitive guests, I took the first oppor- tunity and sent a, well-directed bullet into the head of what seemed to be the largest and most WORLD MAGAZINE. fearless of our pursuers. The report bad scarcely died away when we were surrounded by dozens of the horrible beasts, their aspect being most menacing. I ordered the boatmen to make a landing at the first good place, and, Digitized ty (GOO@le S

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THE GOLDEN BEETLE. 109 handing my repeater to the Spaniard, directed him to shoot at every alligator that showed an eye above water on the right-hand side of the boat, while I did the same on the left side. Then began a battle royal, which lasted about half an hour, when we made a landing on a strip of sandy shore. Here we built a fire and camped for the night, keeping the fire burning and taking turns to maintain a watch. Resuming our way next morning, we halted the following evening at the native village of San Juan, on the Rio Pegueni, and almost on the old paved road of bygone centuries, which served as a highway for the transport of the wealth of the Pacific to Porto Bello on the Atlantic, where the galleons waited to convey it to Spain. While most of this road has become obliterated, there still remain, after three hundred years, many miles of good travelling. Here we were compelled to part with our boat and boat- men, and pursue our way overland. When the villagers learned that it was my purpose to follow up the course of the Pegueni River to the San Blas mountains to the north, and thence penetrate into what is known as the San Blas country, they all held up their hands in horror. “Do not go, sefior,” they exclaimed; “the San Blas Indians are very bad men, and will kill you without hesitation.” I told them that I was a doctor and on a peaceable mission, and therefore did not think the people would harm A shooting party on the Chagres River. (Photograph. me. Learning that I was a seftor medico, the villagers began to talk in undertones among themselves, and after quite a lengthy conference one of the more intelligent-looking approached and asked me if I would see a sick man who had been terribly ill for some time. I assented; whereupon they took me to a man aged thirty- five, who was suffering the most intense agony. The cause of his distress was of such a nature that I was able in a short time to give him com- plete and permanent relief. I was glad I had my surgical and medical cases with me; had I not, I fear that this narrative would never have been written. I shall not soon forget the tearful pleadings of these rough, ignorant men and women when the time came for me to start up the river and they found that I was determined to go. I left them kneeling in prayerful attitudes, beseeching me not to proceed. I kept to the old paved road until I arrived at the first crossing of the river. Here I con- structed a raft, as the stream was not fordable at this point. We camped at this place for the night, and in the morning I found that my Spaniard was sick, had a high fever, and could not go on. I filled him up with quinine, and during the day succeeded in shooting a nice young deer, some of which I smoked to carry along. The next day my companion was better and able to

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110 5 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. proceed. We started early, and before night had forded the river four times, at the fourth crossing we camped for the night. Here my companion told me that he did not want to go any farther and begged me to turn back. I told him that he could go back if he wished, but that I was going forward, and should carry all my guns along with me. This settled it with the Spaniard, and he decided to keep with me. I knew he would not dare to go back alone, without firearms, and when we slept that night I took the precaution to put both the machetes and guns under my blanket so that he could not get them without awaking me. On the morning of the fifteenth I was awakened about six o'clock by a shrill whistle, the like of which I had not heard before in the jungle. I sat up quickly, tore the mosquito netting from my head, and listened to the second whistle, which came half a minute later. The Spaniard sprang up with an exclamation of fear. T asked him what it was. “San Blas men,” he replied. I could see no one, however, and, looking carefully to my guns, I gave one of them to my companion. After listening for a short time and no further sounds of a like nature being heard, I decided that it was some kind. of a bird which I had not seen or heard before, and told the Spaniard to get busy with the breakfast. Very reluctantly he put the gun aside and prepared our primitive meal, which consisted of toasted deer-meat, roasted wild yams, coffee, and malted milk tablets. We had finished eating, and { was lighting my pipe, when that peculiar whistle again startled us —quickly repeated in a dozen different directions. Snatching up the guns, we stood ready to receive whatever visitors the sounds might indicate. The Spaniard was trembling with fright, and I had a queer, cold feeling in the neighbourhood of my spinal column which was not caused by any frost in the air. Sud- denly there appeared on the edge of the little clearing in which we had camped a man about five feet in height, with broad, high shoulders, very short neck, and a large head, surmounted by a profusion of coarse, black hair. The high cheek-bones, broad mouth, and Roman nose proclaimed him of aboriginal type. His dress was grotesque in the extreme. A round cap without rim or peak sat jauntily well back on his head, and a bright blue cloth around his neck, a sleeveless shirt, made of lace, and a sash of deepest red about the waist all served to announce the semi-civilized Indian. Neither of us seemed anxious to start the con- versation, but after looking each other over carefully I succeeded in mustering up enough courage to ask our visitor what he wanted I spoke in Spanish. Without seeming to move a muscle he replied, curtly. ““No sabe.” I then made some remarks soffo voce in English which, I am afraid, were not particularly complimentary to our early and uninvited guest. The next question came from the visitor. ‘ What do you want here?” he demanded, slowly and distinctly, in plain, unmistakable English. My feeling of surprise was tinged with pleasure at hearing him speak my native tongue Here, I argued, is a man who does not under- stand Spanish, but who speaks English well ; therefore he must have had to do mostly with English-speaking people, and consequently is not likely to be troublesome I then explained to him that I was going through the country to get a correct geographical knowledge of the rivers and mountains, as well as geological data, which would be of service to the great world beyond the seas. - He listened patiently, without moving or speaking, until I had concluded my little speech, when he gave a peculiar grunt and said: “ This country belongs to the San Blas people, and they have occupied it exclusively for many years Wherever the white man goes he carries with him ruin and death to those with whom he comes in contact. He uses a peculiar drink, which makes fools of those who drink it He tells us that our religion is bad and that we are worshipping false gods, and at the same time he destroys our virtues. We will not allow any stranger to come into our country. We are happy ; we have all we want. Our people trade with the white man on the coast and exchange the things he wants, and of which we have too much, for the things we need and of which he has too much. Further than this we will not go. Our wise chiefs have time and again held councils and decided that we will warn all white men to keep out, and then, if they persist in coming, we will treat them as we treat the beasts which destroy our crops. We will not go out- side our own territory to do this, but we are determined to defend ourselves from the evils of which I have spoken.” It was an impressive little speech, and, having concluded it, he whistled, whereupon there appeared, as if by magic, some thirty Indians, dressed more or less like the first, and each carrying in his left hand a rifle and in his right amachete. During this time I had given little thought to my companion, and was beginning to tell the Indian about the harmlessness of my visit and that I would be glad to have a number of them to accompany me, for which service I would pay them, when I was startled by the sharp report of the gun which I had handed to

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THE GOLDEN the Spaniard, followed by a scream. Alarmed, I looked round just in time to see four machetes flying towards the terrified Spaniard. He dodged three of them, but the fourth struck him on the left shoulder, inflicting an ugly and_ serious wound. I soon discovered that the foolish fellow, not understanding the talk between the Indian and myself, concluded that he would do a little missionary work on his own account, and From a) had deliberately put a bullet through the ear of one of the natives! I told the wounded Indian to come to me and I would dress his wound, but he curtly declined. I then attended to the Spaniard’s injury, which was deep and painful. When I had finished my work the Indian leader informed me sternly that we should have to be taken to the village of the South Chief, four days’ journey away, and that our hands must be bound. There seemed to be but little sense in resistance, so we submitted quietly, while our captors took charge of my guns and all my belongings. Then they tied our hands firmly, and not very gently, and we started ina north-easterly direction through the trackless jungle. The leader and two Indians went ahead, the Spaniard and I came next, and the remain- ing twenty-seven followed. Travelling in the jungle unhampered is not easy, but to tramp hour after hour with one’s hands tied is the most unpleasant method of locomotion in which it has ever been my fortune to engage. Time and again I asked for a drink, but the only reply was a laconic “No.” Among A typical view on the Chagres River, BEETLE. it themselves they spoke never a word ; it seemed that we were being led and driven by a lot of mutes. About noon I sat down and told the Spaniard to do the same, refusing to go a step farther without food and water. The leader was then about a hundred yards ahead. The Indian next me, when he heard my determination, whistled, and the chief came back. I explained to him (Photograph. that I was tired, thirsty, and hungry, and if they would not give us food and drink the only way they could possibly get us along would be to carry us. “No food, no drink, no rest until night ; then all,” he replied. ‘Walk you must and shall.” I explained to him that, while it was possible for him to hold that opinion, I must differ very materially from him when it came to facts. “TI am sitting on the ground,” I said, “and you and your whole tribe can’t make me stand up with- out holding me up.” I thought I saw a sardonic smile flicker over his face, but it was gone in a second. He spoke something in an unknown tongue to one of his followers, who instantly disappeared, but soon returned. Then, at the command of the leader, two Indians, one on each side of me, raised my elbows so that the upper parts of my arms were in a horizontal position. I thought they were going to lift me to my feet and determined to render them no assistance. Suddenly, however, I felt the prick of something sharp under each arm, and soon discovered that each of these

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112 THE WIDE men, while holding my elbows up, was at the same time sticking a long sharp spine of a black palm tree into the under side of my arm, from which I could escape only by standing up. I set my teeth, and then gave vent to my feelings in a flow of unparliamentary language, the likz of which I will venture to say had never been heard in that neighbourhood before. The torture was indescribable as they slowly drove the thorns deeper and deeper, but J stub- bornly sat there until these fiends had stuck three of the thorns in each arm. Then I capi- tulated and we resumed our weary march. We stumbled on and on till 1 thought we were never going to stop. ‘The poor Spaniard was suffering greatly from his wound, and he kept up a steady fire of imprecations on our captors. Night came at last and we were allowed to rest while food was being prepared. ‘hey used the meat that I had got ready down by the river, but gave us none of it, feeding us instead on some half-cooked rice, with wretched coffee to wash it down. 1 demanded that they should untie our hands so that we could keep off the mosquitoes, and this, after a short conference, they decided to do. I talked to the Spaniard in his own tongue and, to my joy, found we - were not understood. I asked him what fate he thought was in store for us. He shuddered, saying that we should undoubtedly be killed, and probably tortured into the bargain; these Indians had an extremely bad reputation. What he said filled me with horror, and I told him that at all risks we must make a dash for liberty. ‘Talking it over, we decided to wait until next morning, so that we should be rested. My guns and a knapsack in which I carried my ammuni- tion and tablet food were placed near the leader, who was only about two feet from where I lay, on my right, while on my left were two other Indians. Next to them was the Spaniard. I explained to him that I had my revolver inside my shirt and a belt containing one hun- dred cartridges around my waist next my skin. When I was ready, I told him, I would yawn, upon which he was to throw himself across the bodies of the two Indians between us. Mean- while I would shoot the leader, grab the guns and knapsack, which they had tied together, and break for the trail up which we had come. He was to follow, and as soon as he came up to me we would spring suddenly off the trail into the jungle, and trust to luck that the Indians would miss us in their haste, they thinking that we would certainly keep to the track. This was taking desperate chances, but I had no particular desire to figure in any cannibalistic feast as the chief viand—an eventuality which my Spaniard thought not at all unlikely. WORLD -MAGAZINE. It was nearly morning, and the moon had just disappeared behind the hills, when I gave the signal, shooting the leader in the knee at the same time. ‘Then, springing up, I caught the guns and knapsack in my arms and started down the trail, The Spaniard followed instructions implicitly, except that, in addition, he stuck a pocket-knife into the man nearest him. The Indians were taken entirely by surprise. They had evidently not expected that we would be foolish enough to attempt an escape with such odds against us, and for some time pande- monium reigned among them. Meanwhile we flew along the trail, and after having gone about four hundred yards turned quickly into the jungle and lay down. We could hear the two who had been wounded making a great ado, and presently about twenty of their number passed swiftly down the path in pursuit. We remained in our hiding-place for another fifteen or twenty minutes, fearful that others might be going to follow, but they seemed to be remain- ing behind to care for their leader and wounded companion, doubtless thinking that the party detached was sufficiently strong to capture or kill us, as the case might be. Presently, judging we might safely move, we got to our feet and started off in a southerly direction, so as to get well away from the track. When daylight came we changed our course to one parallel with the path, hoping to get to the Pegueni River, and thence to San Juan, where we knew we should be safe. : Our tramp was arduous in the extreme, for we were without our machetes. To one who has never been in a tropical jungle it is hard to comprehend the difficulty of making any pro- gress at all. Vines hang from almost every bough of every tree, varying in size from a quarter of an inch, or even smaller, to an inch and a half in diameter, and most of them covered with sharp, needle-like thorns or short- hooked spines, which lacerate the hands and face of the traveller cruelly. We had an ordinary day’s journey before us, but it took us three days to make it, and we arrived at our old camping-place, where we had first encountered the Indians, thoroughly worn out. We could hear the roar of the river long before we reached it, and we were careful not to make much noise, fearing that some of the Indians might be lying in wait for us. Our caution in this direction, I believe, saved our lives. When we got to a point whence we could see the river and the clearing, there, sure enough, were five of the savages sitting on the ground, patiently waiting our arrival. I con- cluded that the others had gone back, leaving

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THE GOLDEN BEETLE. 113 Springing up, I caught the guns and knapseck in my arms and started down the trail. these to act as a reception committee, should we make our appearance. We sat down to think over what was best to do. I could have killed two or three of them easily with my rifle from where I sat, but the thought of doing so when I was not in immediate danger was abhorrent to me. I finally made up my mind that with the reverberating roar of the water in their ears, they being near the river, which here tumbled boisterously over a steep Vol. xxiii —16. and rocky bed, they would not be likely to hear the report of my gun, and as the party effectually blocked our road to freedom, I de- cided, for the sake of my com- panion, who was now suffering grievously from his wound, to try to disable the whole band with- out killing any. I, therefore, took deliberate aim at the knee of the nearest man and pulled the trigger. He gave a sharp scream of pain and tried to leap to his feet, but seemed unable to do so. The others were staring at him in surprise, and seemed to beask- ing him thecause of his discomfort, when another caught his foot . between his hands and in turn began to give utterance to howls of pain. Before they realized that something un- usual was hap- pening, I had a third trying to stand on two legs, but he only managed to utilize one, because of a little bullet in his heel. By this time they evidently realized that they had better get under cover, but ere they succeeded in doing this I set the fourth one running around in a circle, with a bullet planted in a spot which I could never have reached had he remained seated. While we sat there awaiting developments, I heard the tramping of several persons coming up the river bank, and soon detected that they

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114 : THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. were talking Spanish. I knew at once that they were not Indians, and were not aware of what was happening so near. Suddenly two of the Indians—one uninjured, the other slightly wounded —came cautiously out of the bush, each carrying his gun and ready to shoot. ‘Taking up my larger gun, I fired in the air to warn those who were coming up the river that there was danger ahead. At the report the Indians stood like statues, hardly seeming to breathe. At last one of them raised his gun to his shoulder, aiming towards me, but before he could pull the trigger the weapon flew out of his hands; a lucky bullet from my rifle had struck his fingers. The other Indian stood his ground, showing no desire to seek cover, while the other two wounded ones crept cut into the open towards their guns, which they had left behind. Only one of the savages was now in a_posi- tion to do any shooting, so I shouted out to them :— “Don’t move or attempt to shoot, or I shall fire to kill, as I have you covered.” All of them looked in my direction, but they failed to see me. I then commanded the one holding the gun to at once throw it down, which he did without delay. Then the pair of us emerged from the clearing and called loudly to the strangers whom we had heard coming up the stream. ‘Three native Spaniards soon appeared, one of whom, as luck would have it, happened to be the man for whom I had done something in a surgical way at San Juan. They had heard, through a hunter, that we had been captured by “bad” Indians, and intended to follow us as far as possible and render what aid they could out of gratitude for what I had done for them. I then set about giving the wounded men what little attention I could, the Indians having all my medical and surgical supplies. ‘The one who was still unwounded volunteered to go back and bring me all they had belonging to me. I told him he might do so and to waste no time, adding that on the first sign of treachery I would surely kill those who were left behind. On carefully examining the wounded, I found that the first one had a bullet lodged under the knee-cap; if he attempted to straighten his leg it would cause him very severe pain, so he was safe without being tied up. The second one had the bullet buried in the soft tissues on the upper part of the foot ; the third had the tendon completely severed near its attachment to the heel-bone, or, in medical parlance, the os cadets. The fourth was suffering from a painful flesh wound which made it more comfortable for him to stand than sit. ‘Ihe second and fourth, there- fore, I felt should be tied up, so as to render them safe while we slept, and I must say that I derived a certain amount of pleasure in the binding process, not having forgotten my own recent experiences. Next morning, about seven o’clock, the Indian who had been sent after my traps arrived with everything in good order. He was accompanied by three others, carrying their wounded leader. I at once proceeded to dress and care for the injured. My companion, of course, came first. His wound had become infected and was giving him a great deal of pain, but the poor fellow bore it with great patience. The Indians were stoical. I easily removed the bullet from the leg of the wounded leader, but found it quite a difficult task to get the bullet from under the knee-cap of the first one shot down by the river. At last, however, I suc- ceeded, and the grunt of relief which the fellow gave when I exhibited the little bit of lead indicated a degree of satisfaction which could not have been better expressed with articulate speech. With the next two there was little difficulty, and the last one, I decided, had better carry his pellet as a reminder. We-—that is, the three men from San Juan, my Spaniard, and myself—now prepared to take our departure ; but before we did so the leader of the Indians called me to him and gave me a curious-looking golden beetle. He informed me that if ever I came into their country again, and would show this token to the first Indian I met, I would not have any repetition of the painful experiences through which I had gone during the past four days. All of them seemed grateful that I had not killed them outright, as I might have done, instead of only slightly wounding them. We then started down stream on the paved road, leaving the Indians to them- selves, and safely arrived at San Juan. Here we rested for a while, and then arranged with our three San Juan friends to take us down the river in a flat-bottomed cayucca. We landed at Matachin on the morning of January 25th, and made at once for the hospital at Culebra, where I placed my companion in the care of the very able staff of physicians and nurses maintained by the Isthmian Canal Commission. Needless to say, I took great care of my gold beetle, and later on, when I went into the San Blas country from a different point, I found that the chief had not misled me—it was an instantaneous passport to the friendship and assistance of every Indian I encountered.

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THE RIDDLE OF THE ZAMBESI. *, W. Sykes, LATE District COMMISSIONER OF THE VICTORIA FALLS. A distant view of the Victoria Falls, showing the cloud of vapour which hangs over the cascade—The native name of the mighty cataract is ‘ The Sounding Smoke. ‘What becomes of the mighty Zambesi after leaping the world-famous Falls and disappearing into the forbidding-looking gorge beyond? That was the riddle which the author set himself to solve, for up to 1go1, when he arrived upon the spot, no white man had penetrated more than a few miles into the great ravine. Undaunted by tremendous natural difficulties, Mr. Sykes plunged boldly into the unknown, and here places on record the results of his adventurous journey, illustrated with his owr. impressive photographs by kind permission of the British South Africa Company. RN May, rgor, on one of those bright Mj clear mornings which follow each -other with such commendable regu- larity on the high veld of Rhodesia during the winter months, I saddled up in Buluwayo for the Falls. In those days it was a ride of close upon three hundred miles. The ¢rain de /uxe which now carries the tourist up in less than twenty hours did not exist, except perhaps in the imaginative brain of Cecil Rhodes, and a journey of nearly as many days had to be thought of and provided for. My compagnon de voyage was George Grey, the pioneer of the Tanganyika Concessions in North- Western Rhodesia and the Congo, who was bound for the Far North beyond the Zambesi to open up the large mineral propositions which to- day are so well known by repute in the mining world. I was going to enter upon my duties as District Commissioner at the Victoria Falls under the British South Africa Company. We duly arrived at the wonderful Falls after a sixteen days’ journey. Although for some years afterwards duty or pleasure took me twice or thrice a week into the spray-zone of the Falls, one can never forget the first impression con- veyed to the mind by that mighty avalanche of water hurled from the upper river into the seething abyss three hundred feet below. It is the sensation of a lifetime. After days of weary monotony through a country of burnt veld, arid rocks, and hot sand, with watering-places at long intervals, perhaps the wanton wealth of water, the glory of the evergreen foliage, this superb picture of rainbows hovering over snow-white cascades, this miracle of immensity and depth, the grand diapason accompaniment surging upwards into a very atmosphere of sound—perhaps, by contrast with what had gone before, these were accentuated. Be this as it may, nothing in life can ever obliterate the memory of what seemed to

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116 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. be a revelation of all that was beautiful and sublime. On our journey up Grey, who had travelled through these parts before, surprised me by a remark made one night over the camp fire, whilst we were dis- cussing the country whither we were bound. I had just been expressing regret that my sphere of duty was not in some remoter part, which would give one an opportunity toexplore. “T don’t know what you want better than the Falls,” was his reply ; “you have un- explored country at your very door. So far as I am aware, no one has ever been down .the gorge, certainly not more than a very few miles.” The reason for this 1 had good cause to know later. Within three months of my arrival on the banks of the Zambesi the oppor- tunity to essay this trip into the unknown arrived. Head- quarters had sent me a detailed sketch of the district under my control. Roughly speaking, it comprised a strip of territory one hundred and_ thirty miles long by about thirty miles wide, with the Zambesi River as its southern base. Now, the duty of every Commissioner who is worth his salt is to make himself acquainted, as soon as he reasonably can, with the topography of that portion of the province committed to his charge and with the natives who live there. Consequently, duty and pleasure may be made to go hand in hand. Moreover, in a country where fever - dodging is the order of the’ day, nothing conduces to health more than Some of the Author's porters and their loads. The expedition crossing a tributary stream. From Photographs. change of air and exercise. Daily routine work in an office is more or less detrimental to physical well-being anywhere, the more so when that office happens to be a small mud-hut with a thatched roof situate in the Zambesi Valley. I simply mention these apparently trivial matters to disabuse the reader’s mind of any erroneous ideas he might form on the raison @étre of the proposed trip. ‘Then again, the mysterious disappearance of one of Africa’s largest rivers in one’s very district. was without doubt a matter calling for immediate investi- gation. Having success- fully negotiated the dreaded month - end with its reports, re- ‘turns, and pay-sheets, 1 emerged from the office with a clear conscience into the more congenial atmo- sphere of guns, porters, provisions, and camera outfit. Already I had sent for several native head-men living in the vicinity of the Gorge, and in a course of interviews had elicited all available informatton. How infinitesimal that available quotum is only those who know the native can really appreciate! He will tell you all he has thought, heard, seen, and imagined. Then, when he thinks he has discovered what you want to know, he will imagine a lot more. Above all, he wishes to communicate pleasant news. An old Batoka native, ‘‘ September ” by name, had acted as factotum and interpreter to my predecessor, and as I had not yet mastered the language, “September” acted in the same capacity to myself. He had picked up a fair smattering

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ydv1F0}04.1) “SSA OM) MOjaq ABM of v aBI0H WsoquIBZ oy], ZAMBESI. = ical fe ° a ra me, Q =

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118 THE WIDE WORLD of English in Kimberley, Palapye, and Francis- town, and, being a schemer of much guile, had been “hoofed out” of more than one situation. However, he had an intimate knowledge of at least four dialects, knew every native in the district, was cordially distrusted by them all, and, in short, was very useful. What did he know about the Gorge? Was there anything worth seeing if you followed it down? From the depths of his inner con- sciousness he evolved at least three wonders. There was a natural bridge of rocks, across which you came from one side to the other ; there was a large cave where hundreds of natives used to take refuge from their bloodthirsty enemies, the Matabele and Barotse, and there was another fall. As events proved, there was an ingenious flavour of truth in all these state- ments. Anyway, the possibility of but one of them becoming a reality fired my imagination, and, having decided to devote a fortnight or more to the enterprise, I soon made the final dispositions preparatory to a start. The official map was no less vague than native information. Referring to the Gorge, the map stated: “It is said to extend for at least twenty miles.” The addition of another hundred would, as a matter of fact, be nearer the mark. There are three accepted ways of descending a gorge—in a canoe with occasional portages ; on foot, along the top of one bank or the other ; and along the bottom following the rock- floor or beach line. No doubt a fourth, by balloon or aeroplane, may soon be added, and this last would be by far the most comfortable. I should have been saved a lot of trouble by trying a canoe, as it and its occupants would not have survived the first bend. This was practically demonstrated with an old Canadian craft which I caused to be launched at the bottom of the Palm Kloof, within a hundred and fifty yards of the base of the Valls. Once in the grip of the resistless current it raced on the convex centre of the stream—for so great is the constriction of the waters in this narrow gullet that a regular camber is formed—and then suddenly, as if drawn down by invisible hands, the canoe was sucked under and dis- appeared. Anyone, therefore, desiring a novel and effective form of suicide might bear this in mind. A preliminary inspection of the first mile or two of the Gorge left me in no doubt that the only possible method was to follow the edge of the cliff wherever practicable and descend to water-level if opportunity offered. On close inquiry from natives who have built their kraals on the edge of this desolate region I was told that there were only four recognised MAGAZINE. “ doors,” as they term them, by which access to the bottom of the Gorge may be obtained. There was an evident diffidence in disclosing these to a white man, the reason being as follows. For many years past the Batoka natives had beena ready prey to Matabele impis from the south as well as to their near neighbours, the Barotse, from the Upper Zambesi. ‘They had for generations been regarded as fair game; their women and children had been carried off as slaves, their kraals burnt, and those who survived these periodical onslaughts owed their very existence to the cover provided by the inaccessible country through which the Gorge has been eroded. Small wonder, then, that the secret passes should be jealously guarded from the eyes of strangers ! “Who knows,” they no doubt argued, “at some future day these very white men who come up from the south may turn upon us, and we may have to hide ourselves again?” I perfectly well understood their obstinate reticence on the subject, and it was only by patient manceuvring that the desired information was slowly dis- closed. At six o’clock, one chill August morning, the camp was astir. ‘Lhirtyeor more natives, col- lected from the surrounding kraals, presented themselves at the office enclosure. Miserable enough they looked at this early hour, having just turned out of a warm blanket into the nippy air. Names were then called over, packs shouldered, and off they marched under the direction of half-a-dozen police and a few uniformed native messengers. “September” brought up the rear. As they filed off into the veld one catches a glimpse over their heads of Mosi-oa-tunya, “The Sounding Smoke,” which in the distant landscape denotes the line of the ~ mile-wide Falls by a dense white column towering upwards to a height of at least a thousand feet. To find out what becomes of the river which. the earth appears to have so mysteriously swallowed up was the task to be addressed for the next couple of weeks, and with the joy in prospect of visiting untrodden places, of indulging that lust of horizon which every traveller knows to be a cumulative passion, I set forth upon the quest. After a long con- sultation with “September” I decided to have my canip pitched, whenever practicable, just on the verge of the broken country, and thence make for different points of the Gorge each day. To enable the reader to appreciate some of the difficulties encountered in the effort to obtain a continuous series of views a few words upon the general character of the country will be necessary. ‘The Gorge itself, commencing at the Falls, has vertical walls of black basalt from three to four hundred feet in height ; at the end

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THE RIDDLE From a) of thirty miles or so there is a perceptible falling- off from the perpendicular. This vast crevice, through which the mighty Zambesi has flowed for untold zons, averages two hundred feet in width at the water-line, whilst the distance from brink to brink of the opposing sides varies from four hundred to as many thousand feet. The OF THE ZAMBESI. (Photograph. average depth of water at full flood cannot be much less than ninety feet. These few figures will sufficiently indicate the Titanic proportions of this weird freak of Nature. Compass bearings give a general west to east direction, but in detail the course is S-shape, whilst in places an abrupt corner shows the river “doubling ” on its track.

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120 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. For a distance of from three to eight miles on either side of the Gorge the country is an in- describably tumbled mass of boulder-strewn hills and ridges alternating with innumerable creeks, gullies, ravines, and gorges. Seldom does one come across more than a few square yards of flat country. The main subsidiary gorges run for the most part at right angles towards the parent Gorge again, with other ravines running into them at every angle. Stunted trees and coarse grass, stretching as far as the eye can reach, eke out a scanty existence in this desolate region. What few birds, beasts, and insects there are appear to have strayed into this inhospitable area by mistake. Shunned by most living things, haunted by the spirit of eternal solitude, the scene fixes itself in the memory as some- thing separated for all time from human ken. It appeared almost an impertinence to obtrude oneself in this vast wilderness. In the very centre, and below all- this, thunder along the waters of what was the fair Zambesi, hustled round corners, foaming down jagged reaches, sluiced through gutted channels, spun into whirlpools, ever hurrying on, as if eager to escape the thraldom of this rock-bound prison and resume a placid existence in the haven beyond. Ibwezero—“ the place where you find things ” —is the name of a bend of the Gorge less than a mile from the Falls. Here the river seems to pause for awhile—maybe overcome by its recent astounding leap into space. Deep green and sluggish, the water has a rotary movement, the whirl of the undertow. An hour’s stecp clamber will enable one to visit the small beach of white sand at its margin and return. In bygone years this spot gained its title in a strange manner. When elephant, buffalo, and the larger species of antelope might be counted in their hundreds along the grassy margin of the upper river, the natives adopted the fiendish practice of driving herds of them over the lip of the Falls. An organized band of hunters, provided with spears, horns, and drums, would execute a sweeping movement some miles up_ river, driving the game before them down the left bank. In the meantime another band were stationed on the rising ground immediately above the Falls. As the game approached these latter closed in, forcing the wretched brutes into the river and so causing them to be swept over Ibwerere. “the place where you find things" —In bygone days the natives used to drive whole herds of game over the precipice and recover the carcasses from the river at this point. Weneeee “a i

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THE RIDDLE OF THE ZAMBESI. 121 the cataract. Then these noble sportsmen quietly betook themselves to Ibwezero, and there awaited the arrival of the remains of their quarry. Carried down by the current, the car- casses, reduced to pulp, in due course reached the whirlpool; here they were harpooned and dragged ashore, a harvest of meat resulting. A more revolting picture of wanton destruction could scarcely be imagined. Ten miles lower down—less as the crow flies, but as I was not a crow the simile permits of no practical application and promontories. Its bottle-green surface was flecked with patches of white foam where impeding rocks in mid-stream obstructed its headlong career. At first glance it was difficult to follow the intricate windings in proper sequence. A muffled roar proceeding upwards from our extreme left indicated the noise of release into a less tortuous channel. Leaving this, we followed our guide down a corkscrew track, the only danger being the stones dislodged by those who follow, varying in size from a Seated on a rock, over what looks like a boiling cauldron, 1 watched the torrent coursing down. From a Photograph. in this instance—is the second “door.” Even at this short distance from the Falls I had to wait twenty-four hours before I could obtain a guide. He appeared in the person of one Kalonga, a small, wiry patriarch with a white beard. I was camped on the Songwe, a small tributary which I had vainly endeavoured to follow down to its confluence with the Zambesi. A devious scramble of an hour or so over bouldery country at the heels of Kalonga brought us to the verge of a crag jutting out from the Gorge wall. Spell-bound we gazed at the panorama which a few strides had suddenly disclosed to our vision. Beneath us, at a depth of five hundred feet or more, the dwarfed river, first seen * emerging round a terraced corner half a mile above, glided into a perfect labyrinth of islets Vol. xxiii. —16. tennis-ball to a grindstone. Grasping at bushes and grass to resist the force of gravitation down vertical drops of several feet, we eventually found ourselves on the rock - floor, a great mass of round, water-worn boulders, shining black and slippery. These in turn gave way to white sand of extraordinary fineness, which emitted a peculiar groan of tuneful protest with each footstep ; a more conversational sub- stance I had never met with before. Seated on a rock, over what looks like a boiling cauldron, I watched the torrent coursing down through its sombre surroundings. Now boring into the base of a cliff, whence it rebounded at a right angle, now bubbling up in spasms, it whirled round a projecting corner only to be tossed in a seething flurry of foam over the next rapid.

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122 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Presently we were joined by Namakabwa, the old man of the Gorge, who for many years had lived the simple life in a cave close at hand. For a hermit he was most cheerful, and con- ducted us to his shelter under the cliff. Here were his fishing-baskets, spears, and cooking- pots. He was a striking example of how to live on nothing a year. His visits to the upper surface, I was told, were not frequent during the fishing season, and then only for the pur- pose of exchanging a por- tion of his catch for grain. The next point of in- terest was a series of cata- racts, near the spot where the Mamba, another tribu- tary, joins the main stream. From the vantage point of a neighbouring height a more extended view than usual is obtained. To the right the broken water of a wide cataract sweeps into a calm stretch. At the end of this, and imme- diately beneath one, the subsidiary walls narrow inwards; here there is a drop, and through the [ Photograph. stream is sluiced with terrific force. To the left a noble reach, nearly a mile long, ends in the inevitable abrupt corner. Descending with what speed we may, sitting, sliding, and checking continually, one arrives without mishap, but only after much friction, at constricted channel the From a) Namakebwa, the hermit of the Gorge, in his cave. (Photograph.

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| THE RIDDLE OF THE ZAMBESI. 123 the Fall. The width of the stream here is certainly not more than eighty feet. Imagine all the water of the mile-wide Zambesi com- pressed into this narrow gut with a nearly vertical drop of thirty feet, and you may gain some idea of the enormous pressure sustained by the enclosing basalt walls. Here I, as the Dutch say, “got a scrik” (shock or fright). Determined to obtain the best picture possible with my stand camera, I stepped across a crevice on to an isolated rock almost in front of the Fall, where there was barely room to stand and operate the instrument. I had just succeeded in taking the photograph ravines, at another descending narrow water- courses which had to be negotiated with bare feet—for the water-polished surface was as slippery as glass—one would arrive at an tmpasse where a sheer drop of from fifty to a hundred feet would compel one to desist and try another route. Often it was a matter of difficulty to locate our camp as the sun sank, and for this reason one night was spent in the open without food or blankets. Still, these contretemps might naturally be expected in a journey of this nature. Whilst on the subject of this rough country, I must mention one hill in particular which I dare swear has never received the imprint of a human EE 4. == a i} The waters of the mile-wide Zambesi are here constricted into a gut not more than eighty feet across. From a Photograph, when a spasm of more than usual violence sent a wave right over the spot on which I. stood. Fortunately, it was not sufficiently violent to carry me with it, or this article would never have been written. It was enough, however, to cause me to evacuate the position with the least possible delay, being a direct hint that the untrammelled forces of Nature are not to be trifled with. From Tsyamamba onwards travelling became increasingly difficult. On several occasions I spent a whole day without ever reaching the Gorge at all. After three or four hours of solid climbing, at one time down almost perpendicular foot. It was conical in shape, situated between my camp and the Gorge. On two successive days I tried to reach its side, but failed both times. Completely encircled at its base by an impassable gorge, it rose up to a considerable height, but the view from its summit will ever remain a mystery—to me at least. Several days of this sort of thing brought me to a country where the surface was less broken up in detail, but where the tributary ravines were on a grander scale than anything I had as yet encountered. Looking Gorgewards, a billowy succession of formidable hills greeted the eye. My camp was pitched for the time

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124 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. being on the apex of a rock-ribbed kopje adjacent to “ Kalonga’s Cleft,” an immense fissure in point of depth, but so narrow that rocks detached from above had in falling become wedged in the jaws of it. Beyond this was dis- closed the starting-point of another yawning rift, with precipitous walls cleaving the hills to their very foundations, and ultimately breaking into the main channel eight or nine miles to the south, And all this was the life-work of what, when we were there, was a little tinkling stream, a mere runlet, which, following the line of least resistance for who shall say how many thousands of years, through the steep water-shed, had be * Kalonga’ 's Cleft," a fissure of immense height, yet so narrow that falling rocks become iam in the jaws of it. From a Photograph. ‘

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THE RIDDLE OF From al performed a feat almost rivalling its great for- wear. My guide here was “ Monari ”—so called from the fact of his being born at the time of Livingstone’s first visit to the Zambesi, Monari being the great explorer’s native name. A tall fellow he was, with huge splay feet. As a tireless walker I have seldom met his equal, and to follow those great feet through a long day over difficult country recalled the simile of “panting Time.” For two whole days we attempted to discover the main gorge, but with- out success. I knew the general direction, but, go which way we might, after hours of Alpine gymnastics we invariably came to a halt on the edge of some steep declivity which effectually stopped further progress, Nothing short of a windlass or balloon would have helped matters. However, these set-backs only increased my determination to solve the problem, for from what “September ” had gathered there did exist a “door.” The solution came about in the person of Kalonga. In an unguarded moment he allowed that he knew but was afraid to tell, as the “door” led to the place of refuge we had heard so much about. The old fellow, on being taxed with concealing his knowledge, was quite candid. It was a traditional secret, which he was reluctant to give away. I assured him that the days of necessity for such were gone by, and this, backed up by a bribe, achieved the desired purpose. Next morning at daybreak we were again on the quest, with Kalonga in the lead. He made a bee-line for the summit of a hill about three miles distant, the far side of which was scored with gullies and ravines. After some hesitation he selected one of these and, with sundry THE ZAMBESI. One of the curious deposits of snow-white sand to be found in the Gorge. cautions to us to proceed carefully, led the way down the bed of a steep watercourse. Like a troop of baboons we clambered over the boles of fallen trees, forced our way through thick undergrowth, dodging deep pools of water and making constant détours to escape a too hurried descent over vertical slabs, and at length came to a point where we diverged into a yet more difficult crevice. A further prolonged scramble, and we emerged from the chaos into the open sunlight of a magnificent cliff valley. Down the centre flowed a considerable stream of sparkling water, fringed on either side with soft turf of greenest hue. In a dead straight line for more than a mile we followed this delectable route. I remarked the presence of shoals of fish lying near the surface of the clear pools, and was not a little astonished to observe very recent signs of a school of hippo, the first seen since leaving the river above the Falls. A large mound of snow- white sand marked the spot where this stream flowed into the Zambesi, the roar of whose torrent burst on our ears as we came out on to the familiar rock- floor of the Gorge. Following this down for half a mile over the surface of giant pebbles, we arrived at a point where the river disappeared from view through towering walls, rising sheer upwards from the stream and leaving not one single inch of foot-space on either brink. Guided by Kalonga, we followed a well-worn path sloping upwards to a_ small plateau between the hills. Here were the remains of native huts, old grain - bins and shards of cuoking-pots, surrounded by the flowering weeds which always spring up round deserted kraals. This, then, was the place of refuge.

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126 The story attached to it, as told to me, is that a Batoka native had two comely daughters, the fame of whose beauty had reached the ears of the young bloods of the Barotse. To save themselves from the inevitable fate in store, they and several members of the family fled to this secluded spot and remained for two years without ever venturing back to the upper country. Their would-be masters, it is stated, searched for months to discover their hiding-place, but had to return disappointed from a bootless errand. Upon our return to camp “September ” dole- fully informed me that our supply of grain had nearly given out. I had allowed for two more THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. which grows all over this stony country; with this, it appears, the porters had already supple- mented their grain ration, and were now prepared to subsist on it entirely. Two days more brought us to tue Kalomo, and this being the end of my district I turned away with few regrets from the desolate environ- ment of the Gorge towards the roll'ng downs of the high veld, where one could walk fifty yards without a pitfall, or, what was still better, ride. Once amongst the game, I was soon enabled to reward my porters for their voluntary short commons with a plentiful supply of buck-meat. So ended my three weeks’ adventure. From aj days at least. What was to be done? ‘There was no possibility of obtaining more, the nearest kraals were miles behind us, and the country ahead was, of course, hopeless. Obviously, the bulk of the party must return. What happened improved my opinion of the native. After dis- cussing the situation with “September” I told him to prepare to return on the morrow with all the porters, whilst I would go on with a couple of messengers and endeavour to reach my objective —the Kalomo River. He returned half an hour later, saying that all the porters wished to accom- pany me; they would manage to find food and could hold out for some days yet. Farther inquiry revealed the existence of a large yam n A point where the waters of the Zambesi flow peacefully between the rocky walls of the Gorge. B div) hotograf h. Just three years later it was my pleasure and privilege to introduce Mr. G. W.. Lamplugh, F.R.S., the well-known geologist, to my dis- coveries. He set at rest for ever the disputes which had arisen in scientific circles as to the origin and probable future of the Victoria Falls and Gorge. We had as our companion the much-lamented Colonel Frank Rhodes, who, to our great sorrow, passed away not long afterwards in Cape Town. On that occasion we made acquaintance with the Zambesi after leaving the Gorge, and at Wankie’s found that it settled down into a broad, sober, and quiet stream flow- ing between banks of normal height and appear- ance, as every self-respecting river ought to do.

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A Hero’s Life-Story. . By Davip A. Piatt, oF LAWRENCEBURG, INDIANA, U.S.A. An account of the amazing career of a man who, apparently, never knew the meaning of fear—Mr. Nicholas Oberting, of Lawrenceburg, Indiana. In the course of a long career as policeman, marshal, and special officer, he met with innumerable thrilling adventures, being instrumental in breaking up several desperate bands of outlaws. Marvellous to relate, he never used any other weapon than his fists, “T guarantee the absolute authenticity of the narrative," says Mr. Piatt, ‘‘and the details given can be vouched for by numerous persons conversant with the facts.” ARELY indeed is it for the life of a ‘) man whose days have been spent ~ \y exclusively within the confines of a) civilization to be fraught with thrilling adventures, hairbreadth escapes, and valorous deeds outrivalling the most sensational fiction. - Such, however, has been the experience of Nicholas Oberting, of Lawrenceburg, Indiana, whose achievements have been immortalized in song and story, and who is in many respects one of the most remarkable men in America. In the course of an eventful career, covering more thantwenty years of active service as a member of the police force of Lawrenceburg, marshal of that municipality, and a special officer in the employ of various corpora- tions, Oberting has saved seven human lives at the peril of his own, made nearly five hundred arrests, many of which were of desperadoes of a formidable type, and broken up one of the most infamous bands of lawbreakers that ever infested the Ohio Valley. And, still more strange to relate, never, even while en- gaged in the most desperate of undertakings, has he had recourse to weapons other than those with which Nature has so adequately equipped him; but these have been used with such effectiveness that he has sustained only one wound of any conse- quence. Oberting is a native of France, his birthplace being in Alsace, near Strasbourg, in the historic territory which was for so many years a bone of contention between Ger- many and France. His father, John Oberting, who was one of the Old Guard of Napoleon, Mr. Nicholas Oberting, whose amazing life- story is here graphically related. able one, From a Photograph. emigrated to America in 1852, when Nicholas was but three years of age, settling in Dearborn County, Indiana, where, in common with several fellow-emigrants, he founded the picturesque hamlet of New Alsace. At the age of fifteen young Oberting became a resident of Lawrenceburg, where he speedily established a reputation for unflinching courage and reckless daring, no danger being too grave for him to face, no feat too hazardous for him to attempt. Endowed with almost phenomenal physique and agility, he easily gained the dis- tinction of being the most + skilful boxer, expert swimmer, | and fleetest sprinter along the Ohio River. He was practically invincible in aquatic sports and contests of strength and endurance. Three years later Oberting applied for appointment to the police force; but the application, owing to his extreme youth, was refused. Disappointed in his most ardent desire, he procured employment on the ferry-boat which plied between Law- renceburg and the Kentucky shore. This step marked a turning-point in the lad’s life. Several days after he entered upon his duties at the ferry, Colonel Thomas Willis, a prominent farmer of Boone County, Kentucky, was taking a drove of cattle across from Lawrenceburg on the ferry- boat when a vicious bull, whose feet had been hobbled as a precaution against acci- dent, partially broke from its fastenings and plunged over- board in midstream, sinking almost immediately. The animal being a very valu- Colonel Willis offered a liberal reward for

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128 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) its rescue. Oberting volunteered to make the attempt. With a keen-bladed knife clutched between his teeth he dived to the bottom of the river, where he speedily located the bull and, after considerable difficulty, liberated it with a few strokes of the sharp blade. Freed of its fetters, the animal rose at once to the surface. Oberting, however, was less for- tunate. His efforts to free the bull had caused him to sink almost knee-deep in a treachcrous quagmire at the bottom of the river, and it was only through almost superhuman exertion that he succeeded in extricating himself. When the youth reached the surface his strength was nearly spent, but his presence of mind did not desert him Espying the bull, which was a short distance away, swimming lustily for the shore, he, with a last desperate effort, reached out and grasped it by the tail, where he clung, utterly exhausted, while the animal towed him ashore amid the plaudits of the numerous spectators. Colonel Willis tendered him fifty dollars, which, however, the lad refused to accept. “You owe me nothing,” he said. “How is that?” inquired the astonished Kentuckian. “You rescued the bull.” “True,” admitted Oberting ; adding, naively, “but the bull rescued me.” “No amount of persuasion would induce him to accept any remuneration for his valiant ser- vice, but the grateful Willis secretly interceded in his behalf and secured for him the police appointment he coveted. At the time Oberting was serving his novitiate as a police officer Lawrenceburg was regarded as one of the worst towns along the Ohio River between Pittsburg and Cairo, Not only did the Indiana city possess its own quota of unde- sirable citizens, but it was a sort of haven for tiver “thugs,” gamblers, and thieves, who came and went continually, usually requiring police Mr. Oberting’s home near Lawrenceburg, Indiana. ay (Photograph. attention. Particular sources of menace to the public safety were bands of tramps, who periodically invaded the vicinity, committing various depredations with impunity, and not hesitating at personal violence when interfered with. Through Oberting’s instrumentality such characters soon learnt to give Lawrenceburg a wide berth. In the spring of the year following his assump- tion of police duties a band of tramps applied for food to Samuel McEIfresh, Township Trustee. They were given’ three meals, but an insolent demand for lodging was refused, whereupon they became abusive and stated that unless their demand was granted they would take the ‘Trustee to the river and drown him. McElfresh was obdurate, so, quickly overpowering, binding, and gagging him, the ruffians carried him toward the river. Oberting, apprised of this outrage, hurried to the scene just in time to prevent the consumma- tion of a tragedy. Single-handed and unarmed, the youthful officer attacked the tramps, who numbered a round dozen, with such ferocity that they speedily abandoned all show of resist- ance and fled—that is, all save three of them, who were not in a physical condition conducive to rapid locomotion. Two of these Oberting bore to jail on his shoulders. McElfresh always maintained that but for the intervention of the doughty officer he would have been murdered in cold blood. During the same year four ruffians applied to Alexander Beckman, another Township Trustee, who was also wharfmaster, for financial assist- ance. Upon being refused, one of them drew a revolver and opened fire, seriously wounding the official. Oberting, who had been detailed to patrol the river front, heard the report of the weapon and hastened to the wharf, arriving there just in time to prevent the murder of Beckman.

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A HERO’S LIFE-STORY. 129 Unscathed by several shots that were fired at him, the officer speedily had the four tramps in irons. These and kindred exploits resulted in Oberting’s election, in the spring of 1877, to the office of City Marshal, in which capacity he attained his chief official distinction by the capture of the Fairwell gang, a notorious band of thieves and highwaymen who had terrorized Dearborn and adjacent counties for nearly a decade. This lawless band—of which Bob Fairwell and his brother Frank, notoriously evil characters, were the acknowledged leaders—way- laid and robbed travellers in broad daylight on the public highways ; drove to market and sold, as their own, cattle and other livestock belonging to farmers throughout the rural districts ; looted country stores under the very eyes of the proprietors; and committed many other out- rages unhindered, so thoroughly had they established their reign of terror. Oberting vowed that if they carried their depredations into his jurisdiction he would land every member of the band behind prison bars i From a) or lose his life in the attempt. Apparently, as a direct result of this statement, which was in effect a challenge, a pedlar was held up, robbed, and beaten into insensibility within the corporate limits of Lawrenceburg. Within an hour after the news of this fresh outrage reached the authorities, Oberting entered upon the cleverest and most Vol. xxiii—-17, The rendezvous of the Fairwell gang. daring piece of detective work he ever accomplished. The Fairwell brothers lived in a weather-beaten log cabin, situated in a dense wood near the Ohio-Indiana line. Believing the place to be the headquarters of the gang, Oberting began his investigations at this point. Confiding his purpose to no one, the marshal, in the guise of a stock-buyer, haunted the vicinity for a fort- night. During this time he succeeded in obtain- ing an excellent knowledge of the operations of the gang. It was his custom to steal up to the cabin in the wood, under the cover of dark- ness, and, removing a stone from an opening in the rear wall, view and hear everything that transpired in the most important councils of the band. In this manner he obtained sufficient evidence to justify the arrest of the seven members. He preferred, however, to take them red-handed, and the opportunity he sought was not long deferred. On one of his secret expeditions to the cabin he overheard the Fairwells plotting to rob, on the following night, an aged couple who lived Uhotograph. in the neighbourhood, and who were reputed to have large sums of money concealed about their humble home. Oberting, elated over this knowledge, lost no time in taking steps to thwart their villainous purpose. Returning to Lawrenceburg, the marshal organized a posse of brave and resolute men,

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130 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Fairwell was overtaken in midstream, where he furiously resisted the officer. whom he led to the relief of the imperilled old people. Arriving at their destination, they found flames leaping from the house, which the robbers had fired. Oberting reached the scene of the outrage barely in time to frustrate a most inhuman act. Incensed over their inability to ascertain the whereabouts of the wealth they coveted, several members of the band were bearing the old man and his wife, tightly bound, toward the fire, with the avowed intention of casting them into the flames unless they disclosed the hiding-place of their treasure. Before this atrocious purpose could be carried out, however, Oberting and his posse sprang from the shelter of the wood and fell upon the unsuspecting miscreants. With a few well- directed blows the marshal felled the ruffians, and, liberating their victims, bore them to a place of safety. After a moment of ineffectual resistance, the Fairwell contingent turned and fled incontinently before the onslaught of the officers, taking a scattered course toward the Great Miami River. Bob Fairwell, closely pursued by Oberting, reached the river, and, taking to the water, started to swim across into Ohio, where he could defy capture by the Indiana authorities. Without a moment’s hesi- tation Oberting followed. Fairwell was overtaken in midstream, where he furiously resisted the officer, whose peril was intensified by the fact that several of the ruffian’s friends, congregated -on shore, were hurling stones and cudgels at his head in reckless dis- regard for the safety of their leader. Several of these missiles struck Oberting about the face, but he grimly clung to his prisoner until the arrival of his posse, who took the cowardly rascals into custody. The outlaw leader was

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A HERO’S dragged ashore more dead than alive. To his chagrin, Oberting found that Frank Fairwell and Anthony Stoll, another member of the disrupted band, had made good their escape. The following autumn the marshal was given a writ of attachment for a houseboat owned by a man who had long been under police surveil- lance, and who was believed to be on the eve of leaving the State. Learning that a writ had been issued, the shrewd rascal, having a good deal more‘at stake than the boat and its scanty furnishings, pushed the craft out into the river and floated away some time before the officer arrived. In company with a courageous deputy, the marshal followed in a small skiff, coming upon the houseboat, about midnight, snugly anchored at the mouth of a small creek some miles below Lawrenceburg. Feeling themselves secure from capture, the occupants of the boat had retiréd to rest, and Oberting : found no difficulty in boarding the craft, hoisting its anchor, and pushing out into the river. When it was about in midstream, two men emerged from the cabin of the boat and attacked the officers. The deputy was promptly thrown overboard, leaving Oberting to cope single - handed with the furious pair, who, armed with revolvers which they fired at him repeatedly, proved for- midable adversaries. After a severe struggle, however, the twain were overcome and, as the marshal thought, securely bound. To his great surprise and_ satisfac- tion one of the pri- soners proved to be Frank Fairwell. In the cabin of the house- boat Oberting found a copper still of about two gallons’ capacity, together with other accessories for the manufacture of illicit whisky. While the marshal was taking an . SS bee os Split Rock, the scene of Oberting’s struggle with the outlaw, Frank Fairwell. LIFE-STORY. 131 inventory of these contraband articles, Fairwell, in some inexplicable manner, broke his bonds and, springing into the river, swam toward the Kentucky shore. Abandoning the drifting boat and his remain- ing prisoner, Oberting leapt overboard and swam after the escaping outlaw, whose head and shoulders showed up clearly in the moonlight as he ploughed through the water. Despite the fact that the officer gained on his quarry at every stroke, Fairwell, owing to the advantage he had gained at the start, reached the shore ahead of his pursuer. Shaking the water from his sodden garments he dashed away inland. Oberting, reaching the bank a moment later, followed swiftly in his wake. For fully an hour Fairwell eluded the marshal in the darkness of the wooded cliffs that lined the shore. Finally he was driven to bay on the brink of a deep chasm known as Split Rock, rT From a Photograph.

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132 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. where a terrible hand-to-hand struggle ensued, both men going over the cliff locked in each other’s arms. Their fall, however, was broken by a dense growth of fir-trees at the base of the precipice. After much difficulty Oberting extri- cated Fairwell from the tree-top and bore him to the riverside, where he was joined by his deputy, who had regained the boat and poled it From a) ashore. The two officers returned with the houseboat and their prisoners to Lawrenceburg, where Fairwell and his confederate subsequently paid full penalty for their various misdeeds. Oberting’s clever and courageous work in the apprehension and conviction of all save one member of the Fairwell gang ensured his triumphant re-election the following year, and during his second term of office he was fortu- nate enough to capture the one member of the band remaining at large. In the spring of 1880 the inhabitants in the vicinity of Lost Bridge, a historic structure spanning the Great Miami River, near Elizabeth- town, Ohio, were terrorized by bold highwaymen, whose operations, for the most part, were con- ducted in the bridge itself, a covered wooden affair, which was an ideal scene for deeds of lawlessness. Oberting decided upon a clever and daring ruse to capture the highwaymen. Disguised as a farmer, the marshal, accompanied by a deputy, also in disguise, drove over the bridge after nightfall. The deputy held the reins, while Oberting lay concealed beneath a blanket in the bottom of the wagon. Lost Bridge, where Oberting captared the three highwaymen. When the officers were about midway across the bridge a man sprang to the head of the horses, bringing them to a standstill. Simul- taneously two others attempted to climb into the wagon over either side. Oberting, at this juncture, threw aside the concealing blanket and rose to his knees. Shouting to the deputy to whip up the horses, he seized the robbers by r - (Photograph. their necks and, with a marvellous exhibition of skill and strength, dragged them inwards, bring- ing their heads together with stunning force. The deputy at the same moment gave the horses a sharp cut with the whip, causing them to plunge forward, knocking down the man in front. The wheels of the wagon passed over him, and he was picked up unconscious. One of the trio of highwaymen proved to be Anthony Stoll, the last of the Fairwell gang. His capture and conviction ended for many years all depredations of a serious nature in that locality. A few months after this adventure Oberting received the only wound of consequence sus- tained by him during his entire official career. This was in connection with one of the blackest crimes that ever stained the annals of the Ohio Valley. Early one morning, while hunting in a belt of woodland lining Tanner’s Creek—a small tributary of the Ohio River, about a mile from Lawrenceburg—the officer found a little boy lost in the woods. Oberting, after diligent questioning, learned that the child’s name was Bradley and that he lived in the neighbourhood. The marshal was acquainted with the little boy’s

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SN IS a LOPE en a ee A HERO’S father, and, lifting him to his shoulder, started toward Bradley’s home. Arriving there he found the place locked and apparently deserted. Upon approaching the rear door, however, he was horrified by the sight of a stream of blood issuing from beneath the closed portal. Breaking in the door, the marshal beheld a most horrible scene. Lying upon the floor of the kitchen, clad only in a night-dress, and with her head literally beaten to a pulp, was the little boy’s mother. Beside her, weeping piteously, but apparently uninjured, was a babe of three months. In a bedroom beyond, weltering in their own blood, lay the father and an older son. Both were horribly mutilated. Near by reposed a blood-stained axe — the instrument with which the triple murder had been committed. Placing the two babies in charge of a neigh- bour, Oberting hastily:summoned the coroner. An inquest disclosed the fact that William McDowell, a labourer, who had been in the LIFE-STORY. ~ 133 found concealed in the hut he drew a knife and furiously resisted arrest. At the moment Oberting was alone, several deputies who had accompanied him’ being on the look-out for the fugitive elsewhere in the immediate neighbourhood. Nevertheless, un- armed as he was, the marshal grappled with the murderer, and a terrible hand-to-hand struggle ensued, Oberting straining every nerve to pre- vent McDowell from wounding him, the latter meanwhile endeavouring to use the weapon with deadly effect. Suddenly Oberting slipped and went to earth, the maddened murderer falling upon him. Before he could extricate himself, McDowell had plunged his knife to the hilt in the officer’s shoulder. Ere he could follow up this advantage, however, the marshal gained the mastery, and, two of his deputies coming up, the murderer was quickly subdued. McDowell, after a sen- sational trial, lasting for many weeks, was con- victed of the murder of the Bradley family and j From a) employ of Bradley for several months, was missing. Confident that McDowell was guilty of the heinous crime, Oberting immediately sought to locate him. Step by step he traced the fleeing murderer, finally discovering him in an abandoned hut, miles from the scene of his fiendish deed. McDowell stoutly denied his guilt, and when confronted with evidence in the form of a bundle of blood-soaked garments The old log cabin near Lawrenceburg in which the Bradley family were murdered. (Photograph. sentenced to imprisonment for life. He died in jail. The following spring Oberting refused the nomination for a.third term as City Marshal, and entered the employ of a railway company as special officer, in which capacity he dis- tinguished himself upon numerous occasions. Tt was after he had withdrawn from active official life altogether, however, that he won his greatest

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134 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, renown by saving the lives of three lads by a feat of strength and daring comparable only to the valorous deeds of the old Roman gladiators. The boys—John Wilson, Henry Frontzmann, and Karl Wolff, aged fourteen, twelve, and nine years respectively—while returning from a berry- gathering expedition near Hardentown, Indiana, passed through the pasture of a farm owned by Oberting, where “Satan,” a vicious Durham byll, was at large. Impelled by a spirit of mischief, the lads began to pelt the animal with stones and sticks, angering it furiously. Emitting a frightful roar, the infuriated bull charged down upon its tormentors, whose situation suddenly became a desperate one. They were midway across an open field many acres in extent, and the nearest available shelter was a dense thicket some two hundred yards away. Not fifty feet distant was the charging bull, whose deep- throated bellows and gleaming, bloodshot eyes left no doubt as to his intentions should he succeed in reaching his intended victims. Realizing that their only safety lay in ignom- inious flight, the boy Wilson, bidding his com- panions follow with all speed, took to his heels and dashed for the thicket. It was a thrilling race. The little fellows strained every nerve to reach the distant haven of refuge before the maddened bull could over- take them. The mighty brute in their wake, bellowing hoarsely and tearing up the earth with hoofs and hors as he charged along, gained upon the fleeing lads at every bound. But, pitifully unequal as the race seemed, the boys reached the shelter of the thicket in advance of their pursuer, and would have escaped but for an unforeseen calamity. Wilson, who had dropped behind to permit his companions to precede him into the thicket, tripped over a protruding root and was hurled to the ground with stunning force. The next instant the bull was trampling him under foot and attempting to gore him. Fright and the excruciating pain of a dislocated ankle caused the lad to lapse into semi- unconsciousness, and for the moment it looked as if he were doomed. The other boys, seeing the desperate position of their companion, faced about, and with sticks and stones heroically endeavoured to put the maddened animal to flight. Their efforts, how- ever, secmed only to add to the brute’s rage against the helpless lad beneath his hoofs. With gleaming eyes and foam-flecked nostrils he stood for a moment, apparently gloating over the help- lessness of his victim before goring out the last spark of his life. At this critical juncture Oberting arrived. From a window of his home he had witnessed the desperate flight of the three lads across the pasture, and he rushed to their rescue as expeditiously as possible. Upon the appearance of this more formidable adversary ‘Satan” lifted his head and glared defiantly at his owner. That movement gave Oberting the opening he sought. Rushing at the head of the infuriated bull, he grasped it by the horns. Bracing his feet as best he could in the soft earth, he sum- moned all the muscular strength at his command and sought to overthrow the brute. Meanwhile the terrified lads had dragged their companion to a place of comparative safety. Gradually Oberting forced the bull back. The strain to which he was subjected was terrific. His face, neck, and arms grew purple from exertion, his body grew tense and rigid, and his muscles were strained almost to breaking-point. For fully five minutes the man and beast struggled for supremacy. ‘The undergrowth was trampled down and the earth threshed into a morass into which both combatants sank to their knees, Both were soon unrecognisable from the mud which was showered upon them. Thrice the bull tore away from Oberting’s grasp, and thrice the intrepid man regained his hold upon the wicked horns. His hands and feet were torn and bleeding, and his breath came in laboured gasps. Finally, the crucial point of the mad conflict was reached, and man and bull locked together in one final, furious effort for supremacy. With a bellow that ended in a groan the enormous head of the bull slowly began to turn under the power of Oberting’s muscles, as he, with one mighty effort, put forth all the reserve force of his super- human strength. The animal’s eyes seemed almost to burst from their sockets, and _ its agonized bellows mingled with the rasping breath of its human antagonist. Inch by inch the head of the gradually- succumbing brute turned in the man’s hands. Then suddenly the long, parched, and blood- stained tongue lolled from the foaming jaws, and the bull staggered to its knees There came a sickening crunch of rending bones, and the animal toppled over and lay amid the mire —its neck was broken! The thud of the bull’s body as the animal fell to the earth told the two pale-faced lads who crouched over the mangled form of their unconscious companion, watching with horrified, fascinated eyes the fearful contest between man and brute, that the struggle was over. Looking forth from the copse, they saw Oberting stagger for a moment and then fall, completely exhausted, across the body of the beast his own superhuman muscular strength had enabled him to kill with his bare hands.

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A HERO’S LIFE-STORY. 135 For fully five minutes the man and beast struggled for supremacy. Uninspired by the tragic setting of gladia- torial combats, unrewarded by the plaudits of thousands of thrilled spectators, he had_per- formed a deed of heroism that paralleled the storied rescue of the Christian maiden Lygia by the slave Ursus, who strangled the bull on the bloody sands of a Roman arena and saved the maid from the horns of the brute. But his deed did not go unsung. His name and fame were flashed from coast to coast, and set forth for the edification of the reading public under the boldest of newspaper headings. But the appreciation of an enthusiastic nation reached its zenith when the name of Nicholas Oberting was immortalized in a poem descriptive of his terrible struggle with the bull, written by James Whitcomb Riley, “the Burns of America.” Oberting, with his family, consisting of a wife and ten children, now resides on an extensive farm near Lawrenceburg, where for several years ‘manner is courteous and unaffected. he has devoted himself exclusively to agricul- tural pursuits. He is still a splendid specimen of physical manhood, standing six feet three inches in his stockings, broad-shouldered, sinewy, and weighing a hundred and eighty-five pounds, not an ounce of which is superfluous flesh. In dress he is decidedly unconventional, and his While apparently not particularly impressed by the admiration and awe his achievements have aroused, he discusses his adventures freely and without false modesty. The Middle West owes Nicholas Oberting an inestimable debt of gratitude. Endowed with the belief that his mission on earth is the sup- pression of lawlessness, he has been an important law-enforcing factor in the Ohio Valley, and his zealous, unselfish, and heroic efforts for the public weal deserve the encomiums of law- abiding, peace-loving men and women through- out the world.

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The entrance to the Hermit’s house—Notice the quaint heads upon the battlements. (Photograph. “The Hermit of Rotheneuf.” By Freperic Lees. The following article relates the little-known life and work of one of the strangest characters to be found in the entire length and breadth of France. The Abbé Pourré—better known as “the Hermit of Rotheneuf” —is enveloped in an atmosphere of mystery, and this fact, coupled with his celebrity as a sculptor of the granite cliffs near St. Malo, has made him acurious and prominent figure in his native district. The writer was accompanied on his visit to “the Hermit” by M. Paul Géniaux, the well-known Parisian photographer, who succeeded in obtaining a unique portrait of the usually unapproachable abbé. HE patron of the village inn of « 1) | Rotheneuf, which lies some five SP | miles from St. Malo, on a wild and SMeee) rocky coast, assured us, whilst we = were sipping our café noir at the close of an excellent luncheon, that we should have a difficulty in seeing “the Hermit of Rotheneuf.” Scores of AMessieurs les journalistes had come on the same quest and returned home disappointed. “Tm told that a good deal depends on the state of the weather,” continued our host, glancing out of the window, “and I must confess that it’s in your favour to-day. But don’t count upon it. The good abbé doesn’t always respond to the sunshine and come out of his retreat.” laa “Who #s the Abbé Fourré?” I inquired. “ How long has he been here and whence did he come ?” “Ah, monsieur, now you're asking me the usual posers. All I know is that he arrived here about ten years ago, that he began to chip away at the cliffs, and that he’s never left off chipping since. You'll learn no more in the village, though you question every one of the inhabitants.” The landlord was right as regards the informa- tion to be gathered from the good people of Rotheneuf. All that anyone could tell us was that “the Hermit” had come among them quite mysteriously “ten years back,” and that ever since he had lived almost the life of a recluse, his few wants being attended to by a

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“THE HERMIT OF ROTHENEUF.” 137 faithful servan¢e, who, after long years of service, had become every bit as taciturn as her master. We decided, therefore, that the only thing to do was to try our luck like the score or more of unsuccessful journalists who had preceded us. Without much hope of success, we at once set off for the western point of the Bay of Rotheneuf. On the main road leading to that wild region we came across “the Hermit’s” house, or, as one ought perhaps to call it, fortress; for the only entrance is by way of the garden, through a doorway in a high, battlemented granite wall. But for the fact that the door was half open and that the battlements were surmounted by a row of the most comical The Abbé Fourré, From a) his life to heads we had ever set eyes on, we should probably there and then have given up all idea of attempting to invade the privacy of “the Hermit of Rotheneuf.” With those figures con- fronting us, however, how could we take the fortifications seriously? Drawing a little nearer, we discovered that these amusing grotesques were all of them neatly named, like objects in a museum. One of the central images, smiling Vol. xxiii.—18. Hermit of Rotheneuf, trange hobby of carving rocks and tree-stumps. at us from over the doorway, delighted in the name of “ Perrino des Falaises.” _His com- panion to the right—a gentleman with an expression that denoted chronic dyspepsia—was “ Adolphe de la Haye,” whilst the fierce-looking bonhomme to the left was “Cyr de Hindlé.” “Marc de Langrais” was a jolly-faced monk with an imperial, “ Karl de la Ville-aux-Roux ” was undoubtedly a medizval warrior, and the two dames, “ Yvonne du Mimke” and “Jeanne de Lavarde,” were probably intended to repre- ee types of feminine beauty during the Middle ges. This remarkable gallery of portraits, which we rightly conjectured to be the work of the Abbé who has devoted many years of (Photograph. Fourré, was but an introduction, as we found on passing through the doorway into the garden, to even more extraordinary examples of his art. No one came forward to meet us as we entered, so we had ample opportunity to study the numerous heads in carved wood which stood here and there on pedestals and posts. The impression they produced was rather gruesome. Some were frowning, others were grinning, and others again

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138 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. displayed the lack of expression — always so painful to behold —which we find in the faces of the men- tally deranged. One felt that there was something abnormal in the carved images of this strange, silent garden. To dispel the feel- ing of oppression that was rapidly creeping over us we moved towards the abbé’s door and knocked. It was opened to us by an aged peasant woman, who, in reply to our inquiries for her master, informed us that “Monsieur l'Abbé” was not then receiving visitors. I began to fear that the landlord of the Rotheneuf inn was a true prophet. How- ever, acting on the theory that hope still The entrance to “ the Hermit From a Phctograph. domain. sible, I asked, to see him for a few minutes ? Thewoman hesitated —and you know the proverbcon- cerning the woman who hesitates. Was it not a thousand pities, I continued, eloquently, that one of us should have come all the way from England to see the celebrated sculptor of Rotheneuf only to find that he was not at home? This final argument evidently had considerable weight, for the aged dame, with a some- what reluctant “Je verrai,” returned into the house to consult her lord and master. Before she had taken many _ steps, however, who should come forward to meet her but the Abbé Fourré himself! He was evidently almost remained so long as the door was not actually closed in our faces, I kept up the conversation stone deaf, for the servante had to shout our message into his ear at the top of her voice. with the old housekeeper, express- The word “ Angleterre ” ing our regret that we could not - seemed to produce an in- learn something from the Abbé y stant effect upon “the Her- Fourré’s own lips about the re- mit.” He nodded and markable pieces of sculpture which smiled, and then, to our great satisfaction, came towards us. “The Hermit of Rothe- neuf” has the appearance he had executed on the neigh- bouring granite cliffs, and which we had come many hundreds of miles to see. Was it really impos (Photograph, From a) Joan of Arc and some curiously-carved tree-stumps.

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“THE HERMIT OF ROTHENEUF.” and manners of the typical old French priest. Deep lines mark his cheeks and fore- head, clearly denoting a great span of years, during which his hardships have been anything but slight. His movements are extremely slow, due, as we afterwards learnt from his house- keeper, to partial paralysis; his hearing, as 1 have already mentioned, has almost gone ; and his memory leaves much to be : desired. ‘hink of the difficulties of an interview under such cir- cumstances as these! However, we succeeded in learning several interesting details about the life and work of this strange character, and these I will now set down. The Abbé Fourré, formerly the curé of a village whose name no one has yet been able to discover, declares that he is seventy-eight years of age. It is probable, however, that he is very much older, and that his mistake is due to his very defective memory. He is a native of Rotheneuf, but nobody there can remember him as a child; so we are doubtless right in conjecturing that he left the village when in his youth, and never returned to it until com- paratively recent years. His object in returning was to spend his declining years in a district which he has ever held green in memory. One of “the Hermit’s” 139 “the Hermit of Rotheneuf” was much more communicative. We gathered from his some- what disjointed phrases that when he first began to carve in wood and stone it was merely with the object of spending his leisure hours agree- ably. But after a time, when he found that the public showed an interest in what he was doing, he thought that he might as well get some little profit out of his handiwork. Every labourer was worthy of his hire; his savings were small and barely sufficient to meet his needs ; so where was the disgrace if he turned a happy idea into current coin of the realm ? His first efforts were in the direction of wood-carving. Noticing that the knotty, twisted boles of trees sometimes strangely re- sembled human and animal forms, he began to make them still more life-like by a dexterous cut here and there with his pocket- knife. All his woodwork was carried out with an ordinary clasp- knife. Whenever possible he utilized the forms that Nature gave his blocks of wood, though, as the specimens in his garden clearly showed, he was quite capable of dispensing with them. masterpicoes—The great which stands on the top of the oliff overlooking the bay. From a Photograph. As to his life during the interval of departure and return, it is enshrouded in mystery, the’ only fact which he seemed willing or able to? impart being that he had spent part of his timeé -in England as a teacher of French. Here undoubtedly was the explanation of the favour which he had accorded us. On the subject of his work as a sculptor Grotesque as many of “the Hermijt of Rotheneuf’s” carvings undoubtedly are, there is no denying that this self-taught sculptor is possessed of a good deal of real talent. At the top. of the cliff overlooking the Bay of Rotheneuf he has erected a cross bearing a Christ that denotes considerable skill ; and before leaving his house to visit the cliffs he showed

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140 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. froma us some oak sideboards, tables, and chairs, so beautifully carved that I had a difficulty in believing the work had been executed merely with a knife and a mallet. I am inclined to think that these are the best of all the Abbé Fourré’s productions. The carvings on the granite cliffs below his house are certainly less original than these admirable pieces of furniture. But, though less A couchant saint. (Photograph. artistic, they are much more curious from the point of view of the average traveller. It may be said, indeed, without any exaggeration, that they have made the reputation both of Rotheneuf and its “Hermit.” Before his arrival the village was unknown, almost without a visitor, and certainly without any other attraction than the rocky coast and the open sea. Now it is a recognised place of pilgrimage, a small tramway From a\ A Rotheneuf fisherman and his family. (Photograph.

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“THE HERMIT OF ROTHENEUF.” : 141 joins the Jourg to Paramé, and during the summer months thousands of tourists flock there to see the wonderful “ Rochers de Rotheneuf.” The idea of converting a hundred.yards of granite cliff into a huge sculpture gallery was— if I may be allowed to use an American expression — extremely cute. Did it occur spontaneously to the Abbé Fourré or did he— presuming that he has been a traveller—-borrow it from the carved rocks of Libechov, in Bohemia? For “the Hermit of Rotheneuf” had a predecessor some eighty years or so ago in the person of the celebrated sculptor Vaclav Lowy, who, during his holidays at Libechov, where he had formerly béen in the employ of Comte One of the numerous altars carved among the rocks. From a Photograph, Veith as a kitchen-boy, carved the rocks in the neighbouring forests.* Fear of hurting “the Hermit’s” feelings by appearing to doubt his capacity for originality prevented me asking him if he had ever been to Libechov or heard of its famous carvings. The way to the rocks of Rotheneuf leads from the top of the cliff. You pass on the way through a rustic entrance, erected by “the Hermit,” who has also placed in full view of visitors a box for their offerings, which he naively told us were devoted to the “entretien * See Tae Wipe Wort Macazine for December, 1906 des rochers” (“the upkeep of the rocks”). On the box are the following words: “II n’est pas aimable, méme juste, de visiter se rocher sans une vraie compensation” — “It is neither amiable nor even just to visit these rocks with- out offering true compensation.” And no one is ever inclined to quarrel with this reminder that something is due to the poor, “ Hermit.” All give freely after they have seen the result of his ten years of patient toil. As you descend the steps which he has cut in the hard rock you suddenly come upon one of the most extraordinary sights in France. On all sides are standing or reclining figures, some of them isolated, others in groups. The entire face of the cliff seems alive with saints, devils, and fantastic animals. Though you may not notice all at the first glance, you quickly discover that there is hardly a square yard of rock that has not been carved to resemble some human or animal form. The natural irregularity of the surface of the rocks has been utilized by the sculptor in a most clever manner. Here he has seen a suggestion for a head ; there a long granite boulder that could be converted into a couchant saint, with a long beard and a curious head-dress ; and there, again, a series of irregu- larly-shaped rocks that wanted little change to

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142 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A general view of “the Hermit’s” cliff-side’sculpfure-gallery. Froma Photograph. turn them into a family group—that of a fisherman of Rotheneuf, his wife, and their five children, one of whom is lying on its mother's lap. You will notice, too, that a fish, bearing a certain resemblance to a shark, appears beneath the rock on which the fisherman is sitting, and that by the position of its snout it would seem to be about to devour his family. The religious element in the Abbé Fourré’s compositions is strong, as one would naturally :expect. There are saints and angels innumerable, two or three altars, and at least one representation of the Almighty. But he has by no means limited himself to Church and Biblical subjects. Some- times he has taken his inspiration from local history. One of his most ambitious compositions represents scenes in the lives of the Lords of Rotheneuf. Actuality, too, has often given him an idea for a group or single figure. For instance, at the time of the Boer War and the death of Colonel de Villebois-Mareuil, he set to work to compose a very lifelike sepulchral statue of that misguided hero. The realism of “ the Hermit of Rotheneuf’s” pieces of sculpture is sometimes heightened by the addition of coats of paint. In this respect he follows the example of some of the sculptors of the Middle Ages. His whole art, indeed, seems to be inspired by the work of these and other primitive artists. In the early years of the Abbé Fourré’s gigantic enterprise, and even up to quite recently, he could be seen every day, winter and summer alike working hard with chisel and mallet. Now, owing to physical decline, he takes things a little easier. But whenever he is able to leave his house to continue his endless task he does so. People laughed at him at first and made uncharitable remarks, but now that they know the old man better they admire him for his simplicity, his goodness of heart, and his inexhaustible patience. “Long may he continue to carve the rocks of Rotheneuf” is a wish that not one of the inhabitants of the little village would gainsay.

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Marooned on a Sandbank. By H. S. Ronuv. The story of a modern Robinson Crusoe—a man who, through the duplicity of his partner, was left on a tiny sandbank in the Indian Ocean with his dog and a few cases of provisions. For thirteen long months the poor fellow existed, sustaining life and reason Heaven alone knows how. The narrative of his long-continued ordeal is as graphic as any chapter from Defoe's immortal classic. aNd R. HENRY STEWART ROHU, | t) em of Bournemouth, the subject of this AY ai SN story, first went to New Guinea, near W the coast of which he was to meet with the terrible adventure here narrated, through a meeting with Colonel S——, who was taking over the administration of the country. Rohu, who is a member of the Linnzean Society, was appointed collector and naturalist to this gentleman. Towards the end of the year 1895 Rohu found himself completely stranded at a small - village named Mohack, on the banks of the Fly River, his companion having decamped with the boat which contained their joint possessions, includ- ing a valuable collection of pearls and skins. To avoid the acceptance of charity and also by way of keeping himself, Rohu became chief assistantto Mr. Cowbing, the storekeeper. A fatality for joining hands with “wrong ’uns,” however— a- former associate had also left him in the lurch — seemed to follow in Rohu’s footsteps, as he soon gut to know an ex- missionary, B—— by name, whom he met whilst serving in the store. ‘This man not only proved to be a most despicable, inhuman wretch, but the means of ruining his unfortunate partner and nearly bringing about his death. The partnership proved to be unlucky from the commence- ment. The business on hand was pearl-fishing, and boys were employed for diving, but the unsettled weather militated against their being able to anchor and fish on the most likely spots. Troubles of every kind were of daily occurrence, and it was finally decided that the partnership should shortly be ended. In an evil hour, however, they came upon a man who advised them to try for the turtle shell—just then fetching from fourteen to a. The author, Mr. Henry Stewart Rohu, who was deserted by his partner and left for thirteen months on a sandbank in the Indian Ocean. From a Pkatograph. eighteen shillings a pound—on a sandbank about a hundred miles south-west of New Guinea, at the southern approach of the Gulf of Papua from Torres Straits. Fitting out a boat with a crew of four boys, provisions, cart- ridges, etc., Rohu and B sailed for this desolate spot, which is logged in the charts as “ Bramble Key.” From this point onwards Mr. Rohu will relate -his own story :— The island lies very low—only about four and a half feet above sea-level at high water—and consequently cannot be seen at any great distance. As this coast is known to be most dangerous, vessels of all sorts give it a wide berth. Nevertheless, the place has been the scene of scores of wrecks, as we found on examining it the day after our arrival. Little did I think, as we wandered round, that it would be thirteen long months before I again set eyes on a fellow-creature ! The place looked very pro- mising for our enterprise, for the sandbank—it was nothing more — seemed to be the abode of countless turtles The wreckage with which the shore was covered ap- peared to swarm with all kinds of shell-fish ; in fact, we came to the conclusion that we had found an Eldorado! For some hours B—— and I discussed the situation, building castles in the air, which, alas! had more flimsy foundations, so far as I was con- cerned, than usual. B—— eventually refused point-blank to remain, giving as his excuse the malaria to which he was subject, and which, he said, would inevitably carry him off if he stopped. All my arguments proved ineffectual, and it was finally arranged that I should remain on the island with two of the boys, whilst he went back

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144 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to the town on the river from which we had started, returning in the course of five or six weeks with a larger craft and more supplies. A quantity of provisions was landed from the boat, consisting of a bag of flour, half a bag of rice, and some coffee, al- together enough for six weeks. Amongst other things were an axe, chisel, bucket, an old sail, two empty cases, and a few small tools, not forgetting my gun and about fifty cartridges. Then, after a casual “So-long!” from B ,» the boat was shoved out into deep water, leaving me, my dog, Crib, and two boys behind. AS soon as they realized that they were to be left with me on that desolate bank the two natives, without a word of warning, dashed off through the shallow water, wading out as far as they could and then swimming for all they were worth after the boat. Meanwhile B and his two boys were busy hoisting the sail, and were as yet hardly beyond hailing distance. The breeze was so slight as barely to fill the canvas, and the progress of the boat was conse- quently so slow that the two swimmers were not long in catching her up. I watched them being hauled aboard one after the other, and waited with hardlya qualin for B os to put about to return to me and once more dump them ashore. But was I dreaming, or what was the meaning of his action? ‘The boys were on board, and the freshening wind drove the boat gently forward, but she showed no sign of putting about. In- stead, while I ran wildly up and down, hardly able to believe my eyes, she headed for the north and gradually became smaller to my view until she vanished from sight. For some moments my be- wildered brain refused toact— I was unable to think. Then gradually I began to suspect what had happened —my partner had deliberately left me behind! But was it possible that a man could be capable of such cold-blooded cruelty as to maroon another to die miserably like a rat in a trap on The boat in which the Author and his companion made the voyage to Bramble Key. now. From a Photograph She gradually became smaller to my view until she vanished from sight. an uninhabited island, set in the midst of a dangerous sca where never a sail was seen? Surely not, I told myself, striving desperately to. extract some comfort from the situation. Assuredly, after realizing the boat and contents, which were worth at least seven hundred pounds, B would contrive to send for me. Buoyed up by this cheerful view, I settled down to make the best of things during the six weeks I fondly believed would form the sum total of my enforced sojourn on the island. As I look back on that awful time I shudder even How I managed to live through the intermin- able days and weeks and preserve my reason can only be explained by the fact that I must have had a constitution of iron and an adaptability to environment that was remarkable. The first thing I turned my hand to was the construction of a shelter in the shape of a ridge- pole tent, which I improvised out of the sail- cloth. Of the two empty cases I made a table and chair. Slinging my hammock to the strongest parts, my shanty was complete. My dog was vastly interested in everything. Poor old Crib! The mere fact of having some- thing living with me, some- thing I could speak to, greatly helped and com- forted me. At times he was rather a trial, for he was excessively fond of turtle When he came across any lying exposed he speedily devoured them, and_ this often caused a shortage. But we had to give and take between us, and I am sure that it was his companionship that kept me alive and enabled me to , fa retain my reason br) during the terrible months that were in store for me. The first few days seemed to slip away in a sort of dream. I had not, I suppose, recovered from the shock of my partner’s desertion. I tried to convince myself again and again that he would come or send for me, forcing myself to hope for the best ; but

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always, at the back of my mind, was the haunting dread that he had marooned me intention- ally and would never return. The terrible wrecks which must have hap. pened on the sandbank appalled me. One in par- ticular held me almost spellbound in contempla- tion of the loss of life that must have occurred. The hull of this ill-fated vessel’ was completely buried in the sand at a point where the water was deep, but her bows were high in the air. Judging from her probable length and build, she must have been a vessel of nearly three thousand tons. At first the question of food and drink did not trouble me much, but nevertheless I deter- mined to be very careful of my stock of provisions. Six weeks passed—two months—and still, though I searched the horizon almost hourly, there was no sign of a vessel coming to take me My last faint hopes died away, and at last I realized the dreadful truth. B— — had deliberately abandoned me to my fate, no doubt thinking it an excellent opportunity of getting rid of me. Desperate though my position was, I made up my mind not to give way. staff ona high point, with a tattered square of sailcloth for a flag, and daily I scanned the waters for signs of succour. During the first few weeks of my captivity I found that turtles of all sizes abounded, some of them reaching a weight of several hundreds of pounds, and these I had the greatest difficulty in capturing. Eventually, however, I learnt the off. correct. MAROONED ON A SANDBANK. Eventually I learnt the knack of turning them over on their backs. 145 knack of turning them over on their backs. Whilethe supply of turtles was plentiful I had ample food, but later on I found out that they only used the island at certain times of the year, probably for the purpose of laying their eggs. ‘There is no food more nourishing or dainty than turtle eggs, and as long as they lasted I had no reason for com- plaint. Various kinds of birds also frequented the sandbank, mostly of the gull tribe, the most numerous being the lesser tern. Curiously enough, these birds seemed to deposit their eggs in a promiscuous, irresponsible way ; for, although I took care never to disturb them, not one instance did I ever come across of any of them settling down to incubation. The finding of turtles’ eggs is by no means easy, as they are deposited in holes scraped out My suspicions were I erected a flag- But all in vain. ——— by the female and then covered over with sand in the most dexterous fashion. are hatched by the heat of the sun they dig themselves out and make straight for the water. Many a time have I watched a female creeping from the water's edge and waited for hours until she had laid, this being much the easiest way of procuring them. turtle returning to her nest, so I came to the conclusion that they never did, and therefore they must lay their eggs in batches and not singly or daily as birds do. When, as the weeks slipped by, I found that the turtles were leaving me, I cured large quantities of their meat by threading portions on a stick and drying them in the sun. well I did so, for during the latter part of my existence in that solitary spot I was often in such When the young I never knew of a It was Vol, xxiii —10. A sketch of Bramble Key, the desolate, sandbank on which Mr. Roho was marooned, Bee 1

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146 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a condition of weakness ard prostration that I had not even sufficient strength to look for food. By way of occupation—although I had _ prac- tically no hopes of realizing the results of my labour —I collected large quantities of shell. Here again I was the victim of the bitter irony of fate. I was the possessor of tons of the stuff that had allured me for its value, and a rich man, could I have sold it. Yet I would cheer- fully have given it all for the sight of a sail or the sound of a human voice ! One of the first things I had done after landing on the island was to search for water, which, fortunately, I came across in a fair-sized pool, lying just underneath the highest point of the bank. On examination I came to the con- clusion that it was a natural spring, but ere many weeks had passed I was to be rudely disillusioned on this point. The pool had undoubtedly been dug and fashioned by the hand of man, and many a time, when gazing down into the water, a tumult of fancy whirled through my mind. I saw before me the picture of the stranded vessel which had so fascinated me; I saw her strike the rocks which stretched out from the island ; saw the passengers and crew washed overboard and driven ashore. Hurled forward on the beach, they struggled desperately for footing, only to be dragged back irresistibly by the receding waves, until many were drowned or battered to pieces. Then, in my mind's eye, I beheld the survivors cluster round the peak of the island and, after realizing their position, set to in frantic haste to discover a water supply and conserve its precious store. I wondered if their lives were eventually saved and for what length of time they were prisoners on my little kingdom. Hardly a day passed that, in my ceaseless perambulations round the island, I did not search intently for human remains or some sign of human occupancy ; but with the exception of the excavation for water, which I was certajn was the work of men’s hands, no evidence of previous habitation did I discover. Only once was the island visited by a storm of any magnitude. The sky grew dark as night, the wind blew with terrific force, and the sea rose in fury till presently, to my horror, great roaring waves were sweeping clean over it from Great roaring waves were sweeping clean over the island.

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MAROONED ON north to south. Besides the wetting and dis- comfort, however, I suffered little loss, as, by means of frequent alterations and repairs, my hut was now fairly strong. But, alas! when the tem- pest had subsided I dis- covered that the water in my pool was undrink- able, and I was faced with the fearful prospect of dying of thirst—the most awful of all deaths ! Then it struck me that if the water came from a natural spring, as I be- lieved, the well would soon refill itself if I cleared it out. Seizing a bucket I baled and baled without ceasing until only a few inches of fluid re- mained. Then, all of a sudden, I saw the remain- ing water disappearing through a hole in the bottom! It was no natural spring, but a mere cistern to hold rain-water, and now I had broken the puddling. At this second stroke of misfortune my senses fairly reeled, and I felt that unless I could calm myself I should quickly become a lunatic. Luckily a few quarts of water were still left in an old oil-drum in the hut, which I had filled merely as a matter of convenience, and by using this sparingly I hoped to hit upon another source of supply before it was exhausted. Suddenly a thought occurred to me—why not make a condenser? No sooner had this idea flashed through my mind than I set to work. I took a good many hours to contrive a funnel out of a sheet of copper wrenched from the wreckage, but I managed it at last. Then, with a saucepan as my boiler and my billy as a receptacle, I completed the apparatus. ‘lo my intense joy I found it was effectual, though extremely slow, but still time was nothing to me, and here was a certain method of obtaining fresh water. Hope, that rose and fell like the mercury in a glass, was once more on the ascendant. I made an excellent change in my daily menu by catching and cooking the béche-de- mer, a sea-slug; but these also had their seasons of scarcity, and I never ceased to replenish my dried-meat store whenever I could. I noticed fish of many kinds swimming around, breaking the surface now and again, and I obtained an extraordinary amount of pleasure The Author's method of obtaining fresh water. A SANDBANK. 147 from watching them. For some time I could devise no means of catching them, but at last I hit upon a plan of making a line out of the fibre of cocoanuts and a hook of a sharp nail. The first part of this scheme was tedious beyond descrip- tion, but I finally suc- ceeded in making a line fifteen feet long and strong enough to hold anything I expected to catch. The fish took greedily, and in a day or two I had caught so many that I had to cure and salt them before catching any more. An incident now hap- pened that once more stirred the springs of hope and sent my blood cours- ing swiftly through my veins. There was hardly a moment of my life, when awake, that I did not scan the horizon in all directions, and many times I saw the masts, and sometimes even part of the hull, of vessels in the far distance, but never had one come near enough to make me have even a fluttering hope that my flag had been seen. One evening, about an hour before sundown, I sighted a vessel, apparently heading straight for the island. It was too dark to make her out, but it was clear to me that if she continued on her course she would inevitably be wrecked. If I lighted a fire, it would give her warning, and she would change her course; but then she might not think it worth while to ascertain who had started the beacon light, and would sail away, leaving me in greater despair than ever. For some minutes I hesitated, in the grip of sore temptation. Qh, for the voice of a human being, for the grasp of a white man’s hand! And how delicious the provisions which would be landed for the shipwrecked crew would taste! ’ At last, flinging away all selfish thoughts, I tushed for coal and spars. I may mention here that hundreds of tons of coal were lying about the beach, evidently from the ships that had been broken up. Before long I had a blazing fire, which I kept going for some hours, and in the morning not a sign of the ship was to be seen. It is hard to describe the state of my feelings when I made the discovery. However, I soothed the dreadful turmoil in my brain by

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148 THE dwelling on the fact that 1 had perhaps saved a good many lives. I afterwards ascertained that the vessel belonged to Messrs. Burns, Philp, and Co., of Sydney, and traded between Deleana, Port Moresby, and Yural Island, calling at Port Moresby for sandal - wood. ‘The captain reported on arriving in port that somebody on an island had lit a fire just in time to save his ship from destruction, as he had been carried clear out of his course by the strong current, and at the moment of sighting the beacon was holding dead on—as he afterwards discovered—to the rocks, which run out about a mile from Bramble Key. On the whole, after my excitement had abated, I felt more contented ; I had at least done the right thing. It would have been wrong to en- danger the lives of many for the possibility of saving one. For many weeks now I had been constructing a rope from the fibre, and I was so afraid of losing any that I abandoned my fishing, for this trope, I thought, would be my salvation. I was going to make a raft! I had managed, by dint of strenuous labour, to secure some spars and wreckage and hew the pieces into equal lengths. The nails I found were all rusty and rotten, so I had to rely on my rope. At last the work was completed, and each day, as I inspected and admired my craft, hope grew stronger in my breast. It was a cumbrous-looking object, and its ap- pearance very primi- tive. Often, as I finished operations on it for the day, I would say to my dog, “Crib, old man, we are going for a sail. Whatever happens, we will die together, for if I die first you will be left to linger and perish of thirst.” So, cheering our- selves, we waited for a favourable wind from the south, About ten days after I had com- pleted the raft and fitted it out with a mast and a piece of bamboo to act as a yard, ] managed, by gradually moving it with my wooden spar, to float it. Although a trifle lop-sided, it rode the waves buoyantly. A good strong breeze was It rode the waters buoyantly. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. blowing from the south, and later I bitterly repented my folly in not embarking at once, but I thought I would spend one more night on shore and so have daylight to start. I had driven a stake firmly into the rock-strewn sand, as close to where the raft was floating as I could, and now I moored my odd craft and tied it with the remains of the fibre rope. Then, feeling the keenest joy at the thought that this was my last night of captivity, I turned in. I was up before dawn broke, and after having breakfasted on my usual fare of dried turtle I carried the first consignment of my belongings to where I had tethered the boat. But my raft had vanished! I carried my view from the stake out to sea, instinctively following the track I expected she would take had she broken loose. But my eye pitched on nothing. My last hope had gone beyond recall! At this crowning blow I threw myself on the sand in helpless despair, and I must have laid there for some hours, for, when I pulled myself together, the sun was blazing high in the heavens. I rose to find myself almost a raving lunatic. How I cursed myself in shouts of maniacal laughter! How I seized my poor dog and caressed him, with hysterical tears ; and, as I write these lines, I remem- ber how I tore round the island, searching with feverish energy behind every little rock or mound of scrub that could not have sheltered a child’s toy, let alone a great, cumbrous raft. I remembered how I had set the bit of sail, ready for the morning, and to this I attribute her loss. She must have broken her rope and sailed away to the north, It was almost dark before I became aware that the inner man had not been attended to. Fortunately for me, nothing had been put aboard, so, with the exception of the cloth used for a sail, my stock of worldly wealth had not decreased. I have read somewhere that “ Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” and there must be some truth in that saying, for on the following

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MAROONED ON A SANDBANK. 149 morning I felt strangely buoyant. Two things seemed to me possible—the raft might be blown back again, or she might be picked up by some vessel whose crew would be certain to gather that someone was in dire distress, and thus the drifting raft might yet be the means of rescuing me. . It ‘is difficult to relate in detail the weary monotony of my life as the months went by ; it was made up of a round of petty trifles, © incessantly tramping the island in search of food or scanning the ocean for sight of a sail. It was very clear to me that unless I was soon discovered I should inevitably die for lack of a change of diet. Vegetables were a terrible want. The best edible plant I could find was something resembling the leaf and root of spinach. When I first tried them whole they were tough and unpalatable, so I had to con- struct a grater by driving holes in a piece of copper plating. I found they caused me great thirst, but, nevertheless, I believe they assisted to prevent a complete breakdown in my health. . Life, of which I seemed to have an untiring grip, now seemed to have little value to me, and

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150 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. sleep, which had up till lately stood by me, was gradually being replaced by a sort of half- conscious stupor, in which dreams and horrible nightmares held high revels; my nerves must have been shattered by the desperate struggle for existence. My legs swelled from weakness, and it eventually became almost impossible for me to muster sufficient strength to condense the sea-water. The tropical rainstorms that burst over the island always refreshed me, however, and I managed to catch some water by fixing up the remnant of the sailcloth. Often I was obliged to crawl when gathering wood and coal for fire. Even the slight labour of obtaining a light by means of twirling in the hands a pointed stick, resting in the socket of a piece of wood— a trick I learned from the natives in New Guinea —tired me out. My health was now so bad that I rather looked forward to death; and, curiously enough, after making up my mind that the final summons was about to be given, I felt strangely happy and contented. As I lay underneath the remains of my shelter a wonderful peace of mind took the place of evil dreams and half-conscious slumber. I thought of my youth and its surroundings ; I fancied I could hear my mother’s voice as she counselled me to be of good cheer. Waking myself almost forcibly, I pointed a piece of charcoal with the intention of writing my epitaph ! The tablet I fashioned from the side of a small collecting-box, that had up to then lain useless and unnoticed. This, as I lay on my side, I smoothed and polished by rubbing it with sand. When I came to write, however, I found I had forgotten the way! Not since the day I left the store in New Guinea had I even seen a sheet of paper. Accordingly, like a child at school, I practised writing in the sand with a stick until I could recall the letters. Then, with the pointed char- coal, I printed :— H. ROHU, DIED 1896 ON SANDBANK, Please communicate with my mother, 3, Baynar Avenue, Dublin. . This done, I managed to raise myself up, and, by means of driving the best of some rotten nails (collected long since) I contrived to fasten the board to the post which formed the stand of my hut. Then I lay down to await the journey to another world. But I was not to go yet. As I settled myself, turning my face towards the sea, it suddenly dawned on me that a vessel had anchored some four hundred yards off and a boat was making for the shore ! The joy and excitement of the discovery were almost too much for me, but I managed to crawl and stumble to the water’s edge. Then I collapsed. When I came to I was aboard the British New Guinea Government steamer Merrie England, commanded by Captain Curtis, with an old acquaintance of mine on board—Sir Francis Winter. It was twenty-four hours before I became coherent enough to tell even my name, much less give details of my sojourn, Captain Curtis told me later that it was by the merest chance that my flag had been seen, for it was only at a certain angle that the piece of sailcloth tied to a stick could be viewed. From rumours spread by the crew of the vessel that had seen my fire, however, extra look-outs were kept, and in due course my signal was seen. Eventually I was landed at Port Moresby, after some exasperating bother with my faithful friend and companion Crib, who had to be saturated in tobacco-juice before being allowed on shore. A month at Port Moresby saw me sound and well again. And so ended my thirteen months’ enforced residence on Bramble Key No such experience as mine, happily, can ever befall another castaway, forall the islands in these lonely seas are now provided with supplies and regularly visited by patrolling vessels.

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THE “TANK SCRAP.” By C. L. Gray. © The intense rivalry which prevails among the different classes of students at the American Universities, often resulting in fierce and dangerous fights, has led the authorities to institute contests in which the undergraduates can work oft their superabundant energy without damaging one another too much. This article gives a graphic account of one such pre-arranged battle — the remarkable “tank scrap” at Purdue University, Indiana. OR many years it has been the aim of the authorities of the great American Universities to find some means by which the intense rivalry which prevails between the different classes of students can be given a harmless vent. In this way they hope to prevent the serious riots and street fights formerly indulged in by the undergraduates. The means employed generally takes the form of a contest of some sort—usually between the two first-year classes, as it is here where most of the trouble arises. These con- tests, or “scraps,” as they are called, are usually very ex- pensive affairs, for hundreds of dollars are often expended by the contesting classes in an en- deavour to have everything and do everything that will ensure success. Probably the most unique and original contest of this kind in America is the “tank scrap” at Purdue Univer- sity. The “scrap ” is Purdue University, \ndiana, where the ‘ Tank Scrap" takes place. The Engineering Building, Purdue U From a Photograph. (Photograph. between the “Freshmen” and “Sophomore” classes, and is one of the greatest events of the school year. Unlike most college battles, this one takes place at the very beginning of the year, early in September, and is the only event of this kind indulged in by the classes. The one “scrap” is decisive, no trouble ever occurring afterwards. Another unique feature of the con- test is that it always takes place at night, and, instead of the usual flag or colour rush of other colleges, this one takes the form of a tying contest, or mimic war, in which each army tries to make a prisoner of the other. A better comparison would be a= great com- bined wrestling match, where each contestant tries to throw and bind his opponent, thus putting him out of the contest. It is conducted much in the same manner as_ the athletic games, there being rules to govern every point of the contest. No brutality of any i)

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152 THE WIDE kind is destruction of property. The object of the “scrap” is for the honour of painting the class numeral on the city water- tank, the winning class being allowed to paint its sign-manual on the tank, where it remains until the next year. The tank is situated on a hill a mile from the University. It is a very prominent feature of the landscape and is visivle for several miles, so that when a class places its numeral on the side facing the campus and city it can be seen by thousands of people. The “scrap” always takes place in a small field surrounding the tank; and although the ground is on a hillside, and very rough and broken, it scems to serve very admirably for the purpose. ‘The tank site is private property, but the company owning it has practically turned it over to the students. Even when the tank is re- painted the space occupied by the numeral is left undisturbed. The “scrap” originated in 18y2, just after the Water Supply Company had completed the con- struction of their new steel tank. During the sixteen fierce battles that have raged about the foot of the now-famous structure many amusing incidents have taken place. In the autumn of 1go1 the struggle lasted the entire night, and both classes withdrew just before sunrise because many of the men were so completely worn out that they were unable to stand. ‘The “Sophomores,” however, already had their numerals on the tank. This alone would have given them victory, for according to the rules the class having its numeral on the tank at sunrise is declared the winner. The “Treshmen,” knowing this, sent two of their number to change the figures, realizing that the “Sophomores” were too nearly worn out to offer any resistance. The two “Freshmen” soon scaled the side of the great tank and prepared to obliterate the “Sophomores’” numeral, and so bring lasting disgrace upon the class. ‘The second year men, enraged by this insult, bitterly cursed their fate and tried to think of some means whereby the two “Freshmen” might be dislodged and the honour of their class saved. At last the leader of the “Sophomores” conceived a great scheme. He rushed wildly to the pumping station and, by bribes and threats, induced the engineer in charge to overflow the tank. The idea was a great success; the luckless “Freshmen” were soon enveloped in a small Niagara and compeHed to make a hasty descent. In 1g03 the “Freshmen” of that year made a raft and floated it inside the tank, and from this perilous position two stalwart members of permitted, nor the WORLD MAGAZINE. the class kept back the “Sophomores” until the whole “Freshmen” class were priscners. They then descended and were tied up with their class-mates. In the year 1905 the “Freshmen” won the “scrap.” It is the first and only class that has ever kept its numeral on the tank for two years. The “scrap” was won during a heavy rainstorm, and before the end the mud had become so deep in places that many men were almost buried. Next morning the place looked like a battlefield that had been torn with shot and shell, and it was over a year before the surface resumed its normal condition. Victors and captives suffered alike—all were one mass of yellow mud; many had their ears securely plugged with clay, but, strange as it may seem, not one man of all that filthy regiment ever felt any ill-effects in consequence of his cold mud- bath. In an article of this kind I find it well-nigh impossible to give the reader an effective word- picture of a typical “scrap.” I shall, however, attempt to describe in detail the one which occurred in September, 1908. All day there was an unusual amount of excitement in the air, all day interest in the lecture and class-rooms grew less and less, and everyone felt relieved when the clock chimed out the hour when the last classes were dismissed. It was then four o'clock. ‘The “ Freshmen ' immediately began to assemble their forces; they marched about the streets shouting “ Freshmen out!” “Freshmen out!” until every “ Fresh- man” who had the least spark of class spirit came out and joined the ranks. After getting together a great amount of twine, wire, and paint, also scaling-ladders, ropes, and chains, they marched to the tank, stopping often to give their class yell. On reaching the field the lower-class men took up their position at the bottom of the hill, in accordance with the rules of the “scrap.” Here they pitched camp, the leader selected a guard for the prisoners they hoped to capture, and then the whole band settled down to wait for the coming of the “Sophomores.” To keep up the spirits of the men the leaders kept them singing or yelling their class and college yells. ‘Thousands of people now began to assemble about the field, coming in all sorts of convey- ances, from private cars down to drays and baggage-wagons. By the time the ‘‘ Sophomores ” arrived fully twelve thousand people were present, occupying every point of vantage in the vicinity. At seven o'clock the ‘Sophomores ” marched silently into the field and took up their position at the top of the hill. They did not form a

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THE camp, as it would have been impossible to drag prisoners up the eminence. The leaders passed among the men, giving low-voiced commands, and everything was made ready for an assault on the “Freshmen” camp, for tradition rules that the “Sophomores” must make the first attack. Both classes were then formed into solid lines, extending the entire width of the field and five or six ranks deep. The field-marshals— who, by the way, are upper-class men—left the centre of the ground clear. ‘The “Sophomores” then gave a series of college yells, followed {mmediately by their class yell—the signal for - the charge. With a few sharp commands from r The tank on which the victors of the “ scrap” From a Photograph. the leaders to steady the men the great line of determined humanity moved swiftly down the bill. The “Freshmen,” however, were not caught napping. At a quick order from their leader they charged up the hill with even greater speed than the descending “Sophomores,” and the two lines met with a sickening crash. Many of the spectators turned their heads to avoid witnessing what looked like certain death for many in both classes. It is not unusual to see women faint during the first few minutes of these “scraps,” so appalling is the sight. Picture to yourself, reader, a small field sur- rounded by thousands of tense faces and lighted only by a few smoky, flaring torches. Picture a thousand young men, most of them splendid specimens of humanity, drawn up in two closely-packed ‘lines, rushing at each other at full speed. and with the momentum of an express train. They meet with a terrific crash— Vol. xxiii.- 20. are allowed to paint their class numeral, “TANK SCRAP.” 153 so terrific, in fact, that many men are carried back unconscious. This, however, is usually caused by having the air driven forcibly from their lungs, the men soon recovering and return- ing to the fight. You hear the rush of many feet ; hear the dull thud of flesh against flesh ; then comes silence. Nothing is discernible except a long, shadowy line of straining, groan- ing figures. You want to shout, but you cannot ; you are held spellbound, fascinated, by that quivering, heaving monster out there amid the dust and darkness. You look about you and see everyone as silent as yourself, except now and then the sharp catch of a breath or the low moan of some over-excited woman. Here and there an old graduate perspires freely while using all his will - power in an en- deavour to remain on the right side of the fence. All this lasts for less time than it takes to write it. The ‘“Fresh- men” line slowly sways backwards under the re- lentless force of the heavy “Sophomores.” Suddenly the line breaks and the “Sophomores” plunge in among their enemies — many to be thrown and tied, others to throw and tie “Freshmen.” Here we see two men working together. They plunge into the mass and drag a man out, fighting every inch of the way. In another moment the unlucky one is on the ground, face downward, while the two above him quickly bind his hands and feet. Over there at another place two men are rolling over and over on the ground, each endeavouring to hold the other long enough to secure his hands. Here again we see a little man tackle a man almost twice his size. They fall to the ° ground, rolling over and over, until the little man, by a sudden twist, scrambles on top of his big antagonist. The next instant he is sitting on the big fellow’s head while he quickly ties his hands together, thus proving that the largest men are not always the best “scrappers.” These are only a few of the hundreds of stirring inci- dents that take place, most of them too far away to be seen. Many of the men who are made captives succeed in freeing themselves or are cut loose by their class-mates. These men plunge back into the mélée—only, perhaps, to be tied again a few minutes later. Of course,

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The line breaks and the “Sophomores” plunge in among their enemies. many receive sprains and bruises which they will feel for several days, but on the whole few men are ever seriously injured. F But what have the spectators been doing all this time? Have they remained silent, paralyzed by the horror of the first crash? By no means. At the first show of weakness in the “ Fresh- men” line a perfect pandemonium breaks loose. Everybody shouts or yells for one class or the other. The great crowd divides itself into two factions, each endeavouring to make the most noise. Upper-class men shout instruction and encouragement to the contestants, and as the “scrap” progresses the noise increases, until, above the medley of sounds, one hears the sharp, ringing “Sophomore” yell, which tells us that they are the victors. The “scrap” has lasted exactly twenty-five minutes,

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a < a ) n iv) Z = x THE Every man is compelled to perform in some way 6r other.

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156 But this is not the SET end. The “ Sopho- mores” now bring forth a long steel chain, made especi- ally for this purpose. To this chain the “Freshmen” are securely’ handcuffed, the leaders of the class being placed at the head of the line. The whole party now moves up the hill to the tank. Here we see a daring “ Sopho- more” dangling fifty feet from the ground at the end of a rope. He is changing the despised “ Fresh- men” numeral to that of his own class. In the meantime the “ Freshmen” are being ‘‘ decorated” : with everything human ingenuity can devise. They are dressed in all sorts of odd and ridicu- lous costumes, women’s finery, tin cans, and bottles being in great demand, while cornstalks, rags, and paper are hung on wherever they will stick. Last of all, a pot of black paint is brought forward, and all who show any temper and those who talk too much are given a liberal coating. Oft-times, if a ‘ Freshman” makes any objection to being painted, his hair is also given a coat, or, in rare cases, the shirt is torn off and the entire upper part of the body painted. After the painting of the tank is completed the long line of captives is placed between two lines of “Sophomores.” Then, headed by a band, the grotesque procession, with much singing and yelling, marches to the campus, where the last rites take place. As the procession enters the gates someone lights a pyramid of boxes, barrels, and other inflammable material thoroughly soaked with oil in the big athletic field. As the flames leap to- wards the sky and the whole ground is suddenly made as light as day the place is seen to be packed with a multitude of happy, noisy people. The “Sophomores” bring the captives into the field at a run, forming a great circle about the fire, with the luckless “Freshmen” on the inside. The band takes up its position near by, ready to furnish music for the show. : The “Freshmen” are now turned loose in small squads, and every man is compelled to Some of the vanquished “ Freshmen" who have been “ decorated” and handouffed to the stee! chain. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a Photogiaph. perform in some way or other. We see men dancing, singing, standing on their heads, play- ing childish games, and in fact doing all the ridiculous tricks that the ingenuity of half-a- thousand men can devise. This causes much amuscment, even among the “Freshmen” them- selves. If anyone is so foolish as to refuse to obey instructions there is always the pot of paint in readiness, with an attendant artist who puts his whole heart into his task. It is very seldom that any trouble arises during these performances ; the defeated class always takes everything in good humour. Having been beaten in a,fair fight, they accept the results like true sportsmen. In fact, they enjoy it as well as the victors—all, that is, except the sting of defeat and possibly the paint. This scene lasts far into the night. The entire “Treshmen” class is then compelled to kneel and give the ‘Sophomore ” class yell. Then the “Sophomores,” with the help of many “ Fresh- men ” and the upper-class men, forma great circle about the fire and, joining hands, go whirling about in a kind of Indian war-dance. This soon breaks up, however, for the fire, like the night, is almost at an end. As a farewell to the most successful “scrap” in the history of the school, everybody joins in and gives the famous “Purdue series” yell. As the last “Rah! Rah! Bully for old Purdue !” breaks on the night air the great assemblage melts into the darkness, and the “Tank Scrap” of 1908 passes away into history. lige Tellme

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SHORT STORIES. Another instalment of this fascinating series, This month’s collection comprises an amusing story from Rhodesia, ; an account of a woman’s terrible ordeal in Alaska, and an artist’s description of an exciting interview in Haiti. A LUNCHEON -PARTY IN RHODESIA. By GERTRUDE PAGE. T was the Sunday Mr. and Mrs. S had fixed upon to keep their long- standing promise and bring their baby-girl to spend the day with us. We had arranged it two or three weeks beforehand, because, as Baby S was to come, her mother was particularly anxious not to clash with other visitors. I was of the same mind myself, because, as 1t was Mr. and Mrs. S ’s first visit, and everything at their farm is so correct, I wanted to appear at my best, and it is almost impossible to do so with an extra number of people. This being the case, I most carefully enjoined upon The Man—that’s my husband—to invite no one out of Salisbury, in his usual haphazard fashion. We would keep this Sunday solely for Mr. and Mrs. S—— and Baby S--—, I said. I began my preparations on Saturday. I made a cake, a prune jelly, and a rhubarb tart in the morning ; and cut The Man’s hair in the afternoon. There was a slight coolness between us after the latter operation, owing to certain little terraces up the back, but, as I told him, I am not a professional barberess, and he ought to be very thankful I hadn’t cut his ear off by accident. On Sunday morning I rose in good time and commenced the usual bustling round that always precedes the arrival of important guests. The Man was a little annoyed at having his Sunday rest disturbed, but I could not stop to listen to his murmurs, and finally he had to get up early to have breakfast finished and cleared away in good time. In Rhodesia luncheon guests often arrive between nine and ten o'clock, which has its drawbacks, but ever since five guests once turned up at eight o’clock without even having had their breakfast, I have been thankful for small mercies. Getting The Man up early on a Sunday did not have a beneficial effect upon his frame of mind. He objected to the way his white ducks ‘were ironed, wondered why the adjectived boy couldn’t give us decently hot plates, and finally returned to the vexed subject of his hair. He stroked his head lovingly down the back, and said it must look something like the steps of the Tower of Babel. I remarked that it was a very nice simile for Sunday, and wouldn't he like to think it out a little farther on the veranda while I tidied up the room ? Then I got to work with the house-boys. I poked all the odds and ends behind cupboards and under tables and into the disused bedroom, finally laying the clean cloth on the table and leaving the house-boy rubbing up the silver. 'The cook-boy I took to the bedroom to help there. As usual, they were both new and both raw, which means they were a little more use than a baboon, but not much. However, I did not let myself worry on that score, as I had left only the meat and vegetables for them to pre- pare, and almost any boy can do that much. While we were finishing off the bedroom—I in an old cotton dress—I was startled at the sound of strange male voices outside, and peered anxiously forth from the French window. The next moment two men with bicycles rounded the corner of the house and proceeded to greet me with marked effusion. They had come from Salisbury to spend the day ! I tried to be cordial in return, but I received them with one eye on the path up which Mr. and Mrs. S—— would come, and the other on my unfinished bedroom. Where on earth had The Man got to, I wondered. I suggested that the newcomers should take a “stroll round the farm, but they said they were tired after their long ride, and would prefer to sit on the veranda. It occurred to me long afterwards that as it was only nine o’clock they had probably not had breakfast ; but be that as it may, whisky and soda was all I offered them before I betook myself to my bedroom, just beginning to feel flustered. ‘The bedroom finished, I fairly tumbled into a respectable frock, and while still tugging at a hook that had been ironed flat. I heard the sound of voices approaching up the hill. As I stepped out the two cyclists, exhibiting some small alarm, arose from their seats. “We will yo and look for

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158 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. v1 Mrs. S—— came first, riding on a white donkey. your husband,” they said, hurriedly, and van- ished round one side of the house, while the S——’s cavalcade approached on the other. My only wonder is that their sense of humour let them tear themselves away! Mrs. S—— came first, riding on a white donkey, in a coquettish hat, which the wind had tilted to a somewhat racy angle. Baby S—— came next, poised top-heavily on a small black piccaninny, who staggered along beneath his burden. Only two skinny, black legs were visible, and one wondered vaguely what had become of the rest of him. Papa S——, on a milk- white steed and wearing a large sun-helmet, brought up the rear, suggestive of Don Quixote escorting a belated cavalcade through a country of dangers. I went quickly forward to greet them, suppressing my inward laughter, and when they were all safely lowered to the ground and seated on the veranda I broke the news to Mrs. S——, apologizing for the unfortunate arrival of two unexpected guests, and hoped she would not mind. “Tf it’s only two,” she said, affably, “it won’t make much difference ; and anyhow, you can’t help it. I do hope Baba will be good !” Baba, at the moment, was tearing wildly at bat a) ey Babe was tearing wildly at the few flowers I possessed. the few flowers I possessed and trampling on my precious violet roots to get at them ; so I meekly hoped so too, and went to get her a biscuit by way of a diversion. “ Are those your friends ?” asked Mrs, S——, pointing to a little group of men and horses down on the lands. I followed her gaze, and then caught my breath with a gasp. “N-no,” I stammered. “No. They came on bicycles. I don’t know who that is. I—really —perhaps it’s some police patrol !” “T see your husband shaking hands with them,” said Mr. S——, with outrageous cheer- fulness, considering my state of mind. “Yes,” I stammered. “Yes; but I don’t know the others.” Of course, it wasn’t a police patrol—anyone could see that. As a matter of fact, it was Baby S— was now pelt- ing the monkey with our few precious tomatoes. three arrivals on horseback from Salisbury— come to spend the day! A little later they all trooped up to the house —the two cyclists, the three horsemen, and The Man—and for two pins I could have fainted. Nine and a half people, and I had only enough plates, knives, forks, spoons, glasses, and chairs for six! Of course, there would be a horrid scramble. The very thought of it made me shiver, and I might just as well have saved myself all my pains to have things extra nice. Fortunately, it was the shooting season, and the men soon started off with their guns, leaving Mrs. S—— and me alone to bemoan our fate. Baby S——was now pelting the monkey with our few precious tomatoes, so I suggested cake

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SHORT and coffee, and succeeded in luring her into fairly safe precincts. At twelve an ominous silence in the kitchen struck me, and I got up to investigate. “Don’t stay away,” said Mrs. S “We shall not see anything of each other when all the men come back.” I came back quickly enough, and from her look of surprised inquiry I imagine my face had fairly blanched. “There’s no boy anywhere,” I exclaimed, “‘and nothing prepared for lunch—no potatoes peeled, no greens washed, no meat ready, and scarcely any fire! What on earth am I to do? I gave them full instructions to begin everything long ago.” “Where are they ?” she asked. “T can’t imagine. I’ve called all round everywhere.” At the foot of the house kopje, but some distance away, the river wound along, and now Mrs, S—— glanced down to it. STORIES. 159 They wrung it out and put it on, arriving in the kitchen shivering and shaking like two drowned rats, but I had no mercy, and after a few pokes and pushes got them fairly started on the potatoes and other things. Then I went back to lay the cloth, for it was transparently absurd to trust it to either of those shivering wretches ; and poor Mrs. S would have to sit on the veranda alone. When I was fairly at my wits’ end as to how to seat nine and a half people at a table intended for six, and how, in the name of all that is wonderful, to make my meagre supply of spoons and forks go round, she suddenly called out : “ Here’s some- one else coming now—a tall man with a white dog!” “ He can’t come,” I muttered, savagely. ‘He must just go away again.” There was a step outside, a shadow, a man’s voice shouting at a dog—and there stood our next-door neighbour, the sporting bachelor, “TI saw two boys go down as if to wash a little while ago,” she said. _ I turned qhickly to the river. “Why, there they are!” I cried. “ And — good heavens—they’re washing their limbo!” In the river below us, sporting about like two monkeys, were the black bodies of my cook and house-boy, gaily washing the only ‘clothing they possessed. “They thought they’d Bobbie. “Bobbie, how could you?” I exclaimed, hysterically. “You, of all people, to play me such a trick as this!” “Play you such a trick as this?” he repeated, in amazement. “I, of all people! You're not de- menied, are you?” “Very nearly. Any- one would be. I’ve got nine and a half people here to lunch already, and you know we can never do with more than six at a time. What on earth am I to do for be extra clean,” sug- gested Mrs. S——, not taking in the tragedy of the situation at all. “Yes,” I gasped. “But what about the lunch? They’ve only got one shirt and one piece of limbo each. How can they come up and prepare it without any clothes on?” She had no suggestion to offer, and only gazed fascinated at those two shining black bodies. T could see but one course. Going near enough to make them hear I shouted, in a voice of sup- pressed fury, an order to come up at once. They stopped splashing and looked at each other, then foolishly grinned up at me. I could have wrung their necks. “Come up at once!” I commanded. “Come and boss up scoff immediately. Put on your limbo wet.” They stopped splashing and looked at each other. chairs and tumblers and things? If you’ve got any brains worth speaking of, sit down and tell me how to make six of everything do for ten and a half people. Not that there'll be any- thing to eat,” I added, bitterly, “for only a few minutes ago both the boys were stripped and disporting themselves in the river, while their one and only shirts dried.” Bobbie is a dear when you're really in a hole, and I quickly saw he meant to help me some- _how, so I waited expectantly. “T have it,” he said, quickly. “Let six and a half feed first, and then we other four come along afterwards.” “But how can I decide who to leave till last?” I argued. “I had thought of that, but felt afraid to risk it.” He scratched his head with a perplexed air,

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160 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and I waited again. Then suddenly an idea came to me, and I sprang up and caught hold of his arm. “ Bobbie,” I cried, “if you love me, lose three of them among the kopjes until half-past two!” He caught on to the notion at once. “Capital!” he exclaimed. “ Why, of course I will. Where are they? ’ll tell them I know of some wild pig behind Chamanaka’s kraal; and I’ll bet they don’t find their way home from there until it suits me to show them.” I pointed out the direction the sportsmen had taken, and he started off at once, buoyed up for his enforced fast by a large slice of cake, which he gobbled in huge mouthfuls as he ran. Soon after one o’clock The Man, Mr. S: » and two of the others arrived home. “That silly young ass, Bobbie,” announced The Man, “has taken those other chaps down towards Chama- naka’s after wild pig, which he declares are to be found there. It’s just a mad, wild-goose chase at this time of day. It’s not the least use waiting for them ; they won’t be back for hours.” “ Really !” I exclaimed. ‘What a pity! Well, T must keep their lunch hot for them. Shall we begin now?” “Yes, by all means. We four are as hungry as hunters.” “We've had pretty good sport,” put in Mr. THE ORDEAL OF MRS. I fairly amazed The Man by falling upon Bobbie's neck in @ transport of joy. S——. “You and the wife can shake hands with each other over full larders, for a week at any rate—two bucks, six brace of redwing, four guinea-fowl, and a brace and a half of pheasants.” At the mere mention of it, Mrs. S—— smiled once more, and we sat down to quite a pleasant little lunch, afterwards retiring to the veranda while the table was relaid for the others—who turned up long after we had finished. We discreetly had tea before they had con- cluded ‘herr repast, so that the cups could likewise be re-washed in readiness for their tea-hour. When the cavalcade, headed by Mrs. S on the white donkey, had once more got under way and the cyclists and horsemen had started homewards, I fairly amazed The Man by falling upon Bobbie’s neck in a transport of gratitude. “Tl bless you for ever, Bobbie, for losing those three guests just in the nick of time,” I declared. The Man’s face suddenly assumed an in- quiring expression, which was a_ positive picture, but, instead of offering any explanation, 1 signalled to Bobbie to save the situation once more. He did so, but he chose an unfortunate theme. “Great Scot!” he exclaimed, fairly bubbling with laughter in The Man’s questioning face. “Who on earth cut your hair?” BENNS. By GrorGce H. BA... NuMEROuS tragedies attended the first rush to the Klondike in 1898, and although many of these episodes have since been publicly chronicled, it is probable that the majority of the adventurous and exciting incidents con- nected with the mad stampede of the gold- hunters have gone unrecorded. It is doubtful, however, whether any party underwent such a thrilling and tragical experience as that described in this story, the particulars of which were well known in Circle City at the time. Although the Klondike district was the only one in which gold had been discovered to any profitable extent up to the early part of 1898, a large number of Americans set out from Seattle, Washington, for Copper River, Kotzebue Sound, and other places on the coast of Alaska, in the hope of finding new and extensive goldfields in those regions. In addition to the regular passenger steamers a large number of private expeditions fitted out at Seattle with their own schooners, and the fact that these parties could land at any place they wished, apart from the ordinary ports of call, proved in many cases a distinct advantage. About this time a party of twelve men from Everett, Washington, secured a small schooner, appropriately named the Goldseeker, and fitted her out with everything they thought necessary for a prolonged expedition. The boat possessed

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SHORT a small auxiliary engine capable of driving her at about foursknots an hour, which enabled the party to make for any likely spot, or enter any navigable stream without waiting for a favourable wind. One of the members of the syndicate, a Captain Benns, who was accompanied by his wife, was placed in charge, and they left Everett full of enthusiasm and hope. Their friends gave them a hearty send-off, and the trials and hard- ships to come did not then occur to anyone, every member of the expedition feeling confident that the schooner would return laden with golden treasure. Everything went satisfactorily during the summer of 1898. For several hundred miles their route—known as the “inside passage ”— lay between Vancouver Island and the mainland of British Columbia, this being the course taken by most of the ships bound for the Klondike. The party were apparently eager to get away from the other vessels proceeding on the same errand, and accordingly made for the Far North, passing Lynne Canal, Sitka, Unga Island, and many other places along the coast. After a long and uneventful voyage they eventually reached a safe anchorage on a part of the desolate, rock-bound coast washed by the Behring Sea. Six men were left on board the schooner to make short trips and explore the neighbouring country, whilst Captain Benns, his wife, and the other five men started out to prospect the interior, their first objective being some creeks which were thought to exist near a chain of hills visible in the distance. Captain Benns and his com- panions remained away considerably longer than was at first anticipated, their search not being rewarded with any success. When they returned to the schooner, however, a terrible sight con- fronted them. To their intense horror, they found the men who had been left behind all lying dead in their bunks, the whole six having succumbed to scurvy! This disease is one of the worst possible complaints to be found in that part of the world, and anyone at all familiar with the terrible sufferings connected with it will readily understand the awful time the six men must have passed through. The full details of their _ ordeal will, of course, never be known, but it is possible to reconstruct, to some extent, the last sad scenes. It is evident that they were all attacked with the complaint before the first man died, as otherwise some attempt would no doubt have been made to remove the body. Unable to do anything to help themselves, being hardly able to support their own limbs, and with little or no hope of timely assistance from their friends, their position must indeed have been Vol. xxiii, 24 STORIES. 161 desperate in the extreme. After the first man died the remaining five had his corpse continu- ally before them, and, as their condition made them indifferent to food, starvation no doubt materially helped the scurvy to complete its deadly work. ; The feelings of Captain Benns and his party when they discovered the fate of their friends can better be imagined than described. Their optimism disappeared, and they became fearful as to their ability to spend the long winter, until May or June of the following year, on board the Goldseeker without running considerable risk of themselves being attacked by scurvy, owing tu the lack of fresh food. In consequence, after a consultation, they decided to abandon the schooner and endeavour to reach Circle City, on the Yukon River. The decision involved a journey of about eight hundred miles overland, but there appeared to be no other alternative. It was a tremendous undertaking, especially for Mrs. Benns, as they would be obliged to follow creeks and river-beds in order the more easily to draw the sleighs containing food, clothing, a stove, and blankets. This route lengthened their journey considerably, but the hills were covered with at least four feet of snow and were impassable. During the first two hundred miles of the march brushwood was available for fuel, the temperature averaging from ten to forty degrees below zero. During this time the party kept in fairly good health and spirits. ‘They began to think the scurvy had been left behind com- pletely, but they were doomed to bitter dis- appointment. After a few days one of the party was found to be suffering from the complaint, and as his agony quickly became intensified the travelling naturally became much slower. The party were not long troubled with the sufferings of their unfortunate companion, however, as it was soon apparent to them all that his case was hopeless, and before long he succumbed to the merciless scourge. After burying him they again pressed on, but when another day or two had elapsed another member of the party was attacked by the disease, and the heart sick wanderers began to fear that all of them would fall victims before the end of the journey was reached. In a short space of time the second man also died, and there were now only four weary men left to draw the sleighs. For the sake of Mrs. Benns the survivors did their utmost to maintain their cheerfulness, but they were all eventually compelled to recognise what would in all probability be the inevitable termination of their hardships. Strange as it may seem, Mrs. Benns had up to the present kept in much better health than any of the men,

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162 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. although the latter.feared that she could not possibly hold out much longer against the relentless disease After the death of the second man_ the remaining four were compelled to discard all surplus baggage, as they were not capable of carrying more than was absolutely necessary to keep them from starving or freezing to death. Even then they found their loads almost too much for them in their weakened condition, but they managed to struggle on for another few days before any further mishap occurred Then a third man showed symptoms of the all-conquering complaint, and he also quickly died. Now that they had proceeded so far it did not seem to occur to the party to retrace their steps to the schooner. Probably they thought that their chance of reaching Circle City was as good as the alternative of turning back The winter had now set in in earnest, and the plight of the poor wretches was indeed terrible. They were far away from any place where there was any possibility of obtaining assistance, and daylight only lasted five or six hours, during which time they seldom saw the sun. No attempt was made to travel during the inter- minably long hours of the Arctic night. Only two men _ were now left in addition to the captain and his wife, and the journey became a slow and weary struggle from one grave to another, as, one by one, two others succumbed, until Captain and Mrs. Benns were the only two survivors. During all this time Mrs. Benns had insisted on doing her fair share of the carrying work, in spite of the consideration due to her sex.. In addi- tion to this, she had done her very best to carefully nurse each of the suffer- ing men, in the frail hope of a recovery. Things went fairly well for the next few days, and renewed hopes began to form in the minds of the captain and his wife that they might possibly She was fortunate enough to meet a tribe of Alaskan Indians encamped on a river-bank. accomplish their task successfully after all. But once again their hopes wére not to be realized, for the captain himself was eventually taken ill. All progress as far as their journey was concerned was now entirely arrested, and although for several days Mrs. Benns did every- thing possible for her husband her efforts were of no avail, and he, too, passed away. Think for a moment of the awful situation in which this poor woman now found herself—left absolutely alone in one of the most inhospitable regions on the face of the globe. Broken-hearted at the loss of her husband, and appalled by the solitude and desolation of her surroundings, she yet did not altogether lose hope. She had very little idea as to the route she must follow in order to reach Circle City, her goal, but, as she knew she could not be far from the timber country, she wandered along, hoping to find an Indian village, for she thought there was a possibility of her meeting some natives engaged Im moose or caribou hunting. She was compelled to carry her blankets and as much food as pos- sible, and made very slow progress. She was in

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SHORT STORIES. 163 no danger from bears, as it was mid-winter, but there was no scarcity of wolves, and she was very lucky not to encounter any of these animals during her wanderings across the snow-covered country. Otherwise, emboldened by hunger, they would probably have attacked her, when her fate would have been certain. Before long the poor woman commenced to run short of food, and it appeared likely that her privations were to end in a_ lingering death by starvation. She managed, however, to sustain her courage and eke out her food, and after about three weeks of wandering— three never-ending wee during which she plumbed the depths of despair—she was fortunate enough to meet a tribe of Alaskan Indians encamped on a river-bank, waiting for the break-up of the ice in spring. Even now she was not certain that her troubles were ended, for she was doubtful as to her reception by the tribe. Unable to speak their language, she could not explain her plight or ascertain whether they would consent to convey her safely to Circle City. However, as it turned out, they were very kind to her, probably guessing part of her terrible story, and, although very dirty in their habits, treated the lonely white woman with every consideration. It was necessary for Mrs. Benns to remain a considerable time with the Indians, as they did not intend moving from their emcampment until after the spring had thawed the ice in the rivers and creeks, thereby making travelling much easier. Eventually, however, she was taken to Circle City, where, after telling her remarkable story, she was shown every kindness and attention, especially by Mrs. Healy, the wife of the president of the North American Trading and Transportation Company. After recuperating, she was sent home to Everett by the first steamer going down the Yukon River, and arrived there safely about fifteen months after the ill-fated expedition had set out. During this period she had undergone adven- tures and hardships that would have killed the majority of men and women, and only the splendid courage and marvellous constitution of this brave woman enabled her to outlive the remarkable experiences which she had passed through. The unlucky Goddseeker was afterwards sold, and, her name having been changed, was used to carry other prospectors to the Far North. Let us hope they were more lucky than those who had first set sail in her. THE DEPUTATION THAT FAILED. By Henry SANDHAM. It was in the heart of the Island of Haiti. Our hammocks were stretched under the palm- leaf roof of the veranda of the Upper Station of the Logwood Works, and we were lazily swinging, having a quiet smoke preparatory to the noonday siesta. To be exact, 1 was so occupied, but my host surprised me by lifting his head every few minutes and listening intently, then settling down again with a dissatisfied aur. At last he turned to me and said :— “I fear we are in for trouble. I will explain, so that you can hold yourself ready for an emergency.” This announcement brought me into a sitting posture, with my legs hanging down on the side next to him, and he took a similar attitude. ‘*When you are more familiar with this out-of- the way part of the world,” he continued, ‘‘ you will judge the temper of your men by their sing- ing; so long as that is heard everything is all right, but silence always means serious trouble of some kind.” Then I recalled that one of my pleasantest sensations had been listening to the distant voices as the men sang at their work. ‘They confined themselves to three notes, the first, third, and fifth, and generally used the name of their employer or the name of the station, accommodated to suit their chant. In this instance our station was called “ Za Habitation David,” and they used the last word, pronounc- ing it “ Da-au-vid,” the first two syllables coming on the first and third notes, as they raised their arms. With the last and fifth note we knew the machete was swiftly cleaving the air as it descended to strike the blow. This irregular chant was made musical by distance, and had a world of influence in adding to our own sense of restfulness when taking the siesta all white men require in Haiti. 1 realized that this chant, which had so interested me during my first weeks there, had for some days been decidedly intermittent, and had now ceased entirely. “Well, what do you suggest we should do?” T asked. “The fact is,” my friend went on, “that there has ‘been a worthless half-breed rascal hanging round who was a schoolmaster until he got too lazy for the occupation. Now he has become what you call in the north a ‘ walking delegate,’ and I happen to know that he has been trying

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164 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Serta okt 27 dash for it. Then they will all become walking delegates, bound for the mountain fastnesses at the rate of a good many miles per hour, and you and I will not be left in condition to give a full report of what has taken place.” By this time I really felt I should never want to sleep again. I asked if there was much money in our camp. “A few thousands,” replied my host. “ And where is it?” I asked. “ Buried in the ground under your bed!” was ting experience that befell him in the Idand of Haiti—On the left is his companion, the Director, who also figures in the story. From a Photograph, to get up a serious strike among my hands. He has carefully kept out of my sight, having due consideration for his general health, but he has aroused them to a sense of injuries that exist only in his own disordered brain, and as all the white men are away except you and me he will probably take advantage of the occasion to make trouble which may become very serious.” By this time all desire for my usual noonday nap had dissolved, and I was _preternaturally wide-awake, with the result that I saw, slowly emerging from the forest, what looked like a huge cinnamon-brown snake. | Every moment a brilliant flash from the scales on its sides, reflecting the fierce tropical sun, almost blinded me. I called my host’s attention to it. “Yes; I thought so,” he responded, as he turned his head on the pillow and looked past me. “Now, you had better get out of your hammock slowly, walk over to the table, and take a drink. ‘Then saunter into the house. As soon as you are out of sight dash into my bedroom and bring out all the Winchesters you can find there ; place them just inside the door, whére you can reach them in a moment. Saunter out very slowly, leisurely light a fresh cigarette, and get back into your hammock. Don’t move an eyelash, no matter what happens, until I give you the order. You see,” he added, apologetically, “it won’t do for me to make a move ; those beggars can see as far as you could with a telescope. I am afraid that beast of a walking delegate has got word of the money I have here in camp, and they intend to make a the cheerful answer. I carefully obeyed orders, and was de- lighted to find half-a- dozen Winchester rifles, with magazines all filled and ready for action. ‘They were speedily placed within reach, and under the subdued glare of my friend’s eye I did not even look towards the advancing snake, managing to light the cigarette and return to the hammock in such a leisurely manner that the glaring eye softened with approval. I must admit that I was extremely nervous ; I think the bulk of the years of my life must have passed between that moment and the time the “snake” resolved itself into a group of wild-looking, half-naked men, all armed with murderous machetes, held ready for action. ‘The whole procession was noiseless, the bare feet of the malcontents making no sound, and all I seemed to be able to see were several hundred ugly pieces of glittering steel, accom- panied by rows of gleaming teeth and surmounted by fierce, rolling eye-balls. I cannot say what my companion’s feelings were just then, but personally I found it some- what trying to lie quietly on my back and try to make rings with the cigarette-smoke, conscious that outside of the circle of some thirty feet of flower-beds was this line of cold steel, which the slightest movement might bring into action. The silence and immovability of our two figures in the hammocks seemed to awe the natives. After a few moments’ hesitation one man was pushed forward—not the walking dele- gate ; he was nowhere to be seen. ‘This Haitian had not taken two steps before my companion was sitting up, and in a voice of thunder ordered

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SHORT STORIES. him off the flower-beds, reminding him that flowers were to be looked at, not walked on. This was so unexpected that the feilow fell back as though he had been shot. Then ensued a loud discussion among them, during which I received the following instructions from my host in a clear, hissing whisper. ‘They will make another attempt to talk to us, and have another wild discussion. While that is going on, you are to get up and hand the Winchesters out. As soon as they see the guns they will probably rush the veranda, coming in at the ends, as they are free from railing. Then plug away for all you are worth. Don’t fire at the leading men, but shoot the first man who raises his hand to throw his machete at you, no matter if he is at the back. And shoot to kill. If you only wound you will be liable to heavy damages, but if you kill—well, a Haitian more or less does not cost much.” His voice died away, and once more we were like two Egyptian mummies. Presently the leader again ad- dressed us, complaining they were underpaid, while we were making countless dollars out of their labour. They knew there was heaps of money buried in the house, he said, and if they were given this cash there would be no further trouble, as they would quietly leave for the mountains. If not, the house would be burnt down, the money taken by force, and ourselves killed. During this harangue my com- panion lay perfectly still. It may have been that his cool, resource- ful manner, by some curious psychological process, affected me also, for suddenly the strange tingling in my knee-joints stopped, and I found myself hoping that one particular man (whose face annoyed me) would be in the rush at my end of the veranda and give me an opportunity to pot him. Just at this critical moment a full-blooded Arab, who combined the professions of a horse- doctor and pedlar, happened to pass along the road outside. He stopped his horse, took in the situation at a glance, and, dismounting, ran across the field, pulling out of his sash as he came a murderous dagger, which he placed between his teeth. He then drew two huge inlaid pistols and, with one in each hand, a a + ader of the Haitian strikers. From a Photograph. 165 dashed into the middle of the Haitians, shouldering them right and left. Carefully stepping over the flower-beds, he vaulted the railing of the veranda and faced the rebels. By this time I thought nothing could surprise me, but I was mistaken, for I experienced a distinct sense of astonishment that the remayal of the dagger and two pistols made scarcely any perceptible diminution in the armament con- tained in the sash around the Arab’s waist. Meanwhile he was haranguing the Haitians in their native pafors. I found out afterwards that he informed them there were lots more Win- chesters than dollars in the house, and each Winchester had seven charges. They well knew that one of those guns, in the 4 hands of Senhor the Director, meant seven dead Haitians before he picked up the next rifle. As for himself, his pistols held double charges, both of powder and balls. As for Senhor the Director’s guest, he was the most wonderful shot in the whole world; not only did his bullet kill the man he fired at but it also went through and killed every man who was behind him! Truly the sons of the Orient have a grasp of poetic language ! Meantime I was handing out the Winchesters. Then the cap- tain of our station, a German, who had served his time in the Army, made his appearance in the doorway, having entered the back of the house by one of the windows. He took the gun handed to him, saluted, and stood to attention, but the group of labourers also stood their ground. There was an ominous swinging of arms, and as they could throw the machete much straighter than I could fire a bullet, the horizon still remained clouded. Then, for the first time, our host rose to his feet and quietly informed the rebels that he had stood this disturbance as long as he intended. Taking out his watch he held it up before them, without, however, looking their way, and added that he gave them just two minutes to get off his ground. Any man who was not off by that time, he added, it would be his bounden duty to have shot. Still there was no move on the part of the attacking party. After one minute’s silence the director called

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166 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. out, “One minute gone! One minute left for you to save your skins.” : Two or three began to melt away towards the gate; then there was a sudden rush of the The gate was soon hopelessly whole party. were doubled, and we all took turns in patrolling the outposts, but nothing happened. In the morning we visited the place where the men had been at work, and found that in the night they had removed their game-cocks blocked, for the Arab’s horse, in response to his master’s calls, endeavoured to jump over the seething mass of struggling men. Finally, in terror, they abandoned the gate and began swarming helter-skelter over the nine- foot fence. Under ordinary circumstances, we should all have been convulsed with laughter at the spec- tacle they presented, but as it was, we were not in a laughing mood. The grounds were cleared and every man was out of sight long before the expiration of the second minute. The following night was a somewhat anxious one, as we feared an attack. Our native guards There was a sudden rush of the whole party. and fled. It is seldom a Haitian goes to any work without taking his game-cock with him, tying it by the leg to a tree, and whenever they take a rest they have a fight and bet on the result, but the removal of their gambling imple- ments proved they had left the neighbourhood for good. The director thanked the Arab doctor for his timely help and asked what he could do for him in return. “Tf the director can spare me half a pound of powder it is all I care for,” was the calm reply. “I have not had a grain for over a month !”

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A N ES ISLAND OF MYSTERY. By Dre Moss Bowers, or Los ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. An account of the almost inaccessible Island of Tiburon, in the Gulf of California, the interior of which no white man has ever explored. Many have essayed the feat, only to disappear —killed, tortured, and probably eaten by its bloodthirsty inhabitants, the Seri. The author has himself visited this sinister isle, and writes with authority. SHEN my friend, “ Arizona Charlie” | Meadows, urged me to accompany an expedition to Tiburon Island, in the Gulf of California, I instinctively shuddered ;_ for the island, the mysterious interior of which no white man has ever penetrated and returned, is the habitat of the Seri Indians, the most primitive and blood- thirsty tribe of savages on the Western continent. Unconquered after nearly four centuries of almost continuous warfare, they ruthlessly slaughter an alien with as little compunction as is displayed by the tiger in rending its quarry. Probably no other known aboriginal tribe has such a sanguinary history as the Seri, and no other has so long and so terrible a record. Several years previ- separated from the mainland by a narrow, turbu- lent strait, known by the sinister name of El Infierniello, or the Straits of Hell, and an arid stretch of country many miles in width on the mainland to the east, the whole being included in the State of Sonora, Western Mexico. The very name of the Seri brings a sense of dread to the inhabitants beyond their borders and conjures up visions of untold horrors. The shocking barbarities perpetrated by the tribe have caused its members to be held in utter detestation. They go forth to kill with all the characteristics of beasts of prey, ambushing small parties, whom they first attack with poisoned arrows. ‘Then, closing in, they beat the bodies of those attacked to a pulp with stones. The ously the savage dwel- lers of Tiburon had murdered, and pro- bably devoured, an acquaintance of mine, and I had but little desire to come in close - contact with these re- puted cannibals, who, it is believed, indulge in ghoulish orgies while gorging themselves with the flesh of human victims butchered in the act of begging for mercy from their fiend- ish captors. Seriland comprises the Island of Tiburon, or Shark Island, in the Gulf of California, From a\ Part of the coastline of the Inland of Tiburon, viewed from across the turbulent waters of the "Straits of Hell.” (Photograph.

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168 THE WIDE sight of a stranger instantly arouses a fierce antagonism, for the blackest crime in the Seri calendar is the toleration of alien blood—to shed which is considered the highest attainable virtue. : “Arizona Charlie” Meadows, of Yuma, Arizona, is an adventurous character reared on the Western frontier, who has been in ‘turn a Government scout in campaigns against the Apaches, showman, and miner, and is now a prosperous rancher and stockman. He is a dead shot and a man of splendid physique, six and a half feet high, whose coolness has been tested under fire ; and his intimate knowledge of the Indian character finally persuaded me to join him in making the voyage. In the month of September, 1902, the party sailed down the Colorado River from Yuma, in Meadows’s yacht £/ia, with Gus Orlander as captain. In the party were also John Arnold, of Rands- burg, Nevada; J. D. Meadows, of Yuma, Arizona; George Fugard, Ed. De Haven, of San Diego, Cali- fornia; Frank Wells, of La Colorado, Ari- zona, and W. U. Wheetly, of Topolo- bampo, Mexico. Mea- dows’s primary object was to ascertain if the three hundred thou- sand acres on the island could be utilized as a cattle range. That the dwellers of Tiburon guard immense treasures is the belief of many persons acquainted with the island’s history, and the members of the Mea- dows expedition — learned that there was foundation for the belief. It is known that in 1879 two prospectors, while digging for water, found placer gold at a depth of six feet. After working for ten days, panning out about eight thousand dollars in * Ari jie” M gold dust and nuggets, baat eee From a} a well-known frontiersman who headed the Author's party. WORLD MAGAZINE. they were discovered and ambushed by the savages, but managed to escape with their lives. Later they returned with a small party, but as none of them were ever seen again it is believed they fell victims of the Seri blood-lust and were massacred on their arrival. Prospectors have uncovered ore that assayed six thousand dollars to the ton, and an immense deposit of pitch-blende, from which it is believed radium may be extracted, extends partly across the island. The adjacent waters are known to contain great quantities of pearl oysters. One of the world’s famous pearls was pro- cured from a Seri, and later sold in New York for thirty thousand dollars. In 1826 Lieutenant R. W. H. Hardy, R.N., was com- missioned by the General Pearl and Coral Fishery Asso- ciation of London to investigate the pearl fisheries of the Gulf of California, and landed at Tiburon, where he found the Indians spoke a language which re- minded him of the Twelchi tribe of Pata- gonia. An end was put to the pearl industry of that region long ago, however, because of the- ferocity of the Seri. The belief has long existed that in the interior of the island a great hoard of gold coins was cached by Cortez two hundred years ago, and it was to search for this treasure that my friend Lieutenant Robinson and three companions, in 1893, visited the savage Tiburones. Robinson, who was an historian of some note, pointed out to his adventurous followers that of the nineteen million gold pesos left in the City of Mexico by Cortez when he was driven away, no portion was recovered when he re- turned from Vera Cruz with reinforcements and recaptured the city ; that Cortez had traced the treasure to the west- ern coast of Mexico; (Photograph.

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AN ISLAND OF MYSTERY. 169 A map of the “Island of Mystery,” showing the route taken by the Meadows party. and Robinson believed it was conveyed to the island in 1790 in the schooner £/ ato, which foundered in the swirling waters of the Straits of Hell after the treasure was safely hidden. Robinson knew that no white man had ever explored the interior of the island; yet, with three others, he left Yuma in a small craft and landed on Tiburon, where they found a large village of Indians, who professed great friendship. In an unguarded moment Robinson and Logan were shot down with their own rifles and their bodies mashed into a pulp with stones. The two men remain- ing on the boat hurriedly set sail and finally reached Guaymas, from which town a company of soldiers was sent to punish, and if possible exterminate, the ‘Tiburones. ‘The expedition, however, met with the usual result—utter failure. The few Indians seen on the mainland could skim the desert wastes more rapidly than the avenging horsemen could follow, for hundreds of square miles were honeycombed with ground- squirrel burrows, dangerous to both riders and animals. Moreover, but little feed for the stock grew on the hot, waterless wastes, and the expedition was further baulked by the swift- Tunning tide-rips of the narrow strait. A similar Vol. xxiii, —22, condition had often prevailed during the pre- ceding two hundred years, when other bodies of soldiers had ventured out to punish the Seri. No trace of either Robinson’s or Logan’s- body was ever found, and it was the current belief that they were devoured by their murderers. The Seri custom of devouring raw, and frequently putrid, flesh leads to the belief that the flesh of these men was eaten as readily as that of any animal. More than forty punitive expeditions were sent against the Seri in the two hundred years previous to 1855, but since that time merely a desultory warfare has been kept up. Some of the expeditions comprised as many as a thousand soldiers; but the Seri could not be annihilated, chiefly because of their fleetness, for they are wonderful runners, and were given the name they bear because of their swiftness of movement. They run on tip-toe, with movements far lighter than that of the professional sprinter, and are more fleet than the deer, for they run them down and capture them with their hands, this method being generally employed, as the warrior who must resort to a weapon in the chase is discredited. The little boys acquire their early’

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170 THE WIDE WORLD training in the chase by running down hares and other small game. ‘They have also been aided by the natural ; barriers of the arid country where they roam, which is barren and destitute of water, and their ability to effectually hide on the desert or in their mountain fastnesses, or to escape across the dangerous waters of the strait. These causes combine to preserve the tribe from extinction. From their island retreat’ small parties venture to the mainland on marauding expeditions, ambuscading and assassinating any human beings they meet not of their own tribe ; when pursued they retire to their island home. Once they have touched the shores of Tiburon, to reach which they paddle across the water in balsas (craft made of three bundles of cane lashed together, about thirty fect in length and pointed at both ends), they are perfectly safe. The balsa rides breakers and stems tide-rips that would crush rowboats or other small craft. No fortifications or earthworks are to be seen in Seriland, as the savages are adepts at concealing themselves behind rocks and shrubbery, while their remarkable swiftness permits them to escape by outrunning the horses of -their avenging pursuers. Of late years newspaper men, prospectors, and explorers have sought to lay bare the mysteries of Tiburon, but all have met with disappointment, and death in MAGAZINE. procured much valuable information relating to them through interpreters. He visited the island, where he saw no Indians, but did not travel inland. The major part of his information was acquired on the mainland at the extensive rancho of Sehor Don Pascual Encinas, where a temporary encampment of Seri then existed. Professor McGee's exhaustive treatise is em- bodied in the Seventeenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology, published by the United States Government. Referring to the Seri race-hatred of aliens— they have never intermarried with other tribes or associated in any way with them—Professor McGee said the Indians came to the rancho where he had his headquarters usually in groups, rarely alone, and always alert. When alone, or in twos or threes, they moved slowly and stealthily, with their peculiar up-stepping gait, often stopping and glancing round furtively, bearing a curious air of self-repression, for all the world like the camp-prowling coyote, who seems to hold down his bristling mane by voluntary effort. The visitor to their rancherta sent a wave of influence before him as his approach was noted ; laughter ceased, languor disappeared, and a forced, yet sullen, amiability took their place, though the children and females edged away. If he appeared. unexpectedly or came too close, the children and younger adults simply flitted most terrible forms has fre- quently been their fate, followed in all probability by horrible, gruesome feastings by a horde of half-naked savages. With the loss of each expedition interest in the mysterious island has increased. Two years after the death of Robinson and Logan, Captain George Porter and a sailor named John Johnson, of the schooner IVor/d, while collect- ing feathers, pearls, and other curios, camped on the east side of ‘Tiburon, where they were surprised by a large band of Indians, who suddenly rushed upon them. In the desperate conflict which ensued, Captain Porter, defending himself with a shot-gun, killed seven of the savages after he was mortally wounded, but he and his companion were finally over- powered and put to death. In 1895 Professor W. J. McGee, on behalf of the Bureau of American Ethnology, made the most thorough and extensive investigation possible of Seriland and the Seri tribe, and “EI Infiernillo,” or the Straits of Hell—In the foreground is a native “ balsa.” From a Photograph. like partridges, while the elders stiffened rigidly, with bristling brows, snarling lips, and purpling eyes, perhaps accompanied by harsh guttural sounds. Indeed, the curiously canine snarl and growl betrayed the bitterness of Seri antipathy towards even the most tolerable aliens. The Seri can no more control the snarl and growl at the approach of an alien than can the hunting- dog at sight or smell of the timber-wolf.

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AN ISLAND OF MYSTERY. We of the Meadows expedition were not ignor- ant of the conditions pre- vailing in Seriland, and knew that our chances of return would not be good unless we exercised great caution. Down the muddy Colorado to the clear waters of the Gulf, and finally to within sight of the frowning cliffs and rock- ribbed shores of Tiburon, was a delightful journey. After reaching the island we sailed for two days along the coast and entirely around it, passing safely through the swift-running waters of El Infierniello, and anchored off the north end. We found the island to be about thirty miles in length and from twelve to twenty miles in width, with two ranges of mountains enclosing a wide valley in the interior. At the half-dozen places where we landed not an Indian was encountered, although traces of their recent occupancy of the jacales (low shelters made by lashing and intertwining the tops of the shrubbery together, and in some instances covered with RS ASIRSrMiSDa: Mou“ Bawere: large, flat sponges from the sea from a Photograph. floor and large turtle - shells) 7X It was on the fourth day, after coming to anchor in a large bay, that we came into actual contact with the natives. While the party were searching for a spring of water perhaps two miles from the coast, they sud- denly came upon three or four families—about twenty persons in all—some stand- ing, others lounging about under the slight shelter of the brush huts, and all engaged in devouring what seemed to be pieces of boiled dog. A band of curs came rushing out, barking fiercely, but the Indians did not need the warning, for, being ever on the alert, they had probably seen us long before. Instinctively each white man’s hand moved towards his weapon, but it never reached there, for the attitude of the natives was far from belligerent. The children instantly scattered in the grass and brush, and were quickly out of sight, while the adults evinced little surprise at our presence. Men and women alike were partly naked, dressed in tattered clothing or a sort of kilt made from pelican skins, while the boys and girls wore nocovering at all. were found. On two occasions, while sailing Signs of friendship were made by the stalwart, along the coast, several natives appeared, and, deep-chested, fierce-looking men, and when after brandishing their bows and spears and “Arizona Charlie” stepped out with a bright making other threatening gestures, disappeared yellow handkerchief in one hand and a red one in the brush. Through our marine glasses they in the other, a sudden expression of interest appeared to be tall and of noticeable physique. was shown on each dark face. Soon the

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172 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. children came from their hiding-places, and it was not long before the whole group, except a few women, who surlily held aloof, were decked out in strings of glass beads, gaudy hand- kerchiefs, and small mirrors, which they accepted with apparent pleasure, and in trade we received the bows and arrows and other weapons of the men, who in their eager- ness to procure the bright-coloured articles placed them- selves entirely at our mercy, had we desired to take advantage of them. While they were in such a friendly mood we induced some of them to be photo- graphed, and we there took the first and only photos of the natives ever procured on Tiburon Island. They at first feared that the camera was a deadly weapon of some kind, and not until members of our party A Setl arthes. posed would some of From a Photograph. them consent to stand before it, and then not without a show of trepidation. An invitation was extended to the natives to visit the yacht, which, however, was not accepted, although whenever we touched the shore again during the entire week of our stay we always found a number of them ready to greet us with a show of friendliness and willing to accept clothing or trinkets in exchange for curios. Most of the Indians were of fine stature, erect and of easy carriage, with a peculiar soft-footed walk, as light as the tread of the panther, and of quick move- ment. Their guttural language was unlike any dialect any of us had ever heard. It has been variously claimed to resemble Welsh, Patagonian, and Arabic. We came in contact with fifty-five Indians, which we estimated to be about one-fifth of the tribe on the island. There were many more of them, but, for reasons of their own, they would not allow us to approach. In our short excursions, notwithstanding their simulation of friendship, we always felt we were kept constantly in view and under the eyes of Seri warriors, who watched from a distance an opportunity to attack our small party; so the assumption of friendliness, which had proved fatal to others, did not lessen our vigilance day or night, and we did not venture into the island interior or any place where an effectual ambush could have been laid. One day Meadows returned with a piece of stone as large as the hand, dark brown in colour, with a hard, shiny surface, which he had taken from a stratum of the same material extending for several miles across the island. Through finding that piece of stone two more human lives were unwittingly sacrificed to the blood- lust of the detested Seri. On our return to civilization the writer sent the sample to a State institu- tion for analysis, and tests disclosed that it was pitch-blende. Geologists decided that as radium was procured from pitch- blende, a thorough investigation of the deposit would be advisable. One of those who became interested in the matter was Pro- fessor Henry E. Miller, Superinten- dent of Schools at Yuma, Arizona, who called upon the writer for assistance in forming a com- pany of men desir- ous of landing on the island to acquire possession of the pitch-blende deposit. His idea was to take an expedition suffici- ently strong to repel the natives should they attempt inter- ference. The number of men willing to venture into the Seri habitat, however, was not large, and Professor Miller, discouraged by the lack of im- mediate success — yet of courageous disposition — ‘A Seri Chief. From a Photograph. declared he would Digitized b ( =O Yel | ‘ Digitized by \arC ogle

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AN ISLAND OF MYSTERY. 173 visit the island, even if he had to go alone. Returning to Yuma, he interested in the project Captain Gus Orlander, who had handled the Elia for the Meadows party. Orlander had observed no evidence of treachery in the Seri disposition, and considered the journey a safe one. From the day in the fall of 1904, when the two men sailed in a small craft from Yuma, there is no record of their having been seen again, but as an indication of the awful tragedy that ensued the chronicler of the Grindell relief expedition of 1905, related in THE WiDE WorLD MaGaziNE for August, 1907, may be quoted. On the Seri frontier two severed human hands were found fastened to the ends of a blood-stained wooden cross-bar, which had been nailed across an upright plank set in the ground. Each hand was fastened to the wood by leather straps cut from a camera case. On the inside of the straps was a partly-obliterated name; a capital “M” and a small “e” and “r” were discerned. A dance-ring, beaten hard by the stamping of bare feet, indicated where the merciless fiends, uttering shrieks of demoniac rage, with blazing eyes and glistening teeth, and evincing the blind fury of ravenous beasts, had danced before their helpless victim, mocking his cries for mercy and gloating over his excruciating agony as they tortured him to death. Professor Miller was an enthusiastic photo- grapher, and purposed taking original views of the island and of the natives, whom he believed could be rendered tractable through kindness. Poor Miller! Crucified, tortured, and perhaps devoured! Pity that such a brave and adven- turous spirit should perish so fearfully. In January, 1908, Lieutenant-General Adna R. Chaffee, U.S.A. (retired), and party returned Professor H. EB. Miller, who disappeared while on a trip to the island — His two hands, found nailed to a cross-bar, mutely proclaimed his terrible fate. From a Photograph. to Los Angeles from a hunting expedition to the coast of the Gulf of California, and though they anchored near Tiburon, they had no occa- sion to land on the island. While sailing up the Hardy River they found a dismantled sloop floating aimlessly about, guided only by wind and wave. The abandoned, water-logged hulk, believed to be the craft in which Miller and Orlander sailed to their death, had drifted many miles from the scene of the final tragedy. An air of gruesome mystery pervades the whole atmosphere of Seri- land. Men enter the country and completely disappear, leaving no trace, not even bleaching bones or grinning skulls, to disclose their fate, the one exception being the two hands believed to be those of Professor Miller. ‘The future of Seriland? Present indications tend toward either the eventual domestication or utter annihilation of its fierce inhabitants. The reader From a Photograph, ssembers of the Meadows party with a tew of tne islanders, may determine for himself which is the more likely.

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Calcutta. IVa BOUT May, 1897, I was second officer of the ss. Dictator, of the Harrison line, trad- ing between Calcutta and Liverpool. We were in Calcutta at the time this story commences, lying at No. 1 jetty and taking in our usual cargo of country produce. The wharf we were moored at had the repu- tation, amongst the natives, of being haunted by ghosts. From what I could gather from numerous inquiries, these apparitions were sup- posed to be the restless souls of poor fellows who had committed suicide at one time or other, and they chose our jetty as a playground and rendezvous for their ghostly meetings. I don’t remember ever meeting any white man who had seen anything uncanny on the jetty, though the majority of our crew, when they came down at night-time, had every opportunity to see ghosts if there were any to be seen. It was not so with the natives, however. Nearly every man among them that one spoke to had seen a ghost on our pier at some time or other. The result of this was that the natives very seldom troubled the jetty at night-time, unless we were working -cargo. Then, of course, the whole shed was lighted up, and there being plenty of them about they did not fear the spirits. The night I saw the ghost we were not working cargo, and the jetty and sheds were almost in total darkness. The native watchman, with his cloth drawn over his head to shut out the dismal surroundings, squatted on his haunches in the gloom beside the shed, Mr. F. W. Boulton, who here tells the story of the Ghost. From a Photograph. The Ghost of No. 1 Jetty. Top sy F. W. Boutton anp SET Down py E. J. MURPHY. A mercantile marine officer's story of a strange affair that rudely interrupted the monotony of shipboard routine on a steamer loading cargo in The explanation of the mystery is not the least entertaining part of the narrative. I was on the saloon deck of the Dictator, where I had come to have an after-dinner smoke. I was lying back in a deck-chair, enjoying my cigar, when the chief officer, Mr. Davies, joined me, and we commenced talking about the events of the day. The night was very still and quiet, for there was hardly a breath of wind about. ‘The atmo- sphere was heavy and hot, and made both of us feel rather drowsy. I think we must have dozed off in our chairs, for 1 suddenly wakened with a piercing yell ringing in my ears. Jumping to my feet I looked over the side on to the jetty, fully expecting to see the watchman writhing in a pool of blood and his murderer— some prowling thief—darting away with a reeking knife in his hand. Instead, I saw the guardian standing like a marble statue staring along the jetty, with his eyes almost bulging out of his head. He seemed petritied—rooted to the spot where he stood—and I came to the conclusion that a cobra or some other snake had coiled itself round his body, and he was so stricken with fear that he was unable to move. I had heard of such cases before. ] “The Author was second officer of this ship when he met with the experience here described. (Photograph.

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THE GHOST OF No. I was just about to make a move to go to his assistance when the chief officer, who was now standing alongside of -me, caught hold of my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. Pointing along the jetty he gasped out, “ Look there!” Turning my eyes in the direction indicated, I beheld, to my amazement, a white figure gliding steadily along the jetty in the direction of the petrified watchman. What appeared to me to be the arms were outstretched, as if seeking to embrace someone. I could distinguish nothing else ; the night was too dark. : “Someone is playing a joke on the watchman,” I told myself, hastily, but, all the same, both the chief officer and myself remained motionless, watching the thing in a state of spellbound interest. As I gazed, I became conscious of a strange, eerie feeling, and, spite of my scepticism, I asked myself whether that weird shape was merely the outcome of a practical joke or some uncanny visitant from another world. For a few yards the apparition glided along, slowly and silently ; then it suddenly rose in the air, there was a quick movement, and it vanished altogether. With a low cry of amaze- ment I dropped back into my chair, a cold perspiration breaking out all over me. The watchman, who seemed to come out of his trance at that moment, gave a howl of mortal fear and, turning on his heels, raced off the jetty on to the road as though ten mil- lion demons were after him. The chief, mopping his forehead, sat down on_ his deck-chair and gave a great sigh of relief. “Well, what do you make of that?” he said, rather shakily. ‘’ll own I don’t believe in ghosts, but that’s the nearest approach to one I’ve ever seen.” “Oh, I can’t believe it was a ghost,” I replied. “It must be somebody playing a joke on the watchman.” They were dragging the poor, terrified watchman back on to the jetty. 1 JETTY. 175 “It seems to have given you a bit of a shake up, anyhow,” he said, sarcastically. “T’ll own up to that,” I said, “ but don’t let us sit here arguing ; let us get on the jetty and see if we can discover anything. We might find out something that will lead to the exposure of the ghost. Perhaps it was some thief trying to frighten the watchman off the jetty so that he could steal.” “Oh, yes,” said the chief, with asneer. “I can quite imagine a thief flying up in the air and vanishing. Anyhow, I will go with you and see if we can find anything, although I know it will be useless.” Accordingly we made our way to the gangway and proceeded on to the jetty, where we found a white sergeant of police, two native policemen, and the watchman. It seemed that the frightened guardian had run into the arms of the white policeman as he dashed off the jetty, and the policeman, thinking he was a thief trying to escape from someone who was chasing him, immediately tripped him up. Then he whistled, which brought up two native policemen. They were dragging the poor, terrified watchman back on to the jetty again when’ we arrived, while he called on Allah to save him and strug- gled hard to get away. The _ police- men let the man go when we told them what had occurred, and the poor fellow, when he found that he was free again, dis- appeared off the . jetty likea flash. The white policeman told his two men to thoroughly search the wharf and then turned to us. “Do you actually mean to tell me that you saw a ghost?’ he said, placing his foot on a small log of teakwood that lay on the jetty and leaning forward on his knee. “Of course we did,” I replied. as plain as I see you now.” The sergeant grinned knowingly at us with a “We saw it

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176 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. twinkle in his eye. “Oh, yes,” he said, offensively ; ‘‘a fellow sees a lot of things like that after he has had a good dinner. I’ve done it myself.” 7 I felt highly insulted at the insinuation. He did not exactly say we were drunk and incapable, but he gave us to understand pretty plainly that he thought we had Leen taking more liquor than was good for us. Now, I was a teetotaller, and the chief, I knew, had not taken a drink of any description that evening. I was just going to let the policeman have a piece of my mind, when the unexpected happened. The log of wood that he had his foot on—a baulk about six feet long by nearly a foot square —commenced to move along the jetty. The sergeant’s foot slipped off it, and, losing his balance, he fell into my arms. He quickly regained his equilibrium, however, and we all The log dropped into the river with a loud splash. three stared stupidly at the log, which was now moving quickly along the jetty, with not a soul near it and apparently nothing helping it. The policeman rubbed his eyes, and then, with an angry shout, ran after the log. Catching hold of it, he tried to stop its progress. He even sat on it, but it promptly jerked him off and dropped him on to the jetty. The two native policemen, who happened to be spectators, also jumped on to the log, but it turned sharply round a post by the stern of the ship, and, throw- ing them off, dropped into the river with a loud splash. The sergeant jumped to his feet with an exclamation and, running to the edge of the jetty, peered up and down the stream to see if there were any boats in the vicinity. There happened to be one coming up the river at the time, the Customs patrol-boat. The men on board had heard the splash and, thinking someone had fallen into the river, imme- diately pulled close to the jetty to render assistance, but they could not see anything or anybody. “Did you see anything floating past you as you came up the river?” asked the sergeant, with a curious tremor in his voice. “No,” answered the patrol man, “and we kept a good look-out, too, for we thought someone had fallen into the river.” “Didn't you see any boats or anything ?” asked thepoliceman again, rather anxiously. “Didn’t see a_ thing ; only heard the splash. Why, is there anything wrong ?” “No, nothing in particu- lar ; only a log of wood fell into the river, and we thought perhaps it was something more serious.” “A log of wood, eh? How is it I didn’t see it pass me?” demanded the patrol man, suspiciously. “T think I had better come up there and have a look round.” “There is no need for you to come up,” snapped the sergeant. “I am a

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THE GHOST OF No. 1 JETTY. 177 police officer, and can look after anything that wants attending to here. But if you want to know what’s the matter, I’ll tell you; it’s the rummiest thing I’ve struck for a long time.” And he told the Revenue man everything, our part of the story as well. 5 The patrol man listened quietly until he had finished ; then he burst out laughing. “Good night!” he shouted, after telling his men to pull away. “I'd advise you to go and have a snooze. A good sleep does a fellowa wonderful lot of good after a night out.” And, still laughing, he disappeared up the river. I thought I was a good hand at ornamental language, but that police-sergeant beat me hollow in his annoyance at being told that he was drunk. I was rather pleased, personally, for it was only a few minutes before that he had hinted at the same thing concerning myself. “ Perhaps you will believe that ze saw a ghost now, after what you have seen yourself,” I said, presently, breaking in on his vitriolic remarks. He looked at me stupidly for a couple of seconds before replying. : “It does seem a little queer, doesn’t it?” he said, rather sheepishly. “A little queer, did you say?” said the chief officer, chiming in. “I should say it was very queer, and a jolly sight too uncanny for my liking. I have seen the native conjurers growing orange trees while you wait and making a boy climb up an endless ladder into the sky and then fall down in pieces ; but bringing ghosts on a quiet jetty like this to do skirt-dances and making logs of teakwood do a waltz is more than I can stand. And I am off out of this before something happens to me.” With that the chief turned on his heel and went on board, leaving me with the sergeant. “Look here, old man,” he said, earnestly, as the mate disappeared, “the best thing we can do is to say nothing about all this. I don’t want, to be told I was drunk any more than you do, and that is what we sha// be told if we let this story get about. I shall be on night duty all this week, and I’ll prowl round here every even- ing and see if I can make anything out of it; perhaps I may be able to find out the cause of this ghostly visit. If I do, it will be all right. If I don’t—well, it will be just as well to keep quiet about it. My two native policemen will be as mute as the grave if I tell them not to open their mouths, and that ass of a patrol man will soon forget what I told him.” I promised I would say nothing, and, bidding each other good-night, we parted. The Dictator lay in Calcutta a week after the ghost incident, but never a clue did the’ police- man discover as to our ghostly visitor, nor did Vol. xxiii. —23, we see anything more of the apparition. We finally left port without becoming any the wiser as to what it was that had disturbed our peace of mind that eventful night. And now comes the remarkable sequel to the story. About two days after leaving Calcutta I was putting a pipe-rack up in my room, and as I had no screw-driver I walked along to the carpenter’s shop to get one. Arriving there, I saw the carpenter busily cleaning a small log of teakwood that was covered with coal-dust and looked as if it had been stowed away in the bunkers. I borrowed the screw-driver and was just going to leave the shop when I noticed that the log had a staple driven into one end with a piece of wire attached to it. I took another good look at the log, and somehow or other it seemed familiar to me. It looked very much like the one that had done the disappearing “trick on the jetty in Calcutta. It was the wire that made me take a second look at the log, for it was a specially-made wire used with a patent machine for sounding the bottom of the sea when a ship is nearing land in foggy weather. It is very expensive stuff, and only found on board ships. “Where did you get this teakwood from, *Chips’?” I asked, in an off-hand manner. “ Bought it in Calcutta, sir. I got it to make a dressing-table for my old woman.” “Did you buy this piece of wire with it?” T asked, taking up the piece that was attached to the log. He looked.at me shrewdly and then began to laugh. “Well, to tell you the truth,” he replied, “I took that log off the jetty in Calcutta. I had no money to buy any wood, for I had spent all I could afford, and I had to get it somewhere. So, seeing this nice little log lying on the jetty all by itself, with nobody caring whether it stopped there or not, I thought I would mind it in case it got lost.” “How did you manage to get it on board without being seen?” I asked. “Surely some- body must have noticed you bringing it on board?” a “Not a soul, sir; it was done as neat as taking a plum out of a pie. You see, I had my eye on that log for a couple of days, but I couldn't find a way of getting it on board until I mentioned it to the bo’sun. He found a way in a brace of shakes, and we got it without a soul seeing us. “We did it like this,” he continued, leaning against his tool-rack and placing the forefinger of his right hand in the palm of his left. “Just before knock-off time on the day we took it I

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178 strolled ashore with a staple in one pocket and a hammer in the other. Everybody was busy, getting ready to knock off work and go home, so they took no notice of me. I just went straight to that log and whacked the staple into the end of it before you could cough. ‘Then we waited until it was dark. When night came I strolled on to the jetty again, quite unconcerned, with my pipe in my mouth—just as if I was taking a ‘constitutional.’ I walked along by the stern of the ship and found the end of a piece of sounding-machine wire, and picking it up I examined it closely. Then I sat down on this log of wood to have a good look at it. After I had finished my inspection—taking good care that the watchman wasn’t looking at me—I tied the wire to the staple, and then got up and walked on board again. You see, the other end of that piece of wire was on board; it was led round the stern of the ship and in through the midship hawse-pipe on the off side. We made the end fast on to one of the empty wire reels and shipped the handles ready for bearing it on board. I went and looked over on to the wharf to see that there was nobody about before we commenced to heave away. “But luck wasn’t in our way, just then, for the blessed watchman was sitting there. We waited for nearly an hour, but he gave no sign of going to the other end of the wharf, so there was only one thing to do, and that was to frighten him away. And this is how we did it, after the bo’sun and I had a little consultation. “T was repairing a fishing-rod for the chief mate, so I got it and lashed it on toa twelve-foot , bamboo pole. Then we rigged | up a ghost out of an old white shirt and a sheet. Hooking our scarecrow on to the line, we gently lowered the ghost on to the jetty, and by just keeping the thing clear of the ground we made it appear to glide along towards the watchman, “Well, whether you believe me or not, sir, it was the greatest fun in the world to see, that watch- man when he spied our ‘spirit.’ | | he I laughed so much that when I was raising our little ghost up in the air I fell over on my _ back, and the bamboo pole, fishing- rod, shirt, and all went flying Le | % Clout bah fly pihach Shobet e fet Piuspotys y Ke. Ahad wu, af THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. on to the off side of the ship, and the ‘ghost’ fell in the water. “Of course, there is no need for me to tell you that the watchman got out of that as quick as his legs could carry him. As soon as we had got our ghostly apparatus put away we went and hove that little log on board and dropped it down the coal-bunker, in case anybody wanted to be inquisitive and look for it on board the ship. And thats how I got my little log of teak wood.” “But didnt you see the chief and me and the policeman on the jetty after the watchman bolted ?” I demanded. “Chips” looked serious. ‘‘ Never saw a soul, sir,” he replied. “We didn’t look. Directly the native cleared we manned the wire reel and hove our log in, carted it off, and hid it down below. Were there any policemen there ?” “I should advise you to leave things that belong to the jetty alone,” I said. ‘ You were within an ace of getting caught.” Then I told him my part of the story, and he nearly had a fit. Finally, yielding to his entreaties, I promised I would not say anything to the chief officer about the affair, but in return I exacted a pledge that in future he would leave other people’s property alone. DOMINION LINE. MAIL STEAMERS. « fog Maire ale foarte iste Dee oh tog Sill afte bovine Ot Mache Mr. Boulton’s letter in which he vouches for the accuracy of this story.

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My Journey in Bhutan. By J. Craupe Waits, C.LE., BritisH Potitical AGENT AT SIKKIM AND BHUTAN, Over a year ago the author—who is one of the best living authorities on the British Indian Frontier, having been for nearly twenty years Political Officer at Sikkim — introduced our readers to the beautiful and practically unknown State of Bhutan by means of two articles which he wrote for ‘‘ The Wide World Magazine.” Since then he has again been on an important mission in that closed land, and in the following narrative recounts some of his experiences during the journey. BHE ceremony of the Maharajah’s installation was a very impressive function, and I was fortunate enough to be able to secure some photo- graphs of it. The proceedings took place in the Durbar hall, a fine chamber seventy feet long by forty feet in width, surrounded by a balcony some nine feet deep. The walls were hung with beautiful embroideries, scrolls, and lengths of silk. At one end of the chamber were placed three thrones—one in the centre for the Maharajah himself, one on his right for myself, as the representative of the great white King-Emperor, and one on his left for the Tassong Lama, or chief of the State Monks. These thrones were covered with the richest brocaded China silks. Ranged along the left side of the Durbar hall were rows of Lamas in IL. _ those to be seen on Swiss:chalets. Mr. White’s story is illustrated with his own striking photographs. resplendent canonical robes, while opposite were placed the head laymen of Bhutan. Depending from the balcony were priceless coloured brocades, which almost hid the curious panelled wood-work. The roof was made of great tree-trunks, unplaned and unfashioned, crossed with split pieces of wood, these latter being kept in place by huge stones similar to The gaudy hues of the rich silks and the magnificent dresses of the Lamas and laymen gave to the scene a brilliance which it is impossible for me to describe. There was scarcely standing-room on the floor, while the balcony was packed with acolytes, and even the rafters of the roof were a living mass of interested spectators. No fewer than two thousand souls were packed into the hall, and the scene, beautiful in some respects, The Tassong Lamas’ band—Some of the trumpets used were eight feet long. From a Photograph.

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LS ybostojoyd) phe S om Je seerepo Te Aq s97as usa op Coda pomayog syIF soceEE|JooRTS JO emis he at z , ~~ Fp a Z 8 1} 3 = a a % io) = Q THE WID

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MY JOURNEY IN BHUTAN. 181 From a) was also very weird. ‘The spectators maintained absolute silence during the ceremony. Owing to the crowding the hall had become somewhat dark, so I suggested letting some light in by removing the shingles on one side of the roof. The ceremony commenced by. every Lama, headman, villager, and servant marching up the hall and solemnly placing gifts on the ground in front of Sir Ugyen. These consisted of parcels of gold and silver, bundles of silk, cotton and wool clothes, and quantities of grain, meat, etc., till soon there was a pile some forty feet long down the centre of the room, as seen in the photographs. The Tongsa was then proclaimed Maharajah, and the whole of the chiefs and heads of the Tassong Lamas signed an oath of allegiance—each man affixing his seal on the The Bhutanese notables signing the oath of allegiance to the Maharajah. (Photograh. document and swearing to obey the Maharajah and his heirs. Complimentary speeches having been delivered by the Maharajah and myself, the ceremony concluded with the presentation to the Maharajah by everyone present, including the Lamas, of the White Scarf. These emblems were placed round the Maharajah’s neck, and before they had all given their scarves he was almost smothered in them. After the ceremony in the Durbar hall was completed we were invited into the courtyard of the Jong, and there saw the Tassong J.amas’ band, which had been stationed in the gallery during the ceremony. Some of their barbaric trumpets were eight feet long ; their other instruments were horns, drums, and cymbals. A few days after the installation I held a full

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182 Durbar in my camp, when I handed to the Maharajah the subsidy of fifty thousand rupees which is annu- ally paid by the British Govern- ment to the ruler of Bhutan. The bullion was en- closed in boxes, each being branded with the amount it con- tained. For form’s sake one of these cases was opened and the money counted, and, this being found correct, the whole was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. money t wice over The occa- sion was a pic- turesque one, as the photograph on the next page shows, there being no fewer than fifteen hundred coolies drawn upin lines. Later in the day the new Maharajah came to my camp, accompanied by his Council, in order to pay a ceremonial visit. In the evening the Maharajah and Council : ~ dined with me, From a) The Mabarajah visiting the Author's camp. —[Photograpi. while the head. men were feasted Sb removed. The next photograph shows the in another tent. At the end of their feast we treasure-boxes piled up outside the Durbar tent. _visited their tent, on which they all rose and After the formal handing over of the subsidy drank my health, The evening closed with a I gave a lunch in honour of the Maharajah and magic-lantern show of all the views I had taken his Ministers. Ceremonies of various sorts con- _in Lhasa and Bhutan on my former visit, as well tinued for several days, and then, on Christmas Day, I gave a great entertainment to the poor of the valley, whom I col- lected and, after arranging them in rows, pre- sented with alms. It was amusing to see how some of these unfortu- nates = manceu- vred in order to be included in a second dole (for I had to arrange them in batches), but the headmen were very watch- ful, and few, I think, managed to get their as some Eng- lish slides. My audience num- bered two thou- sand —all_ in- tensely inter- ested. For some reason the lantern worked very badly, and although I had taken an acety- lene plant and generator I could not get a good light. In trying to rectify this we had an explosion and nearly blew the tent down, but luckily no dam- age was done, and I think that most of the audi- encetook itasall part of the show, This ended the The boxes containing the Government subsidy of fifty thousand rupees. 3 From a Photograph. ceremonies,

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MY JOURNEY IN BHUTAN. 183 From a) and our party broke up. While Mr. Campbell returned direct to Chumbi with the escort, Major Renwick and Captain Hyslop returned to India via Buxa. Although the route had not been traversed for many years, it was thought advisable for them to go that way, as it was the shortest ard they were anxious to get back. At the invitation of the Maharajah Coolies drawn up in lines ready for the entertainment provided by the Author. (Photograph. I stayed behind for nearly a week in order to advise him and his Council about certain details of administration. I then started on my return journey, after experiencing much difficulty in getting away, as the Maharajah wanted me to stay, knowing that I was unlikely to return. At last, however, I took my departure, being accom- panied for many miles by Sir Ugyen, who had The shrine of a monastery at Paro—Many of the ornaments are of gold and silver, while others are fashioned out of From a) coloured butter! (Photograph.

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184 : THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at length to leave me and take a sorrowful fare- well. He subsequently wrote that he remained for the rest of the day at the spot where we had parted, as he was so sad he could not return to the valley. After leaving the Maharajah I retraced my steps as far as Paro, whence I proceeded by an entirely new and unexplored route to the plains. At Paro, which, like many of the Jongs in Bhutan, is celebrated for its metal From a) work, I took a photograph of the interior of a monastery. The pillars of this shrine are entirely cased in beaten copper and silver, and the altar contains some beautiful gold and silver ornaments. A very curious feature is the presence of many ornaments fashioned out of coloured butter! From Paro my road took me due south through magnificent pine forests with enchanting glades, forming ideal places for camping, over two passes, and through some beautiful valleys, until I reached the outer watershed. Here my A nerve-trying path. difficulties recommenced, and I had four days of very hard climbing before I reached my destina- tion in the plains. The rainfall in these outer hills is tremendous, reaching sometimes as much as three hundred inches a year ; so that it can easily be imagined what the tracks are like after such a deluge. The roads, in fact, are water- courses, and the following photographs show- how, in order to avoid them, the path is carried over projecting precipices and along the (Photograph. sides of cliffs. These pictures explain them- selves, and bear eloquent testimony to the difficulties of travel in Bhutan. It is hard work enough for the men, and how my mules managed to get along is a wonder. They cer- tainly are extremely clever in picking their way over almost inaccessible places, but I was glad to get them down without broken legs. From an altitude of thirteen hundred feet downwards, the outer hills are densely forested, on the higher slopes with rhododendrons, pines,

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MY JOURNEY and oaks, and nearer the base with more tropical vegetation. They abound in game, which is, however, very difficult to get, as the vegetation is so dense that it is almost impossible to penetrate the thick tangle. On one occasion I saw the “pugs” of a tigress and, alongside, the footprints of her cub, show- ing that the two animals had passed while I was within a very short distance, but I saw neither of them, which is perhaps as well, as I had no rifle with me. Close to this spot one of my mules was carried off by a tiger within a short distance of the camp. ‘The place is in some ways a perfect sportsman’s paradise, but hard work and perseverance would be necessary, owing to the difficulty of tracking. While travelling through these hills I had occasion to explore one of the outer valleys, to look at some coal deposits. The valley was entirely unin- habited by man, but was literally’ alive with elephants, tigers, sambur, leopards, rhino, mythum, barking deer, and pig. It was a perfect zoological garden. As I walked up the valley an immense tusker ambled on in front of me, and the whole river-bed was deeply marked with footprints of elephant, deer, and other animals. The huge elephant was doing his level best to get away from me, and in his hurry dashed into soft mud in the bed of the stream, sinking to a depth of three or four feet. Greatly enraged at this mishap, he extricated himself with difficulty and proceeded ineffectually to From a) Vol. xxiii —24, The expedition traversing a Bhutanese “ road.” IN BHUTAN. 185 charge an almost perpendicular bank. He managed to get up about twenty feet, but it was too steep for him, and presently the ponderous animal slipped down to the level again. He cleverly dodged the mud - bank this time, and finally disappeared through the jungle at the side of a small lake, where I followed him for more than a mile. The scene in this untrodden region was very wild. An immense landslide had occurred, blocking the main valley and actually forcing a lake out of its place, the former shores being marked with gigantic, forbidding-tooking dead tree-stumps. It was a creepy scene, and I was not sorry to get back into more cheerful surroundings. Except to those who have personal experience it is difficult to realize how impassable the dense mass of undergrowth is. While I was tracing the frontier between Bhutan and British India I thought I would make a short cut over a low range of hills, and accordingly turned up a small watercourse with all my elephants and baggage. For half an hour we got along all right, but then progress up the stream was hopelessly blocked by fallen trees and creepers. Determined not to be baulked of my “short cut,” I tried to get up the sides of the hills, but once more an impenetrable mass of bamboos made progress impossible, and, somewhat downhearted, I finally had to return to my original starting-point on the road, having wasted three hours in trying to fight Nature. {Photograph.

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THE ONE -EYED PARROT. By A. Goron, EX-CHIEF OF THE Paris DETECTIVE POLICE. The City of Paris has been the scene of some of the most remarkable and romantic crimes that have ever puzzled the brains of investigators. In this absorbing story M. Goron, late Chief of the Sdreté—the Scotland Yard of Paris—and one of the most famous of Continental detectives, tells in what strange fashion a one-eyed parrot assisted him to solve a complicated mystery and break up a dangerous gang of forgers. The narrative is absolutely true, but M. Goron has deemed it wise to suppress certain names. yey people seem born to fall a prey to swindlers. George S——, a money-changer in the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, belonged to that category. The first time he called o on me he carried a huge leather portfolio, from which he took a bundle of papers and several letters, which, I noticed, bore Spanish postage-stamps. “T fancy,” I said, “that you have been caught by the ‘treasure-trove’ swindle—hidden Spanish treasure. How much did you pay for the plans and the information ?” “Three hundred pounds!” he blurted out in a surprised tone. “How did you know it was that?” “Because, whenever a man comes here with letters bearing a Spanish postmark, nine times out of ten he has been victimized by the treasure-trove trick. It is an old one, and I can save you the trouble of telling me the story. You went to Spain with the gentleman who pro- posed the business ; the plans were handed to you there; you parted with your money; on your return to France you dug on the spot marked on the plan; you found nothing; and your travelling companion has mysteriotisly dis- appeared. Is that it?” “Yes,” he sighed, “that’s exactly what oc- curred. I was a fool. I want you to find the swindler——” “You can be certain that your man is now The parrot that helped the famous French detective in the solution of a puzzling case. From a Photograph. safe on the other side of the frontier and your money gone,” [ replied. My forebodings proved true. I tracked the fellow as far as the Belgian frontier, but there every trace of him was lost. Three years later M. George S—— again called on me, and he trembled with excitement. “ Any more treasure-trove?” I asked. He shook his head. “No, M. Goron. This time it is much more serious. A year ago, if you remember, a large quantity of securities were stolen in Amsterdam, and circulars were sent to bankers and money- changers cautioning them against dealing in those stocks. Yesterday two thousand pounds’ worth of these same securities were offered me for sale. Having consulted my list, and finding none of the numbers stopped, I purchased the parcel at the price of the day, and on ’Change in the afternoon sold them to Messrs. H——, the bankers. This morning I sent my clerk to deliver them, and he returned with a scared face, telling me that they formed part of the stolen bonds and that the numbers thereon had been cleverly altered. What am I to do,

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THE ONE-EYED PARROT. 187 M. Goron? For Heaven’s sake, help me, or I am a ruined man!” He handed me the securities and I examined them through a magnifying glass. As I expected, the foryers had operated on the figures 6 and 9, which can be easily changed into noughts. As M. S. said, the work had been well done, and only a practised eye could have discovered the fraud. Some two years before I had been fortunate enough to arrest several of these security-forgers. Since then no more com- plaints had reached me, and I was sorry to hear that another gang was again at work. I say another “gang” advisedly, for it is rare for that class of criminals to operate alone. As a rule, some members of the dangerous combination abstract the securities, which are then handed to the “‘artists,” who start work on the numbers, a subtle operation requiring great skill. The specialists in that branch use chemicals, which obliterate the numbers, leaving hardly a trace, and possess different sets of printing material and type of every kind. Beyond the description of the man who sold him the securities M. S—— had no information to offer me, for at the address given the stranger was unknown. I regretted this all the more, as I knew from past experience that these specialists—cunning rascals, liberally bribing those who help them to evade the police—are hard to trap. But even the cleverest criminal is apt to make mistakes, and it was an error of judgment on the part of the gang that supplied the first clue. I called Inspector Besnard, who had helped me in my last affair with the forgers, and said :— “Do you remember the little villa near the Porte d’Orleans, where I found three members of the association ?” “Yes, sir.” “The place, I know, remained a long time untenanted. I want you to report whether it is let now, and, if so, to whom.” “Very well, sir. But the fellows who stayed there are all in prison, as well as the rest. -Why, then 3 “ That’s all right,” I interrupted. Towards evening Besnard informed me that the villa had been let some three months ago to a Professor G. , a middle-aged gentleman. One servant, a woman, did the cooking and housework. ‘The professor was a quiet, inoffen- sive man, who went out very rarely, except for an evening stroll with his two fox-terriers. “Do you know anything about him,” asked Besnard, “that you should suspect him?” “This is the first time I have heard of the man’s existence, and therefore I could: not well suspect him,” I answered. “ But, if you want to know, it is the villa I distrust. Standing at the back of the garden, with its four entrances and those curious cellars, it seems to have been specially built for people anxious to feel safe from intruders.” That same evening I drove to the Porte d’Orleans, and from a convenient spot surveyed the house. After an hour’s waiting the professor came out, followed by his two dogs. He passed close to me, and I was positive I had never seen him before. Moreover, there was nothing in his appearance that struck me as abnormal. I waited a few minutes, and was on the point of going home, when the garden-gate opened once more and I saw a woman, bareheaded and in slippers. She was the servant. She looked up and down the road, yawned, and went back into the house, banging the door after her. A glance had been sufficient for me; I had seen her before. But where? My memory is one of my strong points, and I knew she had never passed through my hands officially. Where then had I met her? On my way home I called for a moment on the police commissary in the district and was informed that the professor was a highly respect- able man, who had brought his servant with him when he took the villa. It looked as if my suspicions were unfounded. For all that, 1 could not go to sleep that night with that servant’s face haunting me. At last, after a desperate effort, it suddenly dawned upon me where I had seen her, and I could not help laughing aloud when I thought of this strange discovery. Two years before I had ordered the before- mentioned Besnard to watch a certain Mme. Vacher, who, I suspected, was in league with an international band of thieves. But the old lady proved too sharp for him, and when he appealed to me for help it was too late. ‘The inter- national gang had been broken up and its members arrested, but nothing could be proved against Mme. Vacher. I had never come into contact with her, and only saw her once, when she was pointed out to me outside the Palais de Justice in deep con- versation with a woman. And it was that woman's face that had been in my mind when I caught sight of the professor’s servant. To be acquainted at all with Mme. Vacher, who in the way of craftiness had not her equal, was hardly a recommendation. . The following morning I said to Besnard :— ! “What has become of your old friend, Mme. Vacher?” He turned very red, and said, in a bitter tone :— “She now keeps what is supposed to be a

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188 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. servants’ registry office in the Rue des Vinai- griers. ‘The old hag! She ought to be doing time, if only for the way in which she hoaxed me. You'll find her a hard nut, sir.” “IT may give you a chance of being even with her. Watch her house.” 3 The third day he informed me that Mme. Vacher had been absent during the greater part of the day, the “ office” being left in charge of her grandson, a boy of about ten, ‘as crafty as his grandmother.” He also added that he had not seen a single genuine-looking customer enter the place, but that several people had called, one of whom he had recognised as Georges Boulard, a fellow with anything but a clean record. I own I had a moment's hesitation before busying myself with Mme. Vacher. ‘here was no direct indication of the woman being engaged in any unlawful enterprise, and her acquaintance with the professor's cook might be purely accidental. I could not afford to waste valuable time over a useless search. But, as I have frequently had occasion to remark, inspiration is no detracting factor in detective work. The before-mentioned Georges Boulard had given the police some trouble, and I made this a pretext for calling on Mme. Vacher. I drove to her place and entered her “office’”—a scantily-furnished room, with a dilapidated table, on which sat a red-haired boy reading a penny novel. On the wall hung an almanac, and beneath it the portrait of a very ugly man in a faded gilt frame. Ina corner of the room was a door, opening into what looked like a dark cupboard. “T want to speak to Mme. Vacher,” I said to the boy. “She isn’t in!” “Will she be long?” “T don’t know.” “Where am I likely to find her?” “T don’t know.” “TT think I'll wait for her,” I said, and took a chair, A quarter of an hour passed, and I was watching the boy, when I was startled by the noise of someone being violently sick. “What's that?” I asked. The boy grinned, but did not answer. As the noise did not stop I rushed into the cup- board. It was so dark that I struck a match and looked around me. At first I saw nothing, and then I beheld a small parrot walking about excitedly. “Ts it he who made that din?” I demanded. “Yes,” replied the boy. ‘He sometimes feels like that.” The parrot hopped into the office. He had only one eye anda bald patch on his head. I had never seen such a strange-looking bird. He gave a long whistle, jumped on the back of a chair, and made me two or three ludicrous bows. “He is polite to-day,” chuckled the boy. “As a rule he dislikes strangers.” “T cannot wait any longer,” I said. “Tell Mme. Vacher I will call to-morrow at twelve.” “What's your name?” “Never mind my name. All you have to do is to tell Mme. Vacher to be in at midday.” As I entered the cab the boy came to the door and shouted :— “Tt isn’t any good your coming. Grandmother never keeps appointments !” At that moment the parrot, who had stood on the doorstep, suddenly flew into the cab and settled on my shoulder. “Drive on!” I called to the cabman. “Hi! Stop!” yelled the youngster. “ Don’t take Joseph away!” “Since your grandmother does not keep appointments, tell her she will find Joseph at M. Goron’s office,” I said; “but she must come herself to fetch him.” Arrived at my office I had the bird put into a cage, where he sat peering out of his one eye, occasionally bowing when I happened to look at him. And every time I came near his cage he bent his bald head to be stroked. He had evidently taken a fancy to me. In the afternoon Besnard came in, and when I showed Joseph to him and informed him of what had occurred he was greatly interested. He took a small piece of sugar from his pocket and offered it to the bird. “What a queer-looking creature!” he re- marked. “ Joseph must have seen trouble!” But the parrot turned away and shut his other eye. “Looks as if he were saying his prayers, sir!” observed Besnard, chuckling. “Don't trust looks!” I cried. But my warn- ing came too late. The parrot darted forward and snapped — not at the sugar, but at the man’s hand. “Tl swear it’s old Mme. Vacher herself,” growled Besnard, -wrapping his handkerchief round his bleeding finger. “You mark my words, sir ; that parrot will come to a bad end!” A week elapsed, and as Mme. Vacher did not seem in a hurry to fetch her bird I had him transferred to another room. The end of the week, however, brought an unpleasant surprise. I had a telephonic call from Messrs. C——, bankers, to come at once to their office in the Rue Richelieu. A man of the name of Chaunet had offered some bonds for sale. ‘The cashier had sent to the address given by Chaunet, and, having ascertained that the man lived there,

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THE ONE-EYED PARROT. 189 had purchased the stock. In the course of the afternoon, however, it was discovered that the original numbers had been obliterated and replaced by others. The cashier and a clerk had at once gone to Chaunet’s residence, but he had not returned, and the clerk had remained there watching the house whilst the firm tele- phoned to me. When I reached Messrs. C——’s office, accompanied by one of my men, the principal was taking the cashier severely to task for having purchased the securities without having first consulted him. on Ue: “You had no right to do so,” he exclaimed, red with passion. “T acted for the best,” protested the cashier, Some wearing apparel and linen, a few novels on the drawing-room table, and a couple of pipes constituted M. Chaunet’s belongings. I saw neither letters nor papers of any kind, and the pen on the old inkstand had not been used for a long time. “ How long has your lodger resided here?” ] asked the concierge. “ Exactly a month, sir.” “Did he receive visitors ?” “I do not remember anyone calling.” “Were any letters addressed to him here ?” ‘A few at the beginning. I don’t think he received any of late.” “Was he much at home?” “No, sir. He told me he was a journalist, Monsieur A. Goron, ex-chief of the Paris Detective Police, in his office. From a Photo. by Paul Géniaux. a close-shaven man of about thirty-five. ‘There was a good profit on the transaction, and as you were on ’Change I had no opportunity to consult you, as Chaunet refused to wait any longer for a reply.” I asked the cashier to accompany me to the Rue de Choiseuil, where Chaunet lived, and on the way he gave me the fellow’s exact descrip- tion. Chaunet, I found, had furnished rooms on the second floor. He had not returned, and Messrs, C-——’s clerk was still sitting on the stairs waiting for him. Chaunet kept no servant, and the concierge’s daughter tidied his rooms. I asked the concierge, who had a duplicate key, to come upstairs, and I inspected the premises. » deal out and about. and that his work compelled him to be a good He paid for his rooms a month in advance, and always settled all his little bills on the spot. I think he is a very respectable man.” “T suppose this respectable man tipped you well?” I suggested. The woman blushed. “Well, sir, he was very good to me and my daughter, who cleaned his rooms.” “Quite so. And that is why you always gave him an excellent character when people came to inquire after him.” Although it was hardly to be expected that Chaunet would again repair to his lodgings, I left my man there and_returned with the cashier

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190 THE to his office. Then I asked the principal for a few minutes’ private conversation. “ How long has your cashier been with you?” I began. “Three weeks.” “Where was he before you engaged him ?” “He came with a strong recommendation from our St. Petersburg correspondents ; and as he had other first-class testimonials and speaks several languages I engaged him. He is very smart, but his having purchased those bonds on his own responsibility annoys me considerably. It was not within his domain.” “Let me see the letter of recommendation he brought, and also other letters from the same firm.” M. C——. left the room, and returned a minute later with the documents. ‘The letter was on the same paper as-the rest of the correspondence bearing the firm’s heading, and the signature looked perfectly authentic. M. C—— eyed me uneasily. “What are you trying to do?” he asked. “Do you mean to say——” “T mean to say that I do not trust your cashier.” The old gentleman looked very grave. “That would be serious, M. Goron. But what clue have you?” “No clue whatever. But something struck me as queer, and causes me to look upon him with suspicion. It is only a trifle, yet trifles are of importance. There is a small kitchen at the end of a passage in that man Chaunet’s apart- ment. It is an old house, and the passage is so dark that neither my man nor I, although our sight is rather good, noticed the step that leads into the kitchen ; and I defy anyone to go there for the first time without stumbling. Whilst we were inspecting the place, your cashier—whom we had left in the sitting-room with your other employé—joined us, and when he came to the door felt with his foot for the step as though well acquainted with the premises. And now, allow me to ask you how it is you gave this man, who had only recently joined your staff, the responsible post of cashier?” “T did not give it him at once, M. Goron. M. Hussenot—that is his name—was placed in the correspondence department, where he showed himself so intelligent that when, a week ago, our old cashier, who has been sixteen years with us, fell ill, and he offered to take his place temporarily, I saw no reason to refuse. It occurred at a very awkward time—the monthly Stock Exchange settlement.” “You say that your cashier’s illness occurred at an unfortunate moment ?” was my comment. “JT fancy it came rather appropriately for WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Hussenot. from?” “A sudden attack of indigestion. He was in fearful pain, but he is getting all right again, although he looks shocking. I called on him the day before yesterday.” “Were he and Hussenot on good terms and did they often dine together?” “Qh, yes. But——” He suddenly stopped, and stared at me terror- stricken. ““M. Goron,” What does your old cashier suffer he continued, in a trembling voice, “I begin to understand. What a diabolical business! My poor old cashier ; they might have murdered him!” “Tt looks like the work of a gang who are operating with unparalleled audacity,” I said. “No time is to be lost. Please wire immediately to your St. Petersburg friends and find out whether they really recommended this M. ITussenot to you, and be careful whom you send with the telegram.” “ ]—I will ask my son to take it!” stammered the agitated banker. “ But do you really think that Hussenot forged this letter of introduction and remained here so long, taking the risk of being found out at any moment ?” “T admit it was foolhardy, but I have seen even more risky feats performed. Their very boldness puts people off their guard. You will, of course, understand that all this is only deduction on my part, and that I therefore must proceed carefully with our man. My impression, however, is that his plans — and those of the gang—have been somewhat upset by this swindle having been detected so quickly, and that this evening may bring us fresh discoveries. Nor should I be surprised if M. Hussenot tried to give us the slip. I hope he w// attempt it, as it would simplify matters very much. What is his address?” “No. 64, Rue La Rochefoucauld.” “Very well. When I have gone send for Hussenot and tell him that after the mistake he made you do not wish to keep him any longer in your employ. Inform him that for regularity’s sake you and your accountant will check his cash, in his presence, of course. If he has robbed you—which is most likely— send for a policeman and give him in charge. You will find one at the door. If his accounts are straight, pay him his next month’s salary, to which he is entitled, and let him go. I will then deal with him.” T had sent word to Inspectors Larose and Millot, two experienced officers, and in less than an hour they met me in an archway opposite Messrs. C——’s bank, whence unseen we could watch the house. Five o’clock had struck, and

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THE ONE-EYED PARROT. IgI as Hussenot was not likely to leave before seven I thought I had time to drive to the Prefecture and return long before that hour. Just as I was on the point of starting, however, I saw a woman come down the street, and recognised Mme. Vacher. She made straight for the archway, and my men had only just time to withdraw into a house at the back of the court, whilst I slipped behind one of the massive doors, which are closed at night. I had reason to congratulate myself on having dropped into this hiding-place, with Mme. Vacher only a few feet from me. The minutes went by, but the woman remained motionless. At last, at a quarter to seven, Hussenot came out, walked slowly across the road, stopped, and remained standing with his back to Mme. Vacher—who did not budge—his eyes fixed on the door of the bank. Then, apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, but casting careful glances about him, he made a few steps backwards until he was close to the woman and said a few hurried words to her. Unfortunately he spoke too low for me to hear, but I caught the name “ Ernest.” Hussenot then crossed the road and re-entered the office, while Mme. Vacher hailed a cab. If the woman acted as a connecting link between the members of the gang, her object would now be to warn them of an approaching danger, and this I had to prevent. She gave the driver her address in the Rue des Vinaigriers, and was about to enter the cab, but I had beckoned to one of my men and touched her on the shoulder. She turned sharply round. “Tam M. Goron,” I said. “1 still have your bird. I want you to take it away.” She stared at me a moment in surprise. “Another time, M. Goron. Iam busy to-day.” “Pardon me. You must fetch the parrot now. This gentleman here will have the pleasure of accompanying you to my office.” “Do you mean to arrest me?” she cried, livid with rage. “ By what right ?” “No, madam ; you are not in custody,” I told her. “But I made up my mind that you should carry away Joseph, and there is no help for it.” Turning to my man I whispered :— “Keep her at the Prefecture until I return. On no account let her go!” “Understood!” said the man, pushing her into the cab and jumping in after her, whilst Mme. Vacher shook her fist, swearing to lodge a complaint against me. Every minute was now of importance. I had decided to take Hussenot in hand, trusting to get at the bottom of the affair through him, but I presently gave up that idea. As I stated before, I conjectured that the gang had made a strange mistake. I had intuitively felt that the conveniently-situated little villa near the Porte d’Orleans would play a ré/e in the affair, and Mme. Vacher’s mysterious appearance that after- noon and her connection with the professor’s servant strengthened my suppositions. I there- fore ordered Inspector Larose and another officer to stay behind and shadow Hussenot. “ Arrest him only if he tries to clear,” I said to Larose. ‘But stick to him—stick to him! I shall mount guard to-night outside the villa, unless—as is more probable—I am inside.” 1 sent Inspector Millot and two men to the Porte d’Orleans, where, half an hour later, I met him at an agreed spot a few minutes’ walk from the villa. I had all the exits guarded by my men, carefully concealed so as not to be seen by the inmates, with instructions to stop anyone leaving the place. From the spot, near the gate, which I had selected for myself I could overlook the street leading to the villa. It was a weary wait, but just as the clock of the neigkbouring church struck nine someone unlocked the garden-gate and the professor's servant appeared. She gave a quick glance all around and, not perceiving anybody, paced up and down in front of the house. Another hour passed, and I beheld a man coming down the road at a brisk pace. I recognised Hussenot. A moment later the woman saw him too, and went towards him. She had left the gate open, and whilst the pair were conversing I managed to slip into the garden and conceal myself behind a shrub near the stone steps leading to the house. Immediately afterwards Hussenot, followed by the servant, passed in, the woman locking the gate after her. As she turned round I saw Inspector Millot’s head peeping over the wall. I waited till the pair were about to enter the house and then gave a low whistle, where- upon Millot jumped over the wall and caught me up as I rushed after Hussenot and his com- panion. The instant they perceived me they ran upstairs. “Follow them!” I shouted to Millot, whilst I hurried down the curved staircase leading to the cellars, where I expected the danger was lurking. The place was quite dark, and, feeling in my pockets, I discovered to my chagrin that I had lost my matchbox. For a few seconds I stood still, but only the faint sound of trampling over my head reached my ears. Then through the stillness, close by, came the noise of someone tapping with a hammer. Cautiously groping my way along the narrow passage, I perceived a faint streak of light below a door. The hammering had stopped. 1 waited till it began again, and then softly turned the handle. The door was locked. Stepping back as far as the wall, I

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192 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. drove my shoulder forward with all my might. The hinges snapped, and down came the door with a crash. For a moment I stood dumbfounded, fancying myself in an alchemist’s laboratory. Strange- looking instruments littered the place, and the walls were hidden behind shelves filled with bottles and jars of every size. On a long table lay boxes of type, and on a string stretched him. He was the professor, the man who had been described to me as respectably known in the neighbourhood! A loaded revolver lay ona chair next to him, but my bursting upon him had made him lose his presence of mind, or he would not have trusted to the hammer. Before I had time to speak to the man some- one at the top of the stairs shouted my name. It was Larose, who, having seen me and Millot across the room sheets, which looked very much like securities, were drying. In the corner, below a small lamp, a man was bending over a chase containing type. At sight of me he quickly turned round, and a heavy hammer whizzed past me, missing my head by inches. Before he had time to renew his attack, however, I had grabbed him tightly by the throat, and a minute later he sat blanched and ghastly in the chair wherein I had thrown A heavy hammer whizzed past me, missing my head by inches. enter the house, had followed us in case we wanted help. I called him downstairs, and leav- ing my prisoner in his charge went to the floor above to see what had occurred there. As I reached the landing there came a sharp report of a pistol. I hurried into the room whence the noise proceeded, and there was Hussenot lying dead on the floor, with the smoking revolver still in his hand. Millot was bending disconsolately over him.

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THE ONE-EYED PARROT. 193 “Tam awfully sorry, sir,” he called out to me. “T could not help it. I caught him up when he ran upstairs with the woman, and ordered him to sit down until you came, adding that I had watched him all the afternoon. He smiled, said I had made a foolish mistake, and, lighting a cigarette, threw himself on that sofa. He put me quite off my guard. Whilst whistling a song he suddenly pulled out his revolver, and before I could stop him the thing was done.” The cook was crouching in a corner, covering her face with her hands. Having carefully searched every nook and comer, without finding anything suspicious, I returned to the cellar or “workshop,” where the “professor” was sitting in the chair into which I had thrown him. In a small cupboard near the door were several parcels of securities —amounting to five thousand pounds—ready to be “negotiated,” whilst in a leather port- folio I found a bundle of French and English bank-notes. I made a parcel of the securities and notes, which I sealed up in the prisoner’s presence, and then, leaving one of my men in charge of the villa, drove with the professor— who had given me his name as ‘I'assard —and Marie, his servant, to the Prefecture. Hussenot’s body I had transferred to the Morgue. When I reached my office the following note was brought to me from Messrs. C——, the bankers :— “We have received a wire from our Peters- burg correspondents. The letter of recom- mendation is a forgery ; they do not know H We checked H ’s accounts, but found everything straight, no money or securi- ties missing. We paid him his next month’s salary in lieu of notice, and he went away. Have you discovered anything ?” I then remembered Mme. Vacher, who had been kept waiting for a good many hours, and sent for the officer in whose charge I had left her. “She has been using terrible language,” said the man, grinning. “I suggested having some dinner brought in for her, but she would not hear of it. She has never left off cursing me, sir!” I had Tassard and Marie brought to my office, and then sent for Mme. Vacher. She was on the point of speaking, when she suddenly checked herself; she had caught sight of my two prisoners. “Who are these people?” she asked, and the three eyed one another as if they had met for the first time. “ There is still a third,” I said, “whom I am certain you know. But you cannot see him, because he blew out his brains an hour ago. Vol. xxiii. —25. His name is Hussenot—or, rather, that is what he calls himself.” With marvellous self-possession she shook her head. “Who’s Hussenot ?” she demanded. I saw it was useless to prolong the interview. I told Mme. Vacher that she must now consider herself in custody, and had the trio taken to the central police-station. Next morning early I drove with Mme. Vacher, in charge of an officer, to her small apartment, a few streets from her office. “What do you expect to find here?” she asked. “I am a hard-working woman. The whole thing is a plot to ruin me!” I wasted some time over the bedroom and dining-room, and then went to the kitchen, when, for the first time, I fancied I ‘noticed a nervous ~ twitch in the face of the “ hard-working woman.” I devoted special attention to the kitchen range, which I generally found to be a favourite hiding- place, but discovered nothing. Having looked into some earthenware jars on a shelf above the range, I remarked to the woman :— “You appear to be immoderately fond of lard, keeping such a large quantity on the premises. And it is rank lard, too!” With that I scraped out the jar and came upon a false bottom, a little wooden plate, below which, wrapped in oilskin, was a parcel of bonds, similar to those I had found at the villa) A second jar also contained securities. “TI know nothing about these things,” cried the woman, with a shrug of her shoulders. “ Someone has put them there.” Having concluded my investigation, we went to Mme. Vacher’s office, where I continued my search, without, however, bringing to light any- thing further. I therefore instructed the officer to take the woman back to the depot. I remained in the office for a few minutes to jot down some notes, and was rising to leave when a man with a pair of wonderfully sharp black eyes came in and cast a quick look about the room. Whilst he eyed me suspiciously the door opened again, and the little red-haired boy thrust in his head. On seeing me he started. “M. Goron!” he yelled, and disappeared in a twinkling. The man, too, made a dash for the door, but I was too quick for him, and intercepted him. “Who are you?” I asked. “My name is Roulin, if you want to know,’ he growled, sulkily. “ But it’s no concern of yours.” “Well, you see,” I said, “as it happens, it #s a concern of mine. Something unplezsant has befallen Mme. Vacher and some of her friends, and as I am anxious to gather all the information

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194 THE WIDE WORLD Ican I must ask you to accompany me to the Prefecture to answer a few questions.” The fellow understood that resistance was useless, and I drove with him to the Prefecture, where he stated that he had come to Mme. Vacher’s office about some furniture she wanted to sell. He said he did not live in Paris, but in Dreux. Asked why he wanted to run away at the mention of my name, he gave the typical answer that “he was ina hurry to catch a train.” I telegraphed to Dreux, and an hour later received the reply, “Unknown at the address given.” When I communicated this to him, he said it was a mistake, and as he refused to reply to any questions I had him conducted to the anthropometrical office, but M. Bertillon sent him back with the mention, ‘ Not known here.” Accordingly, I had to devise some other means to discover his identity, but as I had to attend to a matter that required my immediate atten- tion, I asked one of my assistants to go with him to an adjoining room. Before a minute had elapsed I heard a piercing shriek of :— “ Errr-nest ! Errr-nest of a scuffle. Hurrying into the next room I beheld a spec- tacle I shall never forget. ‘The parrot’s cage was open and the bird lying strangled on the floor, whilst my assistant had seized the man, who was shaking with excitement. “What on earth has happened?” I asked, bewildered. “T took this fellow in here, sir,” replied my assistant, “and had forgotten all about that bird in the corner, but as we came in the parrot began screeching ‘Errr-nest!’? The man was terribly startled, and then, in an access of fury, he wrenched open the cage, and before I could stop him he had seized the parrot by the neck. It is a queer business !” Yes, it was a queer business. Where the anthropometrical office failed to recognise the man, that parrot had come to my assistance by proving the fellow’s connection with the Tassard gang. For “Ernest” was the name I had heard Hussenot whisper to Mme. Vacher. Poor Joseph! He had rendered me a service, and had paid for it with his life ! A few minutes later my assistant told me that Roulin wanted to speak to me. He came in and dropped into a chair, accepting the cigarette I held out to him, but forgetting to light it. Criminals are proverbially superstitious. ‘This determined-looking man would, I felt certain, have faced any danger without flinching, but he was not prepared for this sudden meeting with » followed by the noise MAGAZINE. the parrot. It was more than his nerves could stand, and I felt sure that he had been seized” with a sudden desire to unbosom himself; I had seen these symptoms before. “M. Goron,” he began, in a hoarse voice, “I want to make a clean breast of it!” He then revealed the whole conspiracy. * Hussenot—whom he had known under several aliases, but whose real name he never discovered —had been one of the gang who had committed the great robbery of securities in Amsterdam. He was one of the chiefs; in fact, Tassard— alias Devigne—was the “artist” of the fraternity ; and two others, Belgians by birth, whose names and addresses he gave me, had left for London the week before. Mme. Vacher was the “ post- office.” Letters were addressed to her house, and she had charge of all compromising docu- ments. His own functions were those of the “traveller” for the concern, but, as he put it: “They have behaved shabbily to me, and not paid me what they owed.” I read the statement over to him, and after he had signed it he was taken to the depot. During my search of Hussenot’s rooms I had found, hidden in the mattress, a small box con- taining false beards and wigs of various hues, spectacles, and even a false hump. When I saw that nobody recognised Hussenot’s body exposed in the Morgue, I tried a strange experi- ment. I sent for all the persons who at some time or other had been victimized by the gang, and, according to the description each gave me of the man with whom they had dealings, Hussenot was shown to them, either with fair or dark whiskers and wig to match. Then came cries of surprise all round, and out of the ten I had summoned eight were positive they had met him before. It was a gruesome exhibition, but I deemed it necessary to arrive at the truth. Tassard, the “ professor,” and Chaunet—one of his accomplices whom I soon afterwards arrested—were sent to penal servitude. Mme. Vacher also received a severe sentence. As to Roulin, he received the benefit of the valuable information he had given me, and, taking into consideration the magnitude of his offence, got off rather lightly. Marie, the cook, against whom nothing could be proved, was acquitted. But I did not forget. how much I owed to Joseph. I had him stuffed by an expert, and he now figures in my collection—my “ Museum of Crime,” as my friends call it—where he gazes with his one glass eye on the weird mementoes that surround him. “ ” Next month—“ THE GIPSY POLKA.’

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The “Dearl of the Mediterranean.” WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY H. D. CoLuison-Mor ey. A chatty description of life in Malta, illustrated with sketches made on the spot, and dealing in entertaining fashion with the manners and customs of the island and its inhabitants. 1B CoLeNrNORLIry The Grand Harbour. ET it not be supposed that the title of this article alludes to the island Bod | or beauty, for that would be sarcasm ~ on the rocky and treeless yet gay little island. It was in former times, from its intrinsic value as a safe and strongly-fortified naval base, that the island rightly earned such a distinctive name. From the sea it bears an inhospitable appear- ance. The much-indented coast-line shows up in a series of pink and grey-coloured rocky ridges, and a gradually increasing number of houses along the shore culminates in the densely populated area within the old grey-wailed city of Valetta and the adjacent smaller towns, all clustering on the finger-like promontories which divide the basin into two large harbours and numerous smaller creeks. Glaring white, the flat-roofed houses rise tier on tier from the water's edge or the lofty parapet of the old walls to meet the deep blue of the sky in a white silhouette of roofs, church domes, and turrets. The ship is surrounded by the usual throng of dyssas, which are the characteristic Maltese boats, all brilliantly coloured, with high prows and stern-posts, awnings aft, and each manned by two barefooted Maltese, who stand up facing their work. On either side of the bow are painted, Chinese fashion, two human eyes, with- out which no dyssa is complete. Noticeable amongst the flotilla, rowed by a shrivelled-up cripple, is a tiny dinghy, inscribed with the name “ Me poor fellow, sir.” ‘‘ Me poor fellow, sir,” is there for pennies, and very dexterous he is in catching them in the bottom of his little boat. A good road runs around all the edge of the harbour a few feet above the water, as there is no tide to speak of in the Mediterranean, and at the Custonis the cab of the country is present in force, the drivers clamouring to secure a fare. Towering above, two or three hundred feet high, are the embattled walls built by the Knights of St. John ; and from under a long, wide tunnel one catches a glimpse of the deep, ravine-like ditch that divides Valetta from Floriana. Our “carotzzi,” the narrow-seated, uncomfort- able cab of Southern Europe, with curtained sides and a waterproof top, is drawn by a fast

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196 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Barb pony, and clatters up a circuitous, paved .toad to the Strade Reale, the main street, which tops the ridge of Valetta. Always as clean as a new pin and containing excellent shops, this fine thoroughfare passes through the Palace Square, which is a paved space overlooked by the picturesque stone balconies of the Governor's Palace on the one side and the Main Guard building on the other, and ends by piercing the city walls, crossing the deep ditch by drawbridges. Valetta used to be described by visitors in three words: “Yells, bells, and smells.” The two former are still going very strong, but, thanks to sanitation, the latter indictment is not so noticeable except perhaps in the poorer quarters and in some of those steep streets of stairs which Lord Byron, with his clubbed foot, evidently found so tiring. But harsh-voiced street cries and the Maltese love of noise, shouting, and passionate argument make the streets anything but quiet. It is extremely amusing, by the way, to watch two natives arguing. With faces almost touching, spitting with excitement, their eyes bulging, sometimes even biting their thumbs to allay their passion, they scream at one another at the top of their voices. The last word being said, they reluctantly part, each muttering, shrugging his shoulders, and repeating tit- bits of the conversation. As for the bells, they seem to be always ringing, and during the Festas absolutely all day long. Up in the belfries the small boys, rope in hand, can be seen tugging at the clapper of the bell which is only a few their cheery appearance they seem to enjoy inflicting such deafening torture on their neighbours, for Valetta is densely built over, and there are many churches, so that during Festas the noise can be imagined. On these days they sometimes start long before dawn. 1 can remember one hot summer's night, when a violent thunderstorm was raging, with vivid lightning and ear-splitting peals of thunder, the big bell at St. John’s, Valetta, commenced to toll, and the ringing was taken up by all the other churches within hearing until even the thunder gave up trying to make itself heard, and ceased. It was some time after the Valetta churches had tired of the clapper-pulling before the last faint echoes of 2 An amorous young Maltese saluting his feet above their heads. From lady-love. the village churches out in the country had died away. The slums, or “ underground” Malta, as they are called, are rather a surprise. One entrance is under an archway near the Muscetto steps. Lown you go, apparently to sea-level, but the houses are built to such a height that you would not suspect any declivity in the neighbourhood. A narrow passage winds up and down steps and slopes, twisting promiscuously in and out, and it would be a difficult job indeed to find your way out im a hurry without the guide. Humorous friends who had heard of our meditated expe- dition, and who we hoped were misinformed, had told us that it was the well-known and amiable custom’ of the inhabitants to follow along the roofs above the track of the visitors and drop brickbats down, and we must admit to now and then casting an anxious look heaven- wards to see if our doom, in the shape of a brick-laden Maltese, was on the tiles following us. ‘The most noticeable things in and about the streets of Valetta are the extra- ordinary head-dresses of the women, the numerous ‘priests, and the frequent herds of goats. All the women of the lower and middle class wear the faldetta, the national head- dress, a black stuff covering stiffened in front by a hoop, hanging down at either side and at the back below the waist. Of the Maltese ladies’ charms, therefore, yuu see tittle or nothing. The face, shrouded in shadow, is framed against a black blackground whose hard outlines are most unbecoming. They give a dismal appearance to the streets and the women. folk all seem to be in mourn- ing. No pretty hats or coquet- tishly arranged hair, and no neat figures are to be seen—just dark skirts topped by this clumsy-looking head-dress. A Knight of St. John, writing in 1805, attributes the wearing of the faldetta to old custom, dating as far back as the Arab occupation of the island, when women were completely veiled. The sight of an amorous young Maltese popping his head into the dark cavern to salute his lady- love is indeed quaint. There must be many hundreds of priests in the island. You see them everywhere. Parties of lean young striplings, a violet sash encircling their flapping black garments, march, two by two and hand in hand, in charge of a blue-chinned pedagogue armed with a big

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THE umbrella. Bare-legged and bearded friars of splendid physique, with only a skull-cap to Protect their heads from the sun, go from house to house, collecting food and alms in clean linen bags, while priests of all ages and sizes, in varied garb, are seen in the streets. On Holy Days the religious processions make a very pretty display of colour and costume as they slowly pass along through the narrow, shaded streets, RZ “PEARL OF THE MEDITERRANEAN.” _ 197 towards some tempting bushes for a nibble. The paling at her side prevented her from turning and the slope in the street below made the height too great for a leap, so she continued her walk—hoping for the best but fearing, I daresay, the worst—until she was stopped by a house-wall in front. Below, the pavement, instead of being only three feet away, as it was when she commenced, was now thirty. The A Maltese goat-man. illumined here and there by limelight effects of afternoon sunshine which strikes through gaps between the houses. A brilliant touch of colour is supplied by the herds of fine goats that frequent Valetta, usually in charge of a long-haired barbarian who throws himself into transports of passionate rage over his charges’ frequent wanderings and adventures in the traffic. At a customer’s doorstep they come to a halt, and one of them is captured, to be milked into a jug; and the buxom house- maid welcomes the opportunity of a lengthened chat, while the other goats are searching for cigarette ends and bits of paper or licking the paving-stones. As they chew and swallow a bit of newspaper, inch by inch, there is a look of serene content on their faces, and a gratified licking of lips ensues after the final swallowing ! Others settle private differences by rearing up and then crashing with a dull thud and clash of horns against an opponent’s forehead, or, in pursuit of excitement, perch themselves on window-sills or walls to enjoy the view. Once 1 watched a goat leap on a wall and walk dry suggestion of a passing bluejacket—that ‘a blanket should be held below and the goat be encouraged to jump therein—was not adopted, but the owner, almost apoplectic with fury, managed after a long interval to rescue his property by means of a ladder. Goats’ milk has been in the past the means of spreading the Malta fever that has played such havoc with the garrison, as fifty per cent. of the goats are known to be infected. The Maltese themselves have become immune to its effect and drink it without getting ill, but condensed milk is now used for the troops and English people. St. John’s Church, the Chapel of Bones (which is decorated with the bones of the soldiers massacred by the Turks when they captured Fort St. Elmo in 1560), and the Gavernor’s Palace are the show-places in Valetta. In former days there was a monas-. tery open to the public where the bodies of defunct monks, preserved and dressed in their clothes, were to be seen, but they are not now on view. Tourists who have feasted their eyes

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198 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. on the above sights are brought by their eloquent guide to the Palace Square. Pointing out a doorway under the portico of the Main Guard, he bids them enter and go up to see the pictures which have been painted on the walls by officers when on duty there, while he awaits their return. At the top of the steep and narrow staircase is a realistic life-size painting of an officer dashing down, sword in hand. Their imaginative guide tells his clients not to miss it, The faces have been painted with phos- phorescent paint, which at night must make this bedroom—for such it is—truly a chamber of horrors. The tourists are about to leave, when a bell in a far corner rings violently. It has a most astonishing effect on the officer. A wild look comes into his eye, he casts away his cigarette, and with one bound he is at the table, grasps his sword, crams his helmet on, and at break- With one bound he is at the table and grasps his sword. as it is a portrait of an officer who tripped over his sword and broke his neck on the stairs. From the subaltern on guard, who is disturbed from his arm-chair and his study of a paper by their apologetic knock, they ask permission to see the pictures. Having been alone in his glory the entire morning, he is not sorry to see them, and their arrival is welcomed. The walls of the long, low room are covered with pictures of all sizes and shapes—a most interesting collection. Some of them, very old, were drawn by officers just back from the Crimea, and show camp scenes there, while a large and very clever picture depicts a Nile boat in the 785 Expedition. A portrait of the King, pre- sented by His Majesty when he last visited Malta, hangs over the mantelpiece. On the table are the officer’s drawn sword and helmet, ready for a call to arms. In an adjoining room are some elaborate “life-size” drawings of skeletons and demons. neck speed, his scabbard clattering beside him, precipitates himself down the stairs, while from below come a scramble of feet and a rattle of arms. Hurriedly following, the startled visitors hear a few words of command, the distant rumble of a carriage, and arrive just in time to see the guard dismissed. Still breathless, the subaltern explains that the Archbishop has just passed in his carriage, and the guard has turned out to salute him. A story is told of a rather extraordinary incident that took place at the Main Guard a great many years ago. It is one of the privileges of the officer on duty to leave his guard for one hour in the evening and dine at the club. In this case the officer met some friends whom he had not seen for some time, and they dined together. The hour passed pleasantly, and yet another. Weakly yielding to persuasion, the officer did not leave, but one of his friends suggested

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THE sending back somebody else in his place, as the field officer would soon be due and find no officer present. One of the waiters at the club, of a similar size and build, who spoke English perfectly, was sent for. Sword in hand and attired in the officer’s cap and coat, he was thoroughly drilled in his part, and after a few satisfactory performances the sharp - witted waiter was sent off. At the guard-room he acknowledged the sentry’s salute and disappeared above. In due time the field officer rode on to the square, the bell was rung, and the guard turned out. Full of confidence, the waiter dashed downstairs and placed himself in front of his guard. All seemed to be going well. Then, in a loud voice, the pseudo-officer gave the customary information: ‘Guard present and correct, sevior!” Let us draw a veil over the trouble that ensued. Few European races are more superstitious than the Maltese. At street corners and in dark tunnels and defiles, frequently, too, out in the country roads, there are little shrines gaudily painted and sometimes surmounted by a lighted lamp. Often there is a box close by, with a slot in its top, for the donations of the timorous. Many cab-drivers will get a friend to sit on the box with them at night for fear that in a dark part of the road they may feel a presence at their sides and turn round to find themselves gazing into the interesting face of the Evil One himself. It is said, too, that the country people believe that branches of trees harbour the souls of the departed. It is a rare thing to see a Maltese out by himself at night in the country. Sometimes you may meet a couple of them hastening on their way, jabbering at the top of their voices. In appearance the men are short and thick-set, with high cheek-bones, flat noses, and a mop of curly black hair. A shirt, cummerbund, and trousers, and a high black felt hat or tam-o’-shanter form the usual costume. They either go barefooted or wear sandals. When the Maltese Militia are out on manceuvres they soon get tired of the regulation ammunition boots ; at halts large numbers take them off and finish the day barefooted, with their boots tied to their equipment. Due, no doubt, to their habit of carrying their burdens on their heads, the country women have a splendid carriage, but the skirts, padded out at the hips, give them an ungraceful appearance. There is a certain charm about the country districts, rocky and treeless though they are. The soil is so thin that the slopes of all the hills are terraced to prevent it from being washed away during the rains, and only a very few stunted caroub and fig trees are seen. The ground has been cleared of rocks and stones by “PEARL OF THE MEDITERRANEAN.” 199 building walls at small intervals, and what with the terraces and these walls there are no big fields except in the large valleys. Large, grim- looking castles crown the principal ridges, built by the Knights in the seventeenth century as towers of refuge for the country-folk during the Turkish raids. The houses of the villagers huddle together, with little or no intervening spaces—just a dense mass of masonry, surmounted by the ornamented dome and towers of the church. The rural scenes are very picturesque. Let us take a typical scene. The ploughman is at work with an antiquated implement drawn by a tall, thin bullock in harness with a tiny donkey ; near a large stone tank, under the shadow of some trees, a blindfolded mule is wearily circling round under the pulleys of a well—the clank of the endless chain of tiny buckets mingling refreshingly with the tinkle of the water out- poured into the solid stone troughs that conduct it by devious meanderings to nourish the vines. A few children are minding a herd of goats browsing on the terraces above, more lucky in their pasture than the afore-mentioned goats of the Valetta streets. The farm is lower down the valley, and near the entrance-gate, which is painted a brilliant red, the farmer’s go-cart, of the same bright hue, is thrust among the aloes, while on the flat roofs are stacked the produce of the fields. Every farm and cottage in the island owns a watch-dog. As you approach he appears on the roof, and, bristling with anger, barks steadily until you disappear again. He does not appear to be quite so formidable when you meet him on the road. Then his tail is between his legs and he scuttles away home, but once he has squeezed under the gate and is safely on the roof he gives one the idea that if only he could get down at you he would tear you to pieces. At sunset you may meet the villagers returning to their homes. The donkey which has been ploughing all day is harnessed into the cart, and. brings home therein the plough and the weary ploughman ; the women, however, walk beside it, carrying bundles of clover or other field produce on their heads, while children, curious-looking sheep with long necks and lanky legs protruding from a heavy fleece, goats, and dogs follow in a straggling line. At the cottage door the whole party disappears for the night into the family parlour on the ground floor. That well-known type of vehicle, the Maltese cart, is in use throughout the island. It is of an economical form—a flat, gate-like bottom testing on an axle between two large wheels, and short shafts with rings at the end to put over the hooks on the high saddle-piece. The

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200 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The villagers returning to their homes. cart is painted red. The harness is decorated + -with brass nail-heads, and fringes and cloths are hung around to keep the flies off. A much lighter form, with the addition of springs, mud- guards, and cushions, is the carriage of the middle classes. ‘The driver sits on the shaft, like our own costers, with his legs swinging free, and the passenger lolls flat on the cushions, resting on his elbow. At holiday times you meet hundreds of these go-carts drawn by very fast - trotting ponies and horses. In gaudy harness and a necklet of bells they go dash- ing through the villages and round the corners at a great pace, and where the road permits hold impromptu races with rival trotters. A century ago a springless carri- age, called a caleche, was used by the rich Maltese when travelling out to their summer palaces. It was an ordinary coun- try cart on which was built the body of a brougham. You got up bya HO Coceiigh MALE ig They go dashing through the villages at a great pace. ladder, and the driver walked by the side of the mule. Picnics, to which you drive out in tandems, are a favourite amuse- ment of the garrison, for the hard roads offer no inducement to ride far, but in a tandem you can get farther afield and so explore the country districts where, from the high ridges, the views over the island are worth seeing, and there are many well - cultivated valleys and country scenes which are very enjoyable after crowded Valetta. Driving through the narrow village streets you sometimes turn a corner to find yourself face to face with a country cart. There are no side turnings, and room neither to pass nor turn. It then becomes a matter of argu- ment as to which of the two shall either go backwards or take his outfit to pieces and let the other pass. These streets wind in such unaccountable directions that even with a map one can easily go wrong. Once on manceuvres Digitized b Google oO

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THE “PEARL OF THE MEDITERRANEAN.” 201 a young officer in charge of machine-guns, followed by water-carts, ambulance-wagons, etc., took a wrong turning up a country lane and found himself in a cx/-de-sac, and before they could extricate the vehicles the stone wall had to be pulled down to allow the guns to get back ! During the summer months there are several Maltese sporting fixtures. Horse-racing along There is a good opera, dances—small and large —several times a week, and the winter season closes with a carnival ball at the Governor’s Palace. ‘That evening the palace looks at its very best, the beautiful apartments, filled with pictures, tapestry, and armour, making a splendid background to the bright costumes of the guests. ‘The supper is served in the enormous armoury. It then becomes « matter of argument as to which of the two shall go backwards. the hard high-road is one of them. No reins or saddles are used, and the jockey belabours his luckless mount the whole way with a whip in either hand. No attempt whatever is made to keep the course clear. The racing horses charge wildly into the crowd, which automatically opens to allow them passage and closes in again when they have passed. There is dyssa-racing, too, in the Grand Harbour, the racing crew consisting of two standing oarsmen and one seated ; these are trained for a long time before the day, and they send their flat-bo'tomed boat skimming along at great speed. During the race the Grand Harbour is a mass of colour, all the Valetta townspeople being on the water. The Marsa, which is the garrison’s playground, caters for every form of sport, from polo to badminton ; it is the largest bit of flat country on the island and only a mile from Valetta. Vol. xxiit.—26. A dance on shipboard is a novel experience to many, and when it happens to be in a small cruiser moored near the mouth of the harbour on a rough night it has its excitement for the mere landsman. The anxious work of transhipping the guests is entrusted to the youthful middies who command the launches. At the waterside, near an electric lamp, the steamboats are waiting, now lifted to the level of the road and then disappearing in the trough of the sea, which at intervals sends a shower of spray on to the pavement. At opportune moments the guests are passed into the well-like cabin, and in a few minutes the launch starts off at full speed towards a brilliantly-lighted ship out in the darkness. The nearer one gets to it the greater is the motion in the little picket-boat, which rolls and plunges in most lively fashion, dropping with a

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202 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The racing horses charge wildly into the crowd. smack into the hollow of the sea and boring its way through the tops of the waves. At the ship’s side the gangway is at one moment high above our heads, the next down on a level with the water, so there 1s an exciting disembarka- tion. ‘Ladies first!” is the stern order of the little middy, and, emerging from the dry well with faint screams and much laughter, the guests are thrust into the safe and welcome embrace of a burly quartermaster at the foot of the gangway. During the dance one or two ladies usually have to retire early, as the motion of the ship is a little noticeable— sufficient indeed to send the whirling couples from one side of the dancing space to the other, and generally causes a good deal of fun and laughter. One of the great sights of the Mediterranean is the view of the Grand Harbour from the Baracca Terrace, which 1s three hundred feet or so above the Customs House. From it you can see the whole length and breadth of the har- bour and its three creeks, and look right down on to the decks of the mercantile shipping, moored stern-on, to the roadway below. At the end, overlooking the ditch, there is a clear drop down to the street, which Maltese with suicidal tendencies have frequently been unable to resist. The scene is most animated. Between the two lines of warships and the shore there is a continual passing of launches, row-boats, and dyssas, while the sounds of bugle-calls, bo’suns’ whistles, the rattle of chains, and words of command mingle with the murmur from the streets and the tolling of church bells. A favourable wind brings in a few bright-coloured sailing dyssas heavily laden with products from the neighbouring island of Gozo. These, with the assistance of long sweeps, thread their way through the busy scene to the moorings, where a forest of masts farther up the harbour indicates the presence of the smaller coasting craft from North Africa and Sicily. Malta is a port of call for ships of all nations and from all quarters of the globe, but, judging by the experience of a Turkish naval captain, it requires careful navi- gation even to find the tiny island. Ordered by his admiral to proceed to Malta, he steamed away on what he considered the right course for the requisite number of days, and then made several casts round about to find the island, but his many days’ search proved fruitless. On his return he gravely reported to the authorities that Malta had disappeared ! When the fleet leaves for a cruise the harbour and its neighbourhood bear a sadly deserted appearance. But no place looks more alive when the fleet is in; down the middle are two long lines of splendid warships, with smaller ones anchored in the creeks, all bristling with guns and looking ready for anything, and reflect- ing the same watchfulness which the Knights of St. John recorded for all time on the sentry’s turret up on Senglea Point by decorating it with a monster carved human eye and ear, keeping guard over the harbour.

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THE WIDE WORLD: In Other Magazines. THE ROCK THAT MOSES STRUCK. HE] “ Rock of Moses” lies in the wild valley of the Leja at the base of Jebel Musa, the Mount of the Taw, in the Peninsula of Sinai. The rock is » eighteen or twenty feet high, slightly inclined, and the stone is worn away in places as if from the effects of running water. It is beyond doubt the oldest-known legendary object in the vicinity. The Koran refers to this rock more than once, and from these allusions arose the reverence of the Bedouins, who hold it sacred. From the Middle Ages onward it has been visited by Christian pilgrims, who have carved rude crosses in its sides. Of all the objects in the desert it is most closely bound up with the simple faith of its wild inhabitants and of its early visitants.—MR. R. J. ROBINSON, IN “©THE STRAND MAGAZINE.” AMERICA’S HEADS AND HORNS. if is something over twelve months ago that Dr. W. T. Hornaday first mooted the idea of forming in America a national collection of heads and horns. The best and rarest specimens procurable were to be collected, formed into recogni groups, and become the property of the nation. Ife gave an impetus to the movement by presenting his own private collection of over a hundred rare specimens as a nucleus. Since then trophies have been received from all over the globe— from all parts of the United States, from Canada, from England, and even from far-away China—so that the collection to-day totals over three hundred valuable, and in some instances extremely rare, specimens. — FROM “ORRY'S MAGAZINE.” THE RAREST DOG IN THE WORLD. HE “Sleeve dog of China” is the rarest breed ot dog in the world. With the head of a pug, he has the under-jaw and characteristic ‘‘ wheel back” of the bulldog, a type to which his body conformation closely approximates. He has the same bowed forelegs, short in proportion to the hind legs, and quarters lightly made in comparison with his broad and massive front. Altogether he is the quaintest and most delightful of toy- dogs, but so jealously is he cherished by the Royal Family of China that it is difficult to obtain a really good specimen.—FROM ‘‘ TIT-BITs.” AN INTREPID LADY EXPLORER. -WOMAN who has a magnificent record of daring adventure in strange lands is Miss Gordon- Cumming. There are few dark corners of the earth into which she has not penetrated with as brave a foot and heart as her ancestor, the great traveller, Gordon- Cumming. She has ‘‘ played Crusoe” on almost every island in the South Pacific ; she has checked a rebellion in Samoa ; she has climbed the Himalayas and feasted with the Fijians; she has explored New Zealand and climbed Californian crags. In fact, it would be easier to say where she has not been than where she has been. Her travelling days, which began over thirty-five years ago, are now presumably over, and Miss Gordon- Cumming is devoting her leisure at Crieff to perfecting a “*numeral type” for the Chinese, among whom she wandered so long.—FROM ‘‘ WOMAN'S LIFE.” THE BULAK KHAN AT NICOSIA. Wr openings between the shops in Nicosia give entrance to the caravanserais, or khans, which at night are filled with camels, mules, and conkeys from the country districts, who have brought in produce. The most picturesque one is the Bulak Khan, whose bulging pillars supporting the galleries show its antiquity; in places they have had to be buttressed up. In the centre of the square is a mosque, raised on graceful columns above the water-tank, which was built in memory of a former owner, whose grave, railed in with gratings, is close by. The day before the weekly market this khan is filled with camels, for a great amount of transport is done by them in Cyprus. They are a very strong breed, and carry enormous weights. Onc official, desirous of sending a small cottage piano to the Troodos camp, approached a camel driver as to its transport. He willingly agreed to send it up on one of his camels, pro- vided that an equally-weighted package could be supplied to balance it on the other side of the pack saddle !— FROM ‘THE SUNDAY STRAND.”

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Odds and Ends. A Risky Jump—“ Old Jack” HE remarkable instantaneous photo- graph reproduced below shows a man in the act of leaping a fifty-foot chasm --the only method of reaching the a “Stand Rock,” in the Wisconsin Dells. An isolated pillar of rock, supporting a large sandstone slah, it was probably created by a process of erosion extending over thousands of years, and is representative of many similar instances of Nature’s wonderful sculpture to be found in the United States. It is to be assumed that this venturesome leap across the eight feet A venturesome tou From a Photo. by) the Wisconsin Dell: column is surrounded by deep water. A Camel in a Quagmire, etc. of space from ledge to slab forms an interesting addition to the enjoyment experienced by tourists in the beautiful Wisconsin Dells, other- wise it would have seemed impossible for the indefatigable Yankee to refrain from bridging the gap between the rocks. Additional excitement is lent to the leap by the fact that the column is surrounded by water of considerable depth. zardous by the fact that the he feat is (Keystone View Co.

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ODDS AND ENDS. “Many times while shooting on the marshes near Sandwich, on the south-east coast,” writes a correspon- dent, “have I met the old man depicted in the accompanying photo- graph. For over twenty years he has lived, winter and summer, in the rough-looking hut seen behind him, roofed over with sacks and rushes. It is built close to a dyke from which he gets his water, and the bushes and reeds fringing the streams supply him with fire, bed, and roof. Occa- sionally he shifts his quarters to fresh ground, but always pitches beside a stream. A rough, unkempt figure he looks. His skin is tanned almost to a copper colour by long exposure to wind and sun, and bears many wrinkles left there by the hand of Father Time, for the old fellow is over eighty-three. Collecting water- cress, catching eels, and gathering mushrooms to sell in the neighbour- ing villages form his means of liveli- hood. Some years ago he used a gun, but hard times and the absence of wildfowl in the numbers that used to visit those parts have caused the old man to sell it. Sometimes, while going to the flight at sunset, we have come on him lighting his fire for the evening meal, the kettle slung from a hooked bar, and ‘Old Jack,’ as we call him, preparing something for his pot. A hedge- hog baked in clay is his favourite dish. He can tell you where is the most likely spot to get a shot at the morning or evening flight, what birds passed over his wigwam in the morning on their way out to sea, and the lines they take in returning at dusk. ‘Jack,’ as he is called, is often visited by local gunners, who give him a few coppers and some tobacco, for the old man dearly loves his pipe. He is very honest, and the owners of the land are often indebted to him for saving the life of some sheep which would otherwise have been drowned through falling into one of the many deep streams intersecting the marshes. Born in a tent, he was cradled on a heap of sacks, and has lived outdoors all his life. Sometimes, how- ever, when the snow lies deep on the marshes, he is hard put to it to exist, and it seems wonderful that he has weathered it so long. Time, however, is exacting its toll from the old man. His hearing—once so marvellously acute that he could hear the swish of the wings ld Jack," From a) 205 walks qo a quaint character who has lived for many years on the marshes near Sandwich, Kent. \Photograph. at flight as soon as the best-trained dog—is now failing him, and one has to talk loudly to make him hear. His honest eyes, though, have lost but little of their wondrous keenness, although they were watching the sky on winter's nights before most of us were born. Even now he can discern wildfow! on the ground or on the wing with the best of us. Probably some day we shall go there and find the camp fire out, the hut blown down, and inquiries will reveal that ‘Old Jack’ has gone to other happy hunting grounds.” The photograph appearing on the top of the next page depicts what is probably the strangest postman in the world. Concerning it, the Rev. W. W. Perrett, of the Moravian Mission, Nain, Labrador, wvi:2:s as follows: “The members of my congre;,-tion are scat- tered about on the shores of the deep fiords of the northern Labrador coast, and during about

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206 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. oe, > ~ | three miles away — quite near for ' Labrador—and I asked my host if he could send word for them to come over and join us ata little service. He suggested that the ' leader of: his dog-team should be > ae a harnessed and dispatched as our messenger. Accordingly I wrote an invitation on a piece of wood and attached it to the trace; then, with | \ a cut from the thirty-feet dog- | \ whip, our postman, who seemed to | \ thoroughly understand what was | ew expected of him, was sent on his errand. ‘The rest of the team fol- lowed, and in an hour’s time the a , neighbours duly arrived, the ‘ post- man’ and his brethren having helped to haul their sledge.” “The strangest postman in the world'’—A Labrador sledge-doe taking rr eratched ona piece of wood to neighbours three miles away. One of the most dreaded pests From a Photograph. of Africa is the white ant, which seems capable of destroying almost eight months of the year I can only reach them everything except metal or glass.. The photo- by travelling in an Eskimo dog-sledge over the — graph reproduced below shows a_ curious A German East African granary, constructed to keep out white ants. From a Photo. by Topical Press. frozen sea-ice. One day I arrived at an safe used by the natives in German East Eskimo house and decided to spend the night — Africa to keep grain secure from the attacks of there. There were neighbours living about these voracious insects. Digitized yGoogle

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ODDS AND ENDS. The curious picture shown below will give the reader some idea of the enormous size of the giant fir trees to be found in great profusion in Oregon and Washington in the United States, and in British Columbiain Canada. Favoured by the warm breezes from the adjacent Pacific Ocean, these monsters often assume extraordinary dimensions, that illustrated being two hundred feet high and thirty-six feet in circumference. Such a tree would furnish enough timber from which to construct two substantial houses, built entirely of pine. Nevertheless, the wanton waste practised by the “lumbermen” in the forests of the North-West, under the assumption that the available timber is inexhaustible, is greatly to be deprecated, and it is to be earnestly hoped that preventive measures will be taken in order that this great storehouse of material may not be use- lessly plundered to the detriment of posterity or even of the next generation. In order to get the full effect of the picture the magazine should be held flat above the head and looked at froin below. 207 A bad-toek "* Voodoo bag, intended to bring misfortune upon an enemy. (Photograph. The illustration above represents a typical “bad-luck” Voodoo bag, more commonly called a “ hoodoo bag,” such as is used by the negro Voodoo doctors of the Southern States. Believers in the mysterious Voodoo cult have implicit faith in the power of these little bags to bring bad luck to anyone to whom they may be sent, or into whose house they may be thrown. The bag is about two inches long, an inch wide, and a quarter of an inch thick. It is made of very heavy twilled muslin or other white cloth, and is tied at the top with ordinary white thread. What gives it its sinister aspect and, it is supposed, a large measure of its evil influence is the fact that pinned to the top is a section of a rattlesnake's tail, that in the illustration con- taining four rattles. The bag is filled with a conglomerate mix- ture of ingredients, more fearful and wonderful than even the famous broth brewed by the witches of Macbeth. However, the witch doctor does not rely upon the snake rattles and the contents of the bag alone. The terrifying incantations and spells pronounced when the bag is made are supposed to be still more potent. The Voodoo cult is supposed to have originated in Africa. It is almost as widespread as Freemasonry, as dreaded as the Mafia, and as ridiculous as any superstition.

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208 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Wt, aS ata a A camel in a quagmire—It took four days and four elephants to drag the poor brute out. » The negroes of Hayti, of the Southern States, and, in fact, one might almost say of the world, believe firmly in the power of the Voodoo adepts, and accept their pretensions with implicit faith. Above is a remarkable photograph from India. The unfortunate camel shown in the snapshot wandered on to a quagmire, and was speedily hopelessly bogged. ‘The owner obtained the help of a number of men, who tried to pull it out; but after four days’ struggling the camel was, if anything, in a worse position than before, From a Photograph. while the would-be rescuers were entirely ex- hausted. They were on the point of giving up their task in despair, when some genius devised a plan to save the unfortunate beast. Four elephants were engaged and made fast to the camel; then a signal was given, and the great brutes brought all their strength to bear in one mighty tug. Slowly and reluctantly the clinging mud relaxed its hold, and the camel was dragged out. Remarkable to relate, the animal was quite uninjured, and is still alive. AN ISLAND OF '. MYSTERY Pins ie A HEROS Life SToRY b ae e y+ \ Tne GotpEN BEETLE THE DEPUTATION THAT FAILED ‘The RIDDLE oF THE ZAMBESI goa — ‘THE ORDEAL ° y ; OF MRS.BENNS saan ) ras a desi) My JOURNEY Sold Jzek" i Das Pie is Ty Th ‘The Tank Scrap™ “3 Henwir oF RoTHENEUF A LuNcHEON PARTY IN RHODESIA ae vs — The map-contents of ‘The Wide World Magazine," which shows at a glance the locality of each article and narrative of adventure in this number. » Google

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THEY WERE TAKING THE VILLAIN’S PUNISHMENT INTO THEIR OWN HANDS. (SEE PAGE 218.)

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Vol. XXIII. JULY, 1909, No. 135 A North Atlantic Tragedy. By AnpREW HENRY Lowe. The story of a terrible affair which took place in the Atlantic during the ‘sixties. “Of all that I have experienced, heard, or read of the sea,’ writes the author, who is a steamship purser, ‘‘the following narrative is perhaps the most striking.” GS F all na ale ala eare heard, or read of the sea, the following narra- Ww tive is perhaps the most striking. It EX was related to me during the winter of 1891-2 on the bridge of the Allan Line steamship Buenos Ayrean by our second officer, Mr. Ferguson; I was the purser of the vessel. He was an excellent story-teller, and, although he gave it as a personal experience, I wondered if it had actually occurred as he had stated it, or if it had had colour imparted to it by his somewhat vivid imagination. Several years later I recounted it to a retired master mariner—Captain Fenton, of Gourock, Scotland—during a walk by the seashore one afternoon. I fancied, by the expression of his face as I went on, that he did not give it credence; but when I asked him, after I had concluded it, “What do you think of that for a yarn?” I was surprised when he answered, gravely, “I was there. I was before the mast on the Caledonia when it happened, and was with Ferguson in the boat. Ferguson didn’t exaggerate a bit in what he said. It was so awful a thing that it remained vividly in my recollection, and your bringing it up again has ‘made a deep impression upon my mind.” It is long since I first heard it, and while I have often been urged to give it publication by those to whom I have told it, both afloat and ashore, I have been deterred by that feeling of reluctance that often makes us slow to set forth a truth that seems wilder and stranger than fiction. I advised Mr. Ferguson to make use of it, as having been so prominent an actor in it, but he said he would leave that tome. Some time ago he ended his worldly voyaging and passed away to that place where “ there shall be no more sea,” and it is probable that all those who had part in it are now no more. The bald Vol. xxiii—27, record of it doubtless exists somewhere in the United States annals of crime on the high seas. What I here set down, before the circumstances become dimmer in my recollection, is from the lips of an eye-witness of part of what took place in this tragedy of the ocean; my pen merely supplying that which appertains to the function of an editor. On a fine clear day ana under a steady, favourable breeze, the sailing ship Ca/edonta, of Glasgow, was making good headway to west- ward on a North Atlantic voyage, when she sighted a sail appearing above the horizon in a direct line with her own course. It soon became evident that the stranger was also bound west, and that the Caledonia— reputedly a fast sailer—was quickly overhauling her. Then a curious thing happened, which led the mate to remark to Captain* Hamilton, who was looking at the vessel through the long glass, from the Ca/edonta’s poop :— “That seems queer. One would fancy that fellow was trying to get away from us.” For the stranger had put his helm up, thus throwing himself out of his course and losing headway without any seeming advantage. Next, as the Ca/edonia speedily came up with her, the helm was put down, evidently without any sensible reason. “ Halloa!” exclaimed the mate, “what's the meaning of that? Can it be that he wishes to keep his stern from us so that we sha’n’t be able to read his name?” “Tt seems like it” replied Captain Hamilton, who was still scrutinizing the erratic-sailing vessel through the glass. The American Civil War was raging; and there had been fierce encounters and strange

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212 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. happenings out at sea, as well as territic con- flicts on land, and the captain was in doubt as to the meaning of the stranger’s manwuvres. ‘The westward ship had remained sufficiently long on the starboard tack to admit of the Ca/edonta's passing her without altering her course, and as this was being accomplished at not far distant quarters it was seen that she was a large, full- rigged ship, obviously of American build ; but she showed no colours, although the Ca/edonia had the ensign flying at the mizen, ready for the usual courteous greeting.* The two ships were almost abreast when yet another peculiar manceuvre took place. ‘The other vessel’s helm was again put over, throwing her head away from the Ca/edonta once more. All eyes on the Caéedonia were now fixed upon the stranger with some degree of curiosity, which was succeeded by wonder when, after so many seeming attempts to get away, she was suddenly brought broadside on to the British ship, hove-to, and the Stars and Stripes were run up at the mizen-peak, inverted, betokening distress and desire for assistance. What was wrong? What help did she require ? Why, if in any kind of need, had she sought to get out of the way, and why had she changed her purpose so suddenly? Such was the line of questioning amongst the watchers on the Ca/e- donta, and these included the whole crew, for, as it was only a little past noon, no one was asleep, and everybody had turned out in some degree of excitement over this curious break in the monotony of the voyage. That something very serious was the matter was obvious from the peculiar circumstances of the case. Could it mean mutiny? Had there been a final struggle for mastery, and had the command of the ship been suddenly regained by those of legitimate authority? It certainly looked like it; but, if mutiny was at the bottom of the mystery, why was there not a signal to that effect? Why did they not announce what was wrong ? The ship seemed all right. If they were in want of food, water, or other supplies, why not refer to the code and say so? If revolt was the trouble, why not hold out a warning to that effect, seeing that they were making no move- ment to lower a boat, but apparently expected the Caledonia to send one to them? It was all very strange! Captain Hamilton and his three officers sur- veyed the American from the poop, expecting * There is some little doubt as to the name of the ship. Fergu- son told me he thought she was called the Zion, while Captain Fenton was under the impression her name was the Tiger, Both, however, were positive she was named aftera wild animal. “My own researches into the shipping lists lead me to think her correct. nine was the Tigress, built in Maine for Boston owners in 1835,— THE AUTHOR. a reply to the signal they had run up, asking what was wrong, or that a boat would come with the intelligence ; but there was neither answer nor boat. “T can't make this affair out,” said Captain Hamilton. “They have boats, but don’t seem inclined to use one, and there doesn’t appear to be any disturbance about their decks, indicative of trouble. Mr. Ferguson, perhaps you’d better lower the gig and go over and learn their need. ‘Take six men with you, including the bo’sun. I'll give you a revolver ; we don’t know what they may be up to.” The boat was soon lowered and pulling away. As it neared the distressed vessel Ferguson observed a number of men gazing at it from over the bulwarks, their countenances, on closer view, presenting a spectacle of a most impressive kind. ‘They appeared haggard, wild-eyed, affrighted, like men who had passed through some dreadful experience ; and, at the moment, the thought of Coleridge’s weird poem, “ The Ancient Mariner,” and of other awesome accounts of vicissitudes of the sea, occurred to the mind of the second mate of the Caledonta. ‘They had lowered a ladder amidships, but not a word was uttered as the boat drew along side. ‘The: men still gazed down at it with the same fixed stare. Had they been stricken dumb? It almost seemed so. “What's the inatter?> What ship is this?” asked Ferguson. Some seconds passed without response, and every occupant of the gig, now looking upward at those scared, pale faces—where the pallor of dread showed even through the bronze of the sea—felt that here there was something unusual amiss, something of the uncanny, the mysterious, the horrible! The strained, hard-set faces were of various ages ; some full-bearded, some mous- tached only, a few youthful and bare, but all expressive of mental excitement, as if they had been under some terrible fear. At length one of them, a man about fifty, and the eldest of the number, said, in broad American accents :— “You might please come on board, sir, and bring with you two or three of your hands as witnesses. We've something queer to tell you and to show you.” ‘Taking with him the bo’sun and three of his men, and cocking the revolver in his right-hand jacket-pocket, Ferguson mounted the ladder. A singular sight met his eyes as he jumped on to the deck of the stranger. Right before him, on the main-hatch, was stretched the body of a powerfully-budt man, a man about six feet four inches high. He was in

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‘A NORTH ATLANTIC TRAGEDY. : 212 (Sears =e his under - garments, and from his arms, above the elbows, down to his ankles he was closely bound, round and round, with spun - yarn. His outer clothing, which had been rudely cut off, was lying on, the hatch beside him, and near it was quite a heap of bright yellow coins ——English sovereigns. He was unconscious, but life was evidently not yet extinct, for, as Ferguson’s eye rested on him, a con- vulsive shiver passed through his gigantic frame. On the other side of the hatch, but farther aft, a lifeboat lay, apparently under alteration. An addition of fully a foot had been put to its side, and a half-deck forward was in course of con- struction. Not far from the hatch, and near the main-mast, a carpenter’s axe of large dimensions had its edge deeply embedded in the deck, as though it had been driven into the. planking with consider- able force. There were no people about other than the group that had gathered at the rail, and who now turned their eyes upon the form on the hatch with looks of unmistakable loathing and hatred. The men from the Cadedonia took in the scene with feelings of uneasiness and wonder. There had evidently been a tragedy. What was at the back of it? One thing had been notice- able from the outset—there was no one about having the appearance of an officer of the ship. No word had been spoken after the first invitation to come on board. Only the creaking of the cordage, the flapping of the sails, and the plash of the big hull as it plunged on the waves disturbed the awesome stillness of the ghastly scene. ‘ “What is the meaning of all this?” asked Ferguson, turning to the group of men now “* What is the meaning of all this?" asked Ferguson. gathered around the hatch. For a moment he had wondered if he were awake or in a dream. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to act as spokes- man,” said the elderly man already referred to. He had an intelligent face, and as he proceeded with his harrowing tale his voice betokened that he was labouring under considerable emotion. And this is the story he told :— This ship left the States two years ago, bound for the East. We traded about for a spell, and then came back to Britain and loaded a cargo for New York. Most of us here that are left alive are Americans, and have stuck to the ship all through. She was a comfortable craft up till

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214 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the time that joker lying there broke out with his devilry. The captain was a fine man and grubbed us well, and the second and third mates were decent fellows, too. That son-of-a-gun of a mate—pointing contemptuously to the prostrate form on the hatch—was a brute and a bully, if ever there was one. Yes, sir, “One-eyed Nick,” as he was called, was well known to sailor-men as a vicious brute. But he didn’t get away with it on this vessel, for the “old man,” who was a real gentleman and a tip-top navi- gator and seaman, wouldn't have it. He took the reptile on at the last moment, in place of the former mate, who had met with an accident. So, you see, we were what is called a comfort- able ship, in spite of that devil, and there were few desertions or changes. ‘lhe wages were good, and we had no reason to growl. Those of us that belonged to the States were anxious to get back home after our long absence. Everything went well during the two years, with no trouble of any kind worth speak- ing about, excepting at times when he there came out of his eternal state of sulks and lifted his fist; but that wasn’t often, as, on a com- plaint by a muster of the fo’c’s'le, the “old man” told him in our presence that he forbade that sort of thing and would punish himself when needful in his own way. ‘This was early in the voyage. It was plain to see, by his looks and ways, that he fairly hated the skipper for putting the curb on the use of his fists. Three mornings after we left on this trip, when breakfast was going on in the cabin, the steward beard from his pantry, just as he was fetching a dish, two shots fired, and rushed in to see what bad happened. ‘There sat “ One-eyed Nick,” with a revolver in his hand, and the captain and the second mate lay on the deck as if they were dead. “What’s this you’ve done, you fiend?” cried the steward. “Tl finish you, too,” roared the mate, jump- ing up and firing at the same time. ‘The steward was shot, but not dead. He lived long enough to let us know what had happened, and to write out and sign a short deposition. By and by, up comes the murderer on deck, and, after shooting the third mate, musters us all aft. He had a revolver in each hand and two stuck in a waist-belt. “ Now,” he says, bis one eye glaring down at us like a serpent’s, “I’m master of this ship, and let every mother’s son of you keep that in mind ; and if any one of you forgets it or casts a sour look at me, I'll send you where I’ve sent the other fellows I’ve settled accounts with. Now, hustle about your business, and mind what you're up to if you don’t want daylight let through you.” ‘Then he called two men out that he had a grudge against Lecause they had complained to the captain over his using his fists to them, and shot them dead where they stood. “That’s how I'll serve anyone who plays tricks with me!” he roared, as we turned at the waist to see what the firing meant. You can fancy our state of scare when we got forward. Some were in a terrible funk ; some were in a wild rage against him ; for, although we weren't sure of it at the time, we guessed that he had made away with the captain and the second mate. He sent for two men in a few minutes, and ordered them to go below and bring up and heave overboard the dead bodies they would find there ; and he told one of them that he was to take the place of the steward and look after thi in the cabin quarters. Strangely enough, he didn’t watch them at this job. He planted himself against the chart- house, on the poop there, face forward, keeping a sharp eye on ovr movements; perhaps he feared a rush. When the men went below they found the steward alive and conscious. He told them all he knew. We had a passenger—a gentleman in poor health, He was in his bunk when the thing took place, but he didn’t escape altogether, for the fiend went in and shot him as he lay awake. But he had missed the spot, and the poor fellow is still alive, thanks to the care of Peters, who has been doing the stewarding. ‘The steward died the following day, perhaps owing to the want of care in time. You see, the mate fancied the four had been killed outright, and didn’t see or ask how many had been put over the stern, and the men didn’t dare tell him that two were still alive. From the time he came on deck after the deed he never went below again, and he never lay down to sleep. He took his food—and plenty of it, too, of the very best—on deck or in the chart-house, and he did all his sleeping leaning against the fore-part of it, with his eye half closed and his arms folded across his breast. Some might think that drink was at the bottom of his actions, but it wasn’t. He was a man who hardly ever touched liquor; although, to keep up his pecker, I suppose, while doing with so little sleep, he made a regular but sparing use of wine and spirits. It was sheer downright wickedness and greed of gold that set him on to do such horrible things. He pretended great friendship for our car-

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A NORTH ATLANTIC TRAGEDY. 215 penter, a fine and clever man, and told him, in confidence, that he meant to leave the ship when we were within two or three hundred miles of the American coast, and let us do what we liked with her. He set Chips and ‘Tom Hawkins, that lad there—pointing to one of the group, a youth about nineteen—to alter our largest boat, giving her more side and a bit of a cabin. He said that when the cutter was ready Chips and Tom and he would forsake the ship and steer for a point of the coast where he had a piece of land rich in gold, and that the three of them would make their fortune. But the carpenter wasn’t taken in by this bluff. He said to us, when he told us of it, that he was convinced that when the boat was ready the mate would shoot every man Jack of us, taking himself and Hawkins along with him to help to work the boat, after scuttling the ship, and that he would shoot the two of them as well as soon as his ends were served and he was within easy reach of land. The whole of us were quite sure that this was the game, and we made up our minds that we’d try to prevent it. The carpenter advised caution, and said that he himself would go for the mate on the first likely chance. He said that we were safe enough till the boat was ready, and that he wouldn’t hurry the job. But the mate kept him and Tom at it all the time, and was always telling them to hustle with it. We had a few bold spirits amongst us, how- ever, that made up their minds to have a go at our tormentor right off. ‘They declared that it was uncertain what he might be up to; that the boat business might only be a blind; and that he might open upon us with his shooters at any moment. They drew lots as to who should make the first attempt. It fell to a man called Spriggs. The afternoon following the shooting aft, when the mate was seemingly asleep against the chart- house, Spriggs, after sharpening his knife and changing his boots for a pair of light slippers, picked up a coil of rope and made for the poop. Going quickly up the ladder, he dropped the rope within three feet of where the mate was standing, and made a dash at him with the knife. But, quick as he was, he wasn’t quick enough for the mate. He drew aside in the nick of time, the blade went into the woodwork, and the next second poor Spriggs had a bullet through his brain. The mate sent word forward that if the same thing was tried again he would shoot every mother’s son of us. But that would not have been so easy to carry out, although he might finish us all by scuttling when the right time came. We could fortify ourselves in the forward deck-house and make a fight for it with what blunt weapons we had and with our knives. Unfortunately we had no firearms. ‘hese had been taken from those who possessed them at the beginning of the voyage, and no doubt the villain was using several of them now. In spite of his threats two others tried to knife him while he slept, but they shared the same fate as Spriggs. A kind of terror, a dreadful scare, took hold of us all. Here was a man who couldn’t be got at even in his sleep, and when his attackers were as cute and nimble as monkeys. Some of the fellows declared that he was no man at all, but a devil, and that it was no use ; that he had us, and we were all doomed. A smart young chap, called Jerrold, said that he would try it. The others had carried it out in the daylight, at the mate’s usual sleeping time —if he did sleep, and not merely close his eye to rest it—but that Ae would do it at night. Peters, who carried the mate food and coffee during the night, had told us that he didn’t think he slept at night at all, but kept his usual post hour after hour, only going into the chart-house for a few seconds at odd times. We used to think that, as he didn’t smoke, these night watches must have seemed long to him. So, the same night as he made up his mind to do it, the weather being calm, with no moonlight, Jerrold, barefooted, got out on the channels, with his knife between his teeth and a sharp steel marline-spike to help him, and made his way along the outside of the bulwarks. The man at the wheel, before relieving his mate at eight bells, had secretly lowered a rope over the quarter, well abaft the chart-house, and up this Jerrold climbed. He reached the poop and stole noiselessly along towards the monster, who was in his usual place. The helmsman saw the whole thing through the darkness, and reported to us afterwards. Jerrold was just turning the comer of the chart-house when the mate gave a leap forward, fronting him, and shot him. Whether he was dead no one knows, for the giant picked him up and heaved him overboard himself. He next went to the man at the wheel with a levelled revolver, and, to save himself, the fellow had to declare that he had seen nothing of the occurrence; but the big bully nearly smashed his face in with his fist before returning to his post. After this failure all the pluck went out of us. What could be done against such a man? Despair seized hold of everybody, unless it was, perhaps, the carpenter. No doubt we were all wrong. We should

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216 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The next second poor Spriggs had a bullet through his brain. have made a rush at him at the very start ; or, when the attempts were made upon him from the poop, the rest of us should have been ready to go against him at the same time, especially when Jerrold was making his venture in the darkness. But in such an affair it is hard to get all to be of one mind when no one has real authority. And no doubt the shock of the first day’s butchery had taken the nerve out of most of us. We had calms and contrary winds that kept us back a good deal, and day after day passed finding us still under the terror and the horror of our dreadful plight.

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A NORTH ATLANTIC TRAGEDY. 217 At length your ship appeared in sight, and you overhauled us very quickly. We had made up our minds to try to let some close-passing vessel know of our position. Several had been sighted, but too far distant. The mate seemed to understand our inten- tion, for, on seeing your ship bearing up, he shouted order after order, either with the notion to get away, or more likely to keep all hands busy. The last time the helm was put over some of, the main cordage got fouled, and it wasn’t righted quick enough to suit him. He jumped off the poop with an oath and ran to the braces —the first time he had been on the main-deck for a fortnight. The carpenter, thinkmg his chance had come at last, seized his axe and made at him from behind with the quickness of lightning. Some of us saw it, and made sure that the mate was caught ; but just as the blade was within a foot or so of his skull he ducked, the edge went into the deck, as you see it now, and poor Chips had to flee for his life. He ran forward, zigzagging, the mate follow- ing and firing as he went, but every shot missed. It was then we should have cut in; but, like fools, we stood looking on like people paralyzed. The carpenter mounted the fo’c’s'le head, and then clambered down into the martingale. The mate chased after him, and when he got over the spot he opened fire, cursing meanwhile, till every shot left in the four revolvers was in our shipmate’s body, and then he stood still, foaming at the mouth with rage. A man-—Brown, over there—had been sent forward to tend the sheets of her head-sails, and whenshe saw that the shooters were emptied he picked up a capstan-bar and hit the villain a whacking blow on the head. He was knocked senseless, overcome at last. We then hove the ship to, and signalled’ you that we were in distress. We brought the mate aft here and bound him. Finding hard and heavy parts about his clothing, we cut it off him, and took out of it that pile of money. Hawkins, there, was in a bank before he came to sea for his health, and he says that, as gold has been at a high premium on account of the war, perhaps the captain was taking home our last freight in sovereigns. . We don’t under- stand that sort of thing, but the captain was a fine business man and part-owner of the vessel, and no doubt the mate’s game was to get hold of the money. Some of the men thought he had gone off his head, but not I. I’ve seen many a man mad at sea, and know their ways. As I said before, it was nothing but downright wickedness and Vol. xxiii, —28. greed of gold that was at the bottom of the whole thing. He was always a wicked and revengeful brute, and my notion is that, if a man harbours and works wickedness without putting any check upon it, it will bring him to some frightful crime if the temptation and chance should come. I’m no preacher, but that’s always been my opinion, and this fellow’s end ought to be a warning to us all. The brute! I feel so mad over the murders he’s committed upon decent people that I could get up on the hatch and kick him now! Such was the awful tale that the people from the Caédonra listened to with spellbound atten- tion. Every eye around the hatch was fixed upon the narrator’s face throughout ; not a word was lost by any movement amongst the group. “And what do you mean to do?” asked Ferguson. ‘What help do you need? Do you want someone to navigate the ship for you?” “We wanted you to hear our story and to see the finale of the tragedy, as we hope it is. We want you to go forward and see the carpenter’s body, which is still in the place where he was shot. We want you to go below and hear what the passenger has to say. We want you to open the door of the captain’s room and see what money is there and count it with us, along with the cash lying here. We want you to tell all you have heard and seen to the proper authorities as soon as you reach port. We don’t want any mistake about this business, or for people to think that there has been mutiny in it. It Aas been mutiny, but mutiny of one man, the mate, ayainst all the rest of the crew. As for navi- gating the ship, we’ve had a short talk about that. The bo’sun, Jim Bryce there, and myself —I'm the sailmaker—think we'll manage that. “You see, if we take her home without help, every one of us will get some reward from the owners and the underwriters, and that will help to make up for the horrible time we've put in. I’m sure there isn’t one of us would go through the same again for a million dollars. It'll be many a long day before we get the thought of it out of our minds, if ever. “Before we go any farther, I’d just like that the whole of us, sir, should take a kind of oath that what I’ve told you is true. Up with your right hands, lads, and say after me: ‘We swear, by Almighty God, that what has been said is every word true. ’” With the utmost solemnity they raised their hands and repeated the words; and, although their look was still drawn and sombre, the oath seemed to give them a measure of relief. The whole party then went forward, and the body of the carpenter was brought on deck.

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218 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The head and shoulders of the unfortunate man were literally riddled with bullets. They wrapped the body decently in weighted canvas and consigned it to the deep, Ferguson reading appropriate verses from a Bible put into his hands by the sailmaker. The money on the hatch was counted, and Ferguson and his men, accompanied by the bo’sun and the sailmaker, went into the cabin quarters, where the invalided passenger, under the care of Peters, was progressing favourably. He confirmed the portion of the narrative that was known to him. The key of the captain’s stateroom had been found on the mate, and their examination of the apartment showed that the surmise of the lad Hawkins had been correct. The captain had been carrying a large sum in gold. All the money was counted and sealed up in the strong box. Returning on deck, Ferguson turned his attention to the injured desperado on the hatch, and concluded that, while suffering from a severe fracture of the skull, his case was, perhaps, not quite hopeless. “What are you going to do with him?” he asked. ‘Hadn't I better take him to our vessel? Our captain is a good hand at doctor- ing, and might fix him up. We could hand him over to the police when we reach port.” But he saw, from the expression of every face, that this was not approved of. “No, no,” exclaimed the sailmaker, vehemently. “We'll fix him up ourselves. Let Az out of our sight after all his murderous work? No! We'll take precious good care that he'll never play the same tricks again. He’s a devil, I tell you, and he’d manage to get off to commit more mischief amongst poor sailors. No, no; he doesn’t go out of our sight.” Ferguson now took his departure, on the understanding that he would return and report anything Captain Hamilton had to say or advise. “What a dreadful affair!” said the latter, after hearing Ferguson’s account of the awful tragedy. “T never heard anything like it,” said the mate of Yhe Caledonia. “No wonder they declare he is a devil.” “You'd better go back,” said the captain, “and tell them I’m quite willing that you should navigate the ship for them; and I’ll take their passenger, if he desires it, and also the mate, if they’ll give him up. It’s all nonsense their try- ing to make port themselves, and about being rewarded for doing so. No doubt they'll be acknowledged for what they’ve done as it is. In a sense, they’ve saved the ship and cargo, and that, with what they’ve passed through, will be taken into account.” When Ferguson again joined them another singular scene met him. A strong rope had been fastened round and round the form on the hatch, and on his chest was a loop to which was fastened a long, stout line, which was rove through a block at the end of the main-yard arm and led down in an abundant coil to the deck. Ferguson delivered Captain Hamilton’s mes- sage, which was listened to respectfully. “Tell him,” said the bo’sun, “that we’re obliged to him, but we’ve made up our minds to take her in ourselves. We don’t give up the mate, but if our passenger wants it he can go with you.” But the passenger told Ferguson that, while he had hopes of rallying, he felt too weak to be removed. “ Besides,” said he, “these poor fellows have implored me not to forsake them. They say that if I leave them they won’t have any luck. ‘They have some notion that there is something in the fact of my having escaped from the death intended for me. The man Peters has been very attentive, and I have a feeling I should like to stay, as they’ve set their minds on it. Poor fellows, they’ve had a terrible fright !” Bidding them good-bye and a_ prosperous voyage, Ferguson left; but no sooner had his boat pulled a few strokes than an appalling pro- cedure commenced. Every man of those left on the American had laid hold of the line, and, to the accompaniment of a loud and dismally-attuned chanty, they heaved the body of the living but unconscious mate up to the yard-arm, and then dropped it, with a run, into the sea. And thus they went on, raising it and plunging it, and singing their awful dirge! They were taking the villain’s punishment into their own hands and seeking relief for their long-suppressed feelings of hatred and revenge. And such was still their wild employment when those on the Caledonia bore away beyond sight of them. They reached port without further mishap, but not unaided. After trying to manage the ship for a few days, they found themselves baffled and compelled to request the services of the second mate of a passing vessel, who was later handsomely compensated for bringing her safely in.

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n’s Pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina. ‘We have pleasure in presenting our readers with this unique narrative, describing an Englishman's adventurous journey to the jealously - guarded sacred cities of the Mohammedans, where—were his identity even suspected—a Buropean would probably be instantly torn limb from limb by the fanatical pilgrims. “So far as I am aware," writes the author, “I am only the fifth Buropean to have visited both Mecca and Medina."* For reasons connected with his present position, “Haji Abdur Rahman” has asked us not to publish his proper name. }ROM my boyhood, when I first visited India‘as an apprentice aboard a sailing ship, the customs, and especially the religions, of the East have had for me an alluring interest, and much of my spare time was spent in wander- ing about the bazaars, mosques, temples, and pagodas of Eastern ports. Sometimes I was entertained to sherbet, tea, 1 nor Mohammedan, but a sort of hybrid between the two. This state of affairs continued for some time, when, one night in 1905, during the Feast of Ramadan, I happened to be passing the great Mogul Street mosque in Rangoon just as the muezzin from a lofty minaret called the faithful to prayer. The cry rang out clear in the calm of the tropical night, and, or sweets ; at other times, especially in the vicinity of Hindu temples, I was made to understand that I was not wanted. More than once, indeed, I have had to take to my heels to avoid serious personal injury. From the very first, how- ever, while Hinduism re- pelled and nauseated and Buddhism amused me, the religion of Mohammed attracted me by its sim- plicity, rationalism, and the evident devotion and sincerity of the majority of its adherents ; and per- haps it was not extraordi- nary that, when I came to analyze my thoughts on the subject, I realized that I was to all intents and purposes neither Christian in. 13033 Joseph Pitts, in 1680; Giovani 'Finati, in 1814; and Sir’ Richard Burton, in 1853.—Tum AUTHOR. The Author in European dress. Krom a Photograp)n yielding to a sudden im- pulse, I slipped off my shoes and entered. Prayers had already commenced, and within, under the light of hundreds of lamps, stood a dense, silent, white-robed throng, facing, with bowed heads, in the direction of the Kebla. So engrossed was I in the spectacle before me that I failed to notice the approach of an old Afghan who, seated in a corner, kept guard over the slippers and shoes which are discarded before entering the mosque. A sinister look was in his eyes, and, knowing that if he only so much as raised his voice I should probably be torn to pieces, I repeated the Kalima, or Mohammedan declaration of faith. This, while only partially allaying the old gentleman’s suspicions,

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220 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. rendered it sinful for him to doubt me, and I was allowed to pass out unmolested, though, apparently, none too soon, for barely had I reached the street when the service broke up and the congregation came pouring out of the building, all eager to participate in the feasting that is indulged in nightly during this festival. As soon as the mosque appeared deserted 1 returned, and, seeking out the old Afghan, gave him greeting in Mohammedan fashion. Haji Beitoolah Khan proved a most enter- taining old party, and this interview was the forerunner of many others, in which he related to me, in Hindustani, his adventures as a freebooter in his own country. But he was now old, and having made the pilgrimage to the Holy Cities, which had left him penniless, was content to pass the remainder of his days earning a small monthly wage and receiving occasional baksheesh as custodian at the mosque. At first he exhibited some reluctance to dis- cussing the Haj, but when I repeated the Kalima and assured him that, though I had very little religion, what I had was Mohammedan, he grew communicative, and so fired my imagina- tion with his recitations that I determined at the earliest opportunity to go on the Haj myself. As the time was now fast approaching when those desirous of performing the Haj must start for Jeddah, I decided to proceed to Bombay, the port of departure for pilgrims, where I hoped to be able to work my way to Jeddah in one of the Haji ships, thus avoiding the un- pleasantness of the quarantine camp and the probable refusal of the Indian Government to allow me to proceed. In the meantime I lost no opportunities of making myself acquainted with the minutest details’ of the Mohammedan faith, and when, some three weeks later, I was lucky enough to secure an appointment as second officer aboard one of the boats of the Bombay Persian Com- pany, fixed to carry Hajis from the Persian Gulf, I found that not only could I pass as a Moham- medan without exciting suspicion, but that, as far as belief went, I really was one. My ship, the /Vaserr, was now ready to sail, and early in the December of 1905 we arrived in Busra, where we embarked our first batch of Hajis, nearly three hundred in number. From here we proceeded to Bushire, where we took in two hundred and fifty Kurds and Persians, who had only just arrived by caravan from Shiraz, and bore on their persons and dress ample evidence of the hardships of the road. The Kurds were a fine, big, rough-looking lot, all dressed in heavy sheep-skin coats and poshteens and armed with long, straight daggers and revolvers, in addition to which many carried rifles. Before being allowed aboard, however, all arms were given up until arrival at Jeddah, this being necessary to prevent bloodshed in the numerous petty quarrels that enliven the course of the voyage. The ship had by now assumed a decidedly picturesque if somewhat ragged appearance, with “shoogdoofs” (small howdahs, one of which is strapped on either side of a camel) and crates of chickens sus- pended all around the outside of the ship and half-way up the rigging, while water-skins, cook- ing-stoves, tent-fixtures, and carpets were strewn about the decks. Our next port was Muscat, where we arrived early one morning. Here we received another batch of one hundred Arabs and then proceeded to take in water. Watering ship is a very slow job in Muscat, and, as we were certain to remain there the whole day, everyone availed himself of this opportunity to visit the town. When I landed I found the dirty, narrow streets thronged with our people, busy arguing with the shop- keepers over the prices of things. Muscat does a tremendous trade in firearms of all sorts, which are imported into the country almost duty free, and all our Hajis who could afford to and were not already provided with guns were fitting them- selves out now. Most of the weapons bought were short Martini- Henrys, which are sold at about forty rupees each, with two hundred rounds of ammunition thrown in. Shortly after four o’clock the ‘ship’s whistle was sounded and everyone hurried back aboard, and soon afterwards we were on our way to Aden, where we arrived seven days later. Owing to the quarantine regulations no one was allowed ashore here, but those desirous of purchasing provisions could do so from the numerous boats that come off to the ships and do a roaring trade during the Haj season. After coaling and taking in a further supply of water the voyage was continued. On the morning of the third day after leaving Aden we arrived at Kamaran, the quarantine station in the Red Sea, where we had to undergo a ten days’ detention before being allowed to continue the voyage to Jeddah. As viewed from the sea, Kamaran presents a somewhat desolate appearance. It is simply a coral island some twelve miles long by three miles broad at its greatest width. The camps, which are six in number, are situated to the north of the town of Kamaran, and each camp is absolutely cut off from all the others. ‘They are simply stretches of desert enclosed on three sides by wire fencing, and on the other by the sea. * Attached to each is a European doctor (generally French or Greek) and a staff of assistants and police, while a fumigating station and condensing machine are

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 221 From a) situated between each pair of camps. Huts are provided for accommodating the pilgrims, and each camp also’ has its own bazaar, where pro- visions may be procured at fixed rates. ‘The greatest hardship here seems to be the intense heat and the inadequate supply of water. Half a gallon twice daily is all that is allowed each individual, although those who care to pay for it can procure more. As I had not yet given out that I intended going on the Haj I escaped the disinfecting process and hardships of the camp, but I often dropped over to see how our people were getting vn, and on these occasions was always made most welcome and compelled to drink unlimited A view in Jeddah, the port where the pilgrims land. (Photograph. small cups of coffee and glasses of tea. On the morning of the tenth day, after a further dis- infection, our Hajis were allowed aboard, and we continued the voyage. After leaving Kamaran a great increase in religious fervour seemed to possess the Hajis, who now spent nearly all their time in prayer and reading the Koran. Among the Shiias in particular, one devotion-—the reci- tation of the circumstances relating to the deaths of Hassan and Hossein—was most impressive, and appeared to work them up to a perfect frenzy of sorrow. One might hear their sobs of anguish all over the ship, and there was no doubting the fact that their grief was quite uncontrollable. Syrian pilgrims, for whom there is no room in the town, camping outside the walls. From a Photograph.

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note Re. 222 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The second night after leaving Kamaran we passed ILum Lum, a low, projecting cape which marks the commencement of holy territory. Prior to this everyone had donned the Ihram, or sacred costume, consisting of two pieces of unsewn cotton. In most cases these were two large bath towels, and as soon as the whistle was blown to let them know our whereabouts a tremendous cry of “Labeck Alahuma, Labeck Alla Sherifa, Labeck, Labeck, Labeck!” went up from the whole crowd and was kept up, on and off, throughout the night. Next morning we arrived at our destination. Jeddah, which dates from the time of the spread of the Mohammedan religion beyond the confines of Arabia, and the consequent necessity of a port for those desirous of performing the It isa standing grievance among shipping people that they should be allowed to do so, as not only do they cause damage to the hull and rigging, but even endanger the safety of the ship itself. As soon as the anchor is down the whole deck is simply besieged by these gentlemen, who immediately proceed to push and drag the pilgrims into their boats, very often, indeed, fighting among themselves for the possession of a certain man as if he were their private property. Two hours after arrival at Jeddah the ship was empty, and I now began to think that it was time I made my arrangements for going on the Haj. So far I had told no one aboard of my intentions, and, consequently, when I broached the subject to the captain, he was greatly From a) Bread-sellers on the sea-front. Haj, is a decidedly picturesque town, with its high houses and tall, tapering minarets, the whole encircled by a wall. At a distance it appears singularly quiet and devoid of life. This is probably due to the absence of smoke and the height of the houses, which effectively prevents one from seeing into the streets. On a nearer approach, however, the beach, with thousands of coolies unloading country craft and lighters, - presents quite a busy scene. The harbour is bisected by a coral bank, and affords anchorage for a very large number of steamers—it is no uncommon thing to find as many as forty lying there awaiting the return of the pilgrims from the Haj. Long before we had come to our anchorage we were surrounded by hundreds of sambuchs, full of yelling, fighting boatmen, all eager to secure a load of Hajis. | Photograph. surprised. However, he promised to see the British Consul, and, if no objections were raised by this official, to allow me to leave the ship. Next day I had my reply, the captain informing me that he would pay me off, but that, from what he had been able to learn, the Turkish authorities would never allow me to go to Mecca. How- ever, I fancied that getting out of the ship was one step in the right direction, and consequently went ashore that evening. ‘The whole town was absolutely packed with pilgrims awaiting an opportunity to proceed to Mecca, and had it not been for the kindness of a wealthy local family, who insisted on my living with them, I should have had to camp out in the open, as so many others had to do; in fact, but for my hosts I am confident that I should never have obtained the permission of the authorities to perform the Haj.

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 223 Next day I had an interview with the Governor of Jeddah, who not only refused me permission to proceed, but strongly advised me to return to Bombay as early as possible. As, however, according to the Mohammedan religion, no one, not even the Sultan, has the right to detain a believer from performing this ceremony, I went to the Kazi, who, after satisfy- ing himself that I knew all that was necessary for a Mohammedan to know, very kindly wrote to the High Sherif at Mecca stating my case. While awaiting a reply I found an indescrib- able pleasure in wandering through the narrow, somewhat dirty streets of the town, which, although the time was fast approaching for the commencement of the Haj, still contained a deal among themselves, their restless eyes wandering everywhere. I could not get over the idea that they were speculating on the amount of money concealed in their neighbours’ belts. They were certainly a fascinating people to watch, for, although perfectly illiterate, they are most punctilious in observing the com- plicated etiquette which obtains amongst them- selves, and in this respect there is not a more perfect gentleman in the world than the Bedouin, while his hospitality is proverbial. I also took advantage of this delay to visit Eve’s Tomb (Mama Howa), which is situated a short distance outside the town. The tomb, which measures ninety-two feet long by twenty- two broad, consists of two parallel coralline walls From al great number of people. The cafés, where one can obtain a small cup of coffee or a glass of tea for a quarter of an anna, were doing an immense trade, and were simply crammed night and day. I used to wander from one to the other, watching the different nationalities. At one there would be a gang of Somalis, making a great noise and apparently enjoying themselves immensely ; at the next a crowd of Bokharis drinking unsweetened tea out of large, flat basins and looking as solemn as a lot of owls; a third showed a party of Arabs behaving with the utmost decorum ; while at a fourth a party of Indians had gathered round one pot of tea, and were drinking, seemingly, not so much for the sake of conviviality as to assuage their thirst. At each of the cafés, moreover, I noticed one or two groups of Bedouins whispering a great Landing the Holy Carpet, which is sent annually by the Khedive. (Photograph. five feet in height, terminating at either end in a stone step shaped like the bow of a ship, in one of which there is a small opening, while over the centre a small mosque marks the spot where Eve’s waist is supposed to lie. All around are numerous other tombs con- taining the remains of more modern and apparently smaller folk. On the fifth day after my landing in Jeddah the Egyptian Mahmal arrived, with its escort of half a battalion of Soudanese infantry under an Egyptian Major-General. The Mahmal is a tapestry heavily worked in silver on a red damask ground, and, stretched round four poles, resembles a small tent ; this is sent every Haj by the Khedive of Egypt. The escort, who were all in Ihram, were a very smart, soldierly- looking lot of men, and, even in their simple

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<= 224 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a} costume, presented a great contrast to the slovenly, miserable-looking Turkish soldiers one Between the two, sees all over the Hajad. apparently, there is no love lost. The town was now emptying rapidly, and I had almost given up hope of obtaining permission to go to Mecca, and had com- menced to form plans for getting there without it, when I received notice through the Governor of Jeddah that if I agreed to a certain suggestion he had to make I should be allowed to proceed to Mecca. Naturally I was overjoyed, and on the sixth day, only one week before the com- mencement of the Haj, I was ready to start. By this time I had set myself up with the various articles necessary for the pilgrimage—a pair of Arab sandals, a leather water- bottle, water-skin, and the odds and ends that go to make up the outfit of the ordinary Haji. My friends very kindly arranged about my camel and shoogdoof, and by so doing doubtless saved me from being charged double the proper price. Pilgrims outside a steamship company’s office at Jeddah. (Photograph. The caravan I was to travel with was starting early in the morning, and long before: it was light I was awakened by a camel gurgling and groaning beneath my window. I had a hasty The Author in “Ihram," the pilgrimage costume. From a Photograph, bath and, donning my Ihram, hurried down, feeling, I must confess, very awkward in this novel cos- tume, and finding consider- able difficulty in walking without my sandals falling off at every step. Everyone, however, was too busy with his own affairs to pay atten- tion to me, and, following my Bedouin, I passed out of the Mecca Gate. This gate, as its name implies, is used mainly by caravans going to and returning from Mecca, and is almost invari- ably closed to all but true believers. The scene of confusion outside the gate was in- describable. Thousands of Hajis, Bedouins, camels, donkeys, and mules were mixed together in an appa- rently hopeless tangle, and I was beginning to wonder if it would ever unravel itself, when all of a sudden, as if by magic, a long string of camels commenced to glide from the crowd, twist- ing and turning as it dragged

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. itself out for all the world like an immense snake. Presently another and another followed suit, and in a remarkably short time the whole body were moving forward in six long parallel columns. I was close to the end of one of the inside columns, and consequently had a splendid view of the whole caravan, which, although somewhat imposing as to size, certainly pre- sented a most ludicrous appearance. On one side of me were two stout Turkish ladies upside down in their shoogdoof, which, owing to their frantic struggles to right themselves, threatened every minute to cap- size; while on my left, with his legs entwined around the animal’s neck, was a fat Madrassi, cling- ing with all the desperation of despair to a restive mule, one 225 it is not absolutely prohibited to remove one’s Ihram and bathe the body until Mikat, a mosque which marks the limit of the Holy City, is reached, I procured a skinful of water from a Bedouin woman and enjoyed the luxury of a bath. Feeling greatly refreshed, I went for a stroll through the village, but as there was little to see, and as the Harb Bedouins of this part bear a very bad name among travellers, I con- fined myself to the large open spaces in which the poorer pil- grims and camel-men, grouped around blazing wood fires, prepared their evening meal. Shortly after dark a cold breeze sprang up from the desert, and, hurrying back to my shed, where I found my Arab servant in a great state of excitement at my disappear- hand on the A caravan leaving Jeddah for Mecca. ance, I turned pommel of his From a Photograph. in for the saddle and the night. other buried in the brute’s mane. I have an idea, however, that my own appearance was very little better, as my feet were considerably higher than my head, and, owing to my greater weight, my little old Arab servant was quite a foot above me on the other side of the camel. “However, with a rope tightened here and slackened there, we managed to improve conditions somewhat. The road between Jeddah and Bahra winds between bare, forbidding-looking hills and keeps almost level as far as Bahra, a village some thirty-two miles from Jeddah, where we arrived at sunset, and, as we were to put up there for the night, my servant secured me a table and bench in one of the large, barn-like buildings of which the village is composed. The place was fairly clean, but packed to overflowing, and the heat was stifling, as nearly every one of the hundred odd occupants was provided with a brazier, over which he was boiling water for tea. My body ached in every limb, owing to the motion of my shoogdoof, surely one of the vilest means of conveyance yet invented by man; and as, although unusual, Vol. xxiii,—20, Everyone was astir betimes next morning, and long before the sun appeared we were under way again. The road from here on was more uneven than yesterday’s route, but there was no appreciable change in the sterility of the surrounding country, a few miserable-looking mimosa trees and some tufts of rank, withered grass being the only traces of vegetation in - evidence. Along the entire route soldiers were posted on commanding positions to guard the caravans, though many of the poor beggars had forsaken their posts and were busy selling their rations of bread to the passers-by. Owing to these precautions and to the severity with which the Sherif of Mecca dealt with the first case of robbery that occurred that year, the road between Jeddah and Mecca was then perfectly safe. The case mentioned was the theft by Bedouins of a donkey and some personal property belonging to a party of pilgrims who were the first to arrive in Mecca. ‘hey laid their complaint before the Sherif, who immediately issued orders to all the local sheikhs that the goods were to be returned and the robbers brought before him. This was done, and: the half-dozen unfortunate

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226 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. culprits were immediately sentenced to be beheaded. ‘The effect was most salutary. The road from Bahra presented in’ some places, where the ground was rocky, a remark- able appearance, having been worn by the feet of countless camels and mules into deep, narrow ruts which extended in straight parallel lines sometimes for miles. I had remarked this peculiarity before, but here, probably owing to the stony nature of the ground, the marks were much more noticeable. We had been on the road about eleven hours and had covered nearly twenty-eight miles when, about four o’clock in the afternoon, after turning slightly to the southward over an awkward descent, we came in sight of the approaches to the city. My first impression was one of dis- appointment, as I had looked forward to a magnificent walled city, but found instead a broad, dusty road, flanked on the left by ruined houses and squalid eating-shops, while on the right were some huge, ugly red-brick barracks and the quarters and offices of the Wali and his staff. Continuing for some distance, we passed many encampments just outside the limits of the city, and, after occasional blockages and collisions with other caravans, found ourselves in the middle of a large bazaar. Here -the houses were very high and sub- stantially built of coralline limestone, but the bazaar was so atrociously narrow and so con- gested with traffic that the caravan was com- pelled to split itself into single units. If confusion had been great in Jeddah, here it was a hundred times worse, and often a caravan forcing its way through by sheer force of weight would meet another coming from an opposite direction, and then an absolute block ensued. Taking advantage of every opportunity to advance a little, at the end of halfan hour we found ourselves in front of a large square house, where, before my camel could be induced to kneel, I was pounced on by one of the boarding- house keepers. These people, who are known as Mutawifs, besides boarding their guests, accompany them in the performance of the various rites connected with the Haj; but, as during the few months of the season they have to make sufficient money to keep them in luxury during the remainder of the year, they are about the most grasping, unscrupulous blackguards in the world. Without my wishes being consulted in the least, 1 found myself being half pulled, half helped out of my shoogdoof, and shortly after- wards, seated before a large tray containing various stews, I] had my first meal in Mecca. My host, a stout old Arab, and likewise several of his servants, spoke Hindustani fairly well, which was lucky for me, as I found my supply of Arabic very limited, and, as soon as I had finished my meal and had had a smoke, he informed me that, if I were ready, he would conduct me to the Masjid al Harim, there to perform Tawaf, or the ceremony of encircling the Kaaba seven times, ‘This should always be performed as soon after arrival in the Holy City as possible. Pushing and being pushed, we made our way throu;h the streets in the direction of the mosque, till 1 suddenly found myself on the thresholJ of one of its numerous gates. The floor of the mosque is fifteen feet below the level _ of the streets, and I shall never forget my first view of the interior. The whole place was crammed, and, just as we entered, the call for evening prayer (Maghrib) sounded. Instantly every sound was stilled, and nothing broke the silence but the clear, beautiful voice of the muezzin as he enjoined the faithful to come to pray. Remaining where we were we joined in the prayer, after which, stumbling and tripping at every step, I was led through the huge con- course right to the centre of the mosque, where is situated the Kaaba. The scene here baffles description. Ina radius of, roughly, twenty yards, in the centre of which stood the Kaaba, draped in the sacred black carpet, surged a frantic mob of some seven or eight hundred pilgrims and their guides, all hoarsely roaring out the prescribed prayers as they circled in an irresistible stream around this venerated edifice. ‘To make matters worse, a strong staff of Aghas (eunuchs who look after the sacred build- ing) were posted, and with long heavy canes kept the devotees from approaching too near to the Holy Carpet and removing it piecemeal. I confess that I felt somewhat excited here, as I recognised several of the pilgrims we had carried in the Vaseri, and who would have immediately taken me for a spy had they in turn recognised me. However, I was greatly relieved to observe that no one paid any attention whatever to me, and, after going through the prescribed prayers for those about to perform Tawaf, I was hurried into the dense crowd engaged in performing that duty. (To be continued.) ye

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By Bart KENNEDY. In this amusing little story Mr. Kennedy explains how the world lost a great actor—and he himself many berths — owing to the hard -heartedness of a succession of theatrical managers, who, with ts singular unanimity, refused to recognise his histrionic genius. B LAYING a part isn’t as simple as it ) looks. You see the gallant hero S: } annihilating the double-dyed villain, PQMNeH and you feel how nice and easy it 3 would be for you to do likewise. How grand it would be to take the centre of the stage and tell the listening, breathless audience all about it! It seems so easy—so very easy ; but it isn’t so easy as it looks. I know, for I, to my sorrow, have tried it. When I was more green and innocent than I am now, I had an ambition to shine very luminously upon the stage. I used to debate in my mind whether I would be a great tragic actor or a great baritone. I belicve the ambition was first born within me when I saw Barry Sullivan play years ago in dear old smoky Manchester. ‘The way the immortal Barry shouted “ Die, villain!” won me. How grand it would be, I thought, to kill a man—a man who was no better than he ought to be—in such a swift and heroic manner. As I worked in the machine- shop in the daytime I used to practise Barry's attitude, and his shout, and his lunge with his trusty sword—when the foreman was not look- ing. I felt that Fate had cut me out for a great tragedian. The mere detail of how I was to become one did not worry me. I felt the impulse that spurs the amateur to be unkind to his listening friends—when he gets the chance. I knew that if I had a chance I could do it just as well as Barry. If only I had the chance ! Well, years and years went by, as they say in the story-books, and { drd get a chance. And what a hash I made of it! In far-away, sunny California I was engaged to play leading parts in an eleventh-rate dramatic company for fifteen dollars a week. Before engaging me the Stage-manager asked me what my experience was, and I fear that I wove for his benefit a fairy tale based on the airiest kind of a foundation. I said that I had played leading parts in England, in the provinces. AndI so told the tale as to leave a kind of impression upon his mind that I had played good sub- stantial parts in London. Anyway, I impressed him. He felt that he was obtaining a genius on the cheap. My confidence gave Aim confidence. But his confidence fled with swiftness at the rehearsal. Tor somehow I was unable to get within the skin of the part. In the first place, the cues bothered mea good deal. It was so hard to take them up in a natural manner, as one does in actual life. It was so hard to mark the relation between speech and speech—to get the sense of balance in the dialogue. This is the most difficult thing that the actor has to learn. Getting the knack of fitting into the stage-picture takes a long time, even if one has talent. The star actor, of course, never does this. But the star actor is one to whom the public allows the privilege of acting badly. But let me reveal in detail this interesting and painful rehearsal. I entered into the half-gloom that filled the stage of the theatre, and my confidence sud- denly slumped; the place was so vague and mysterious. The part that I had to play was that of an Irish gentleman who was possessed of a most noble soul. The piece was a comedy, fashioned after the comedies of Boucicault. The cue for my entrance did not come till well on in the first act, and, as I was waiting for it, I began slowly but surely to feel very sorry for myself. I had been studying the lines of the part since early that morning, and

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228 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZID I had learnt the first speech by heart. It was a glowing and noble and lofty speech, and when I was declaiming it in my room IT had visions of audiences listening to me spellbound. But here on the gloomy stage my throat felt dry and the visions of spellbound audiences withered. I felt much in need of some liquid stimulant. I could hear the voices of the other histrionic geniuses droning along, and I was wishing that my cue would never come. I was wishing that I was out in the free, fresh air. “Why don’t you take up your cue?” called out a sharp voice.“ You should come quickly on from the third left entrance.” I could feel the concentrated gaze of the actors and the actresses. And I wished that I was safe out again in the Californian sunshine. I could feel that I was not the play-acting genius 1 thought I was when I was studying the part that morning in my large and ample dollar-and- a-half room. Again came the cue. I marched on and began the speech. But my voice cracked in the middle of the first sentence. However, I managed to get on with it in a kind of a bald, tame, halting way. I was horribly nervous. “Go through the speech again,” said the stage-manager, acridly. A histrionic genius of the female persuasion giggled, and I felt worse than ever. And to make matters still worse, the business of the scene entailed the putting my arm around the waist of the histrionic giggler. I felt most awkward. But I managed to get through some- how till it came to my exit. I was standing off in the wings, waiting for my next cue, when the manager joined me. “You don't seem to have had much experi ence of the stage,” he said. And he began to cross-examine me as to where 1 had played in England. Duting the cross - examination 1 recovered my confidence. “Vil be all right,” I said, after he had done questioning me. “I’m always a bit cff at rehearsals. But at night I’m mysclf.” And I went on to reassure him. But he didn’t sce it. 1 was unable to soothe him. His confidence had fled. He sacked me. Sacked me without giving me a chance to prove my greatness—at night. And I deft the half- gloom of the theatre and found myself out in the midst of the free, sunny air. Stull I had yearnings for the stage. ‘The memory of my incompetence at rehearsal swiftly wore away. I began to perceive—as all stage aspirants perceive—that my failure was not my own fault. I longed for the stage. It looked so easy. And at last I got another part to play. It was not the part of Hamlet. It was a small partin a play by a Californian poet. I felt elated. 1 had succeeded in imbuing another manager with my own confidence. 1 managed to get through the rehearsals. But the first night’s performance settled my hash, or, rather, fate. The footlights frightened me. My part was that of a Western desperado, and my first scene was with the star actor. His voice when he spoke to me, combined with the glare of the footlights and the faces of the audience, + made me dry up. I was unable to utter a word. ‘The star covered up the omission, however, for he was a much-experienced bad actor of the old, sonorous school. After my exit the manager rounded upon me. “You're a great actor, I don’t think,” he said. “You're done after to-night.” And he went on to say other things of an uncomplimentary nature. “Give me none of your lip,” I said. I had become roused. “It’s a rotten part I’m cast for, anyway. T’ve a good mind——” “Oh, you want to fight, do you? You're a corker. And right here I'd like you to explain to me how fighting would make you a better actor.” My wrath subsided, and I smiled ; and he smiled. “You're all right,” he said, “but you can’t act for nuts. Scene-shifting is about your mark !” And he passed on, and I passed out—after that night. Still with dreams—with dreams of making a stout and handsome living as a genius of the stage—I wandered around looking for engage- ments. Now and then I got them, because, though I possessed no talent for the stage, 1 possessed confidence boundless and illimitable. I still felt that I could do things as well as the immortal Barry Sullivan, if I could only get just the right kind of a chance. What 1 felt I needed in order to really shine was a great part. None of your half-parts or quarter-parts or eighth-parts. I wanted something really tip-top. Amateurs will know the feeling I felt. As the time wagged on I got, through dint of being sacked and sackcd again, a little more easy and natural on the stage. I lost, so to speak, my first bloom of utter badness as an actor. 1 achieved the high position of the ordinary bad actor. I had a good loud voice, and I could be heard with distinctness. My voice travelled well out over the footlights. In fact, it travelled too well out. But this is a fault that has its virtues on the stage. Still the managers were unenthusiastic. They looked doubtful when 1 was explaining to them

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A LOST HAMLET. my inner greatness, and they cast me for modest, unassuming parts in which I could do but little harm. To be quite frank, I believe I really had a talent for eccentric comedy. 1 was successful at . 229 enraged when I was cast for one. I was always on the point of slaying the manager forthwith. Playing such microscopic parts seemed to make one first cousin to a super. And whenever the manager complimented me upon the skill with playing “bits” in which a certain kind of humour had to be brought out. For the benefit of lay people who feel that they have a genius for the playing of vast and magnificent parts upon the stage, it may be expiained that the term “bit” is the word that actors use to designate a very little part. Sometimes this “bit” may be of great importance. But it: is needless to remark that very few bad actors, or would-be actors, are ambitious to shine in “bits.” Even good actors don’t like to play them. I, personally, always felt grieved and 1 was unable to uster a word. which I played my microscopic, needle-point part I felt inclined to hit him. I—I who felt that I could really play Hamlet—to be complimented upon the speaking of a line or two, and the doing of a little short “business”! It was too much.

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230 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. There was a friend of mine who was in the same boat. He was an undersized, hatchet- faced fellow, who ran away with the idea that he could play Mark Antony. I thought I could play Hamlet, and he thought he could play Mark Antony. We used to quaff the foaming lager together and exchange grievances. The fact that I was as unlike the brooding I remember one day getting vexed with Tommy. He hinted—only hinted, mind you— that I was too burly and healthy-looking to make an ideal Hamlet. My first impulse was to pick up the would-be Mark Antony by the scruff of the neck and shake him. But I refrained. I contented myself with some remarks upon the disparity of Tommy's appear- My first impulse was to pick up the would-be Mark Antony by the scruff of the neck and shake him. and melancholy Dane as he was unlike the big and fine-statured Roman bothered us not a bit. We quaffed the foamy, and scathed the judgment of the managers with curses long and deep. ‘Tommy—his name was Tommy—used to spout long speeches of the noble Roman between drinks. I used to listen with deep interest, and when ‘Tommy had spouted his speech, I would give my ideas as to the way Hamlet ought to be played. I would go inta long disquisitions as to the character of the Melancholy One. And then we would have another lager. I must confess I never spouted the speeches of Hamlet. They were too long for me to learn. But I knew exactly just how the part ought to be played ! ance and Shakespeare’s conception of the great Roman. After that it took several foaming lagers to soothe our mutual feelings down. Playing “bits”—that was about as far as I got in my histrionic efforts. I was on and off the stage—mostly off—for about three years. But the chance to play the brooding and melan- choly one never arrived. In fact, I never played in any of Shakespeare's plays at all. I was usually condemned to comedy—and low comedy at that. But I liked my life on the stage very much indeed. I liked it, even though I found in the end that I could, at the very best, only attain to the dizzy heights of being a bad actor.

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HOW I CLIMBED MOUNT POPOCATEPETL. From a) The twin snow-peaks of Popocatepet! (on left) and Ixtaccihuatl, as seen from Puebla. (Photograph, By Cuaries Riper-Nose. The author set out to climb that Mexican volcano with the unpronounceable name that every school-boy has heard of, but found the feat rather more difficult than he had anticipated. On the first occasion he was basely deserted by his guides, who gaily tobogganed down the snow-slopes on his camera; on the second, though he succeeded in reaching the summit and exploring the crater, an avalanche nearly terminated his career. ITTLE did I think in my boyhood, # when asked by my schoolmaster to y } spell that tongue - twisting word, pd | | Popocatepetl, that it would ever - be my good fortune to climb the mountain and have a peep at what is perhaps one of the most wonderful sights of the world— its crater. “Old Popo,” as he is familiarly called, is semi-dormant. He does not roar or erupt, but something is always going on inside him. During the summer of last year 1 was in Mexico City. Early one morning I opened my windows, and in the distance, for the first time, saw the twin snow-peaks of Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl, sparkling crystal white in the clear air. . I was at once filled with a desire to climb those glistening heights. During the day I made inquiries as to the possibility, and gathered that Ixtaccihuatl was both difficult and dan- gerous; it was doubtful, indeed, if anyone Mr. Rider-Noble illuetrates his article with his own striking photographs. had ever actually reached its summit. “Old Popo,” -however, might be managed, if only my strength was sufficient and the weather would permit. The former I had little doubt about, having spent a considerable time in the Balkans, and on two occasions crossed the Andes into Chile, so 1 knew well what living at a high altitude was like. I was determiped to tackle “Popo.” Men- tioning this fact to some friends, I soon made up a good, big party, including several ladies, all most enthusiastic to make the attempt. At length the day for the expedition arrived. Our party left San Lazaro station at 2.30 p.m. for Popo Park, intending to stay the night at the Popo Park Hotel, a delightfully picturesque spot in the midst of a beautiful pine-forest, some thirty miles from Mexico City and twenty-seven miles from the base of the mountain. We had placed all arrangements in the hands of Captain Charles Holt, the manager of the hotel, who was

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232 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to provide animals to ride, guides, provisions, and equipment. ~ On our arrival at Popo Park the excitement commenced, for when nearing the mountain we found it enveloped in a dense mist. What would the weather be like on the morrow? we inquired. Fine, was the reply; everything promised that we should be favoured with a bright day, which would, of course, make all the difference to our undertaking. We enjoyed a well-cooked supper, and at 9 p.m. decided to go to bed and get as much rest as possible before the climb, which would occupy the two following days. Up betimes in the morning, I commenced rounding up my party and all available supplies. Horses, mules, and donkeys, guides and servants were also seen to, and just after 10 a.m. we made a start for our first camp, riding along the mountain path in single file, following our guides up hill and down dale. After a ride of about six miles we halted by a mountain stream for lunch, and in less than an hour were again in the saddle, and by 4.30 p.m. we arrived at the Ilamacas Ranch. We had now reached an altitude of thirteen thousand feet, and it was getting very cold, so that we were glad to huddle before a big wood fire which the Indians had piled with faggots. Being only a log hut, with no proper chimney, the place soon filled with smoke, and I was glad to get outside. Here we built another big fire, and sat around it smoking our pipes till supper was ready. Having seen the ladies made comfortable inside the hut, we men- folk spread our blankets round the camp fire and soon fell asleep. At 1.30 am. we began to think about making a move. From this point we had some eight hours’ steady climbing before us if we ever hoped to reach the summit. Partaking of rum and coffee, at 2 a.m. we made a start. It was a beautiful moonlight night, but we soon found ourselves in the midst of a gloomy grove of pines, many of which had blown down and lay across our path, making it both dangerous and difficult going for our animals. Our real climb had now commenced, and the altitude began to tell sadly on the efforts of my mule. How much farther would se be able to go, I wondered. After about an hour’s hard ride an accident occurred which bade fair to mar the pleasure of our trip —one of the party fell from his horse in a dead faint; the rarefied air had been too much for him. We were now many miles from any habitation, and but for the timely assistance of one of the ladies the case might have termin- ated fatally. Unfortunately there was no hroma The first glimpse of Popocatepet! from the mountain path leading to the ranch. UV y raphe,

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HOW I From a\ stimulant of any kind available, and only natural movements of the body and limbs could be made to bring about sufficient respiration to restore consciousness. It was impossible for the sufferer to proceed farther, and wren he was sufficiently recovered the two ladies returned with him to Popo Park Hotel. This caused a delay of over an hour. As we advanced the scenery and vegetation changed, and only clumps of ayemel trees and stunted mountain grass were to be seen, while a freezing, marrow-searching wind began to blow, and the moon’s brilliant rays were reflected upon the white field of snow before us. The ascent became steeper and steeper, and those who were riding found that their animals had to pause frequently, in order to gain breath. Soon we left all signs of vegetation behind and were making our way over a rough volcanic ash. Then my mule gave out—she could go no farther, so I left her behind with one of the Indians and proceeded on foot. I soon found what hard work it was, for at times I sank almost up to my knees in the loose ash. I was obliged to rest frequently, which gave me the chance to scan the panorama that lay spread out below me. I could see the bright electric lights of Puebla, showing like stars in the valley beneath, and beyond the Vol. xxiii. —30. A view of Popocatepet! as seen from the Ilamacas Ranch. CLIMBED MOUNT POPOCATEPETL. 233 (Photograph. snow-capped peak of Orizaba, reaching to nearly the same height as Popocatepetl. I could also distinctly see the lights of Mexico City, some forty miles distant. No pen could describe, no artist’s brush portray, the vivid and brilliant colours of the scenery now before me. As time went on the silvery moon began to sink to rest, the brilliant stars faded, and a faint light in the east told us the new day was coming on. How many times I was obliged to stop and renew my strength I am unable to say ; I began to wonder if what I had been told would come true, and that I should never reach the summit. At this moment the sun made his appearance in the distant heavens, and it was wonderful with what rapidity he seemed to rise, until the whole sky was suffused with a rosy tint. We had now reached a point called “ Las Cruces.” The animals could go no farther, and all of us were compelled to proceed on foot. Our guides and their assistants had brought Mexican sandals with them in readiness for this contingency, and these we put on over our boots, after having first wrapped our feet and legs in flannel to protect them from the chill of the snow. I had made elaborate arrangements to take many photographs, and had given my camera to my most trusted guide and my tripod to another, with strict instructions to stick close to

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234 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. me, whatever happened, as I wanted to get a faithful record of all that occurred; but I was doomed to be sadly disappointed. Having been served out with chocolate, which we had been told was the finest thing to munch when feeling exhausted, we made a fresh start, being now only some five hundred yards from the snow belt. A few minutes later we found ourselves upon the crisp snow, which at first seemed to afford much easfer going. Many of the party got a considerable distance ahead of me, but, from past experience, I made up my mind to be very careful not to press the pace too eagerly. The immense tax upon the system makes one feel very weak ; breathing becomes more diffi- cult at each forward step, and soon some of those ahead were compelled to drop to the rear and give up the struggle through sheer fatigue. I was determined to see the thing through, and plodded on doggedly. My guide, who stayed close beside me, encouraged me with his cheering “Otro poquito” (“A little more”), but I could plainly see the fatigue was beginning to tell even upon him. We could no longer make a direct climb, as we were now ascending the mountain-side at an angle of forty-five degrees, so were forced to take a zigzag path. From a) Toiling upwards over the snow-slopes. I had now been some four hours on the snow, and several times felt so exhausted that it would have taken very little to make me turn tail and go back. Presently I remembered the chocolate in my pocket, and at once commenced to eat a piece. When the sinking sensation left me I was able to continue the ascent in greater comfort, and a few minutes more brought me to the brink of the crater. I had made a short cut to enable me to get photographs of those of the party who had been fortunate enough to reach the much-coveted goal before me, and I called to my guide. and his companion to bring my camera. They were not more than twenty-five yards away, but they did nothing but look at me in blank astonishment. Then one of them, ex- claiming ‘‘ Mucha fria ” (“‘ Very cold”), calmly sat down upon my camera (fortunately it was in its case), and, using it as a toboggan, disappeared down the mountain-side in a cloud of snow-dust ! Before I had recovered from my amazement the other, placing the tripod between his legs, followed his comrade. And there was I, all alone, standing on the brink of the crater, seventeen thousand eight hundred and _forty- eight feet above sea-level ! Just at this moment a strong wind sprang up, bringing with it a blizzard of fine snow. I seemed to be standing in space. I could not see a yard before my face, and called in vain to my friends. The only thing to be done, apparently, was to descend as quickly as possible. Sitting down on the snow, as the guides had done, I commenced to slide down, my head showing an uncomfortable inclination to go first. I found this glissading experience anything but [Photograph pleasant, but it was soon over, for in less than ten minutes I found myself almost at the same spot from which we had started some eight hours before. ‘Those who had been fortunate enough to gain the summit before me reached the bottom just as I had done—with their faces reddened and burned by the reflection of the sun’s rays on the snow-fields. A month later I made up my mind to make

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! , HOW I CLIMBED MOUNT POPOCATEPETL. 235 Seda S Pee f. a ee Half-way up—Owing to the steepness of the slope and the difficulty of gaining a footing the party had to travel in zigzags. From a Photograph. another ascent. This time I vowed I would secure some good photographs of the actual crater or perish in the attempt. I arranged with two friends—an Englishman and a Canadian— to accompany me. Benefiting by past experi- ences, I obtained the services of a guide who knew his work, and was fortunate enough to secure an old Spanish engineer who had been associated with the endeavour to work the sulphur deposits in the crater. Making our start as before, from Popo Park, we reached the Ilamacas Ranch in the evening, and, taking a few hours’ rest, once more set out on our climb. This time the weather conditions did not prove so favourable; a heavy mist enveloped everything, and at times we could only see a few yards in front of us, while a fine rain made things most uncomfortable. Still, however, we forged ahead, hoping things would improve. Soon it got bitterly cold and snow began to fall. We were all well wrapped in native blankets—which must have given us the appearance of a gang of bandits—and, with the exception of my feet, I did not suffer from the cold. The freshly-fallen snow made it very difficult for us to gain a footing on the mountain-side, and it was only with great care that one could do so. Still, we stuck to it, and made good progress. Nearing the summit we were obliged to rest at the end of each zigzag in order to take a deep breath and gain strength. ‘The rarity of the atmosphere affected me greatly, and I felt a strong inclination to sleep. Several times, when 1 sat down to rest, I found myself dozing off, and it required a great effort to wake up and continue the climb. The others were equally exhausted, and presently my English friend gave it up and turned back with his guide. I consulted with my Canadian friend as to the advisability of proceeding. “Yes,” said he; ‘we've got so far, let us see it through.” It was now about ro a.m. The snow had ceased falling, the mist had cleared away, and soon the sun was shining brightly. We had only some fifty yards to go before reaching the summit. Another rest, another short climb, and I reached the crater. A final step, and I was able to see into its cavernous depths. Strange noises ascended, like the escape of steam from a powerful engine mingled with what might have been the heavy discharges of musketry. Descending about a hundred feet into the crater, I found these hissing sounds were apparently caused by the escape of vapour from the fissures called respiratoriors, near the

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236 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ( Nearing the summit. ef a] A halt for rest. (Photographs.

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HOW bottom of the crater. These respiratoriors are great openings, sixty to a hundred and thirty feet in length and three to seven fect wide, tilled with sulphur. Stones continually falling from the walls of the crater to the depths below account for the rumbling sounds like volley-firing. The smoke rising from the crater is only visible when near the mountain, but in days gone by it could be seen from a great distance, hence the name Popocatepetl, the Indian mean- ing of which is “Smoking Mountain.” In the eastern depths of the crater there is a lake of greenish water, some hundred and eighty yards wide. With the white snow-line above, the emerald-green lake below, and the pre- cipitous walls of black and red volcanic’ rock from a\ mingled with yellow sulphur, the crater shows a combination of colour forming a picture hard to describe. In ascending from the depths I could not help noticing the marked difference both in the temperatures and the air, and was obliged to rest several times before reaching the brink. Upon looking round I saw that the sun had dis- appeared, and the view below was blotted out by a sea of clouds, above which Popocatepetl and Ixtaccihuatl stood out like islands, with nothing visible save their tops. It was evident that a violent storm was raging beneath the clouds ; I could distinctly see the lightning and hear the rumbling of thunder. I CLIMBED MOUNT The rim of Popocatepetl’s mighty crater, seen from the opposite side, POPOCATEPETL. 237 Commencing the descent, we encountered a cold wind blowing up the mountain-side, and in a few moments semi-darkness was upon us. A little while longer, and a terrible storm was raging about us. For the moment the danger I was in did not occur to me. I could see but a few yards before me, and I noticed that the snow was becoming much softer—no doubt through the rain. At every step I sank deeper and deeper into the soft mass, till at length I could hardly get one foot before the other. It was impossible to slide swiftly down, as I had done before ; one simply sank in. Somewhat alarmed, I shouted to my guide, but got no reply. I could go no farther ; 1 was absolutely fixed in the snow as if in a vice. I made one more resolute effort to save myself. Desperately I tried to scrape the snow away from my legs and feet, but my hands were so benumbed that I found it impossible to extricate myself. At last the storm seemed to be blow- ing over, and a faint ray of hope passed through my heart. Presently, to my infinite joy, the sky became brighter, and some fifty yards away I caught sight of my faithful old engineer, striving his hardest to reach me. With much difficulty he finally succeeded, and, using his alpenstock to scratch the snow away from round about, managed to free me. Panting from our

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* 238 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ages Se as iy ie a a i PS ee ea : y ¥ PRLILS Z ro This striking photograph shows the interior of the crater—Deep down in its heart is a lake of greenish water. exertions, both of us stood motionless; neither at the bottom of the mountain, some two or of us spoke a word. three thousand feet below us, where it had been Suddenly, with a crash and a roar, the snow drenched with rain, gave way, and the white

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HOW I CLIMBED MOUNT POPOCATEPETL. 239 From) field about us immediately began to move, giving it the appearance of a fast-running stream. Next moment we lost our footing and began to slide with it—we were shooting downwards on the top of a genuine avalanche! At terrific speed we whizzed down, and finally reached the bottom, but to this day I can form no idea how it was we remained on the surface of the snow, instead of being buried beneath its rolling masses when it came to rest. I could not realize for some moments that we had come to a stand- still; then I found the engineer close by my side. We helped each other up, badly bruised and shaken, but otherwise uninjured, and made the best of our way away from the snow-line. It was now raining in torrents. We knew we had reached the volcanic ash, but which direc- tion were we to take? There was no landmark in sight to guide us. My compass, however, was safe on my belt, and I quickly made up my mind to strike out north-east. After some two hours’ steady tramp over ash and boulder we found we had made “ Las Cruces,” where the rest of the small party were anxiously awaiting us. They had been more fortunate than we. When leaving the summit they had kept more to the west, and had successfully tobogganed down, for in this direction the snow-crust had not been broken. It was now getting late in the afternoon, and we had a long ride in front of us before we could get food or shelter. Drenched to the skin we commenced our long and dismal ride, Ixtaccihuat! as seen from the summit of Popocatepetl. (Photograph. and at 9.30 p.m. we reached El Paraje Ranch, where we asked if we might stay the night. Secing the plight we were in, the pro- prietor and his wife could not say “No.” The accommodation was very poor-—orly two small buildings. I went into the first little cabin, which, in regular Indian custom, had its wood fire in the centre of the room, which was filled with smoke so thick that I could only breathe with difficulty. The good housewife gave me a warm blanket to wrap myself in while my sodden clothes were hung on a line to dry. Curling myself up in my blanket, I soon fell asleep in a corner of the hut, but was awakened when supper was ready —a true Mexican repast, con- sisting of garnachas and enchilada. ‘Vhe former is a weird compound of maize, chopped meat, cheese, chillies, tomatoes, and onions. The latter is composed of chopped meal, raisins, almonds, and other condiments rolled inside a ortilla, a thin, crisp cake of ground maize. I wanted a good night’s rest, but this I found impossible ; only a few planks sepayated me from the pigsty, and, what with the rats and the pigs, I had a lively time of it. Making an early start in the morning, we reached Popo Park in time for lunch, and later in the day returned to Mexico City. Beyond my body aching all over from fatigue, I felt very little the worse for my adventure. And I had fulfilled my vow—I had reached the summit of Popocatepetl and secured some good photo- graphs.

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Sy gee nas 0 Oo THE MASKED BANDIT OF TUCSON. By Captain JOHN A. SPRING. CS S An account of the meteoric career of an outlaw who suddenly appeared in the neighbourhood of Tucson, Arizona, and started “holding up” stage-coaches. After some very exciting experiences the man was finally killed, but his booty, amounting to many thousands of dollars, was never recovered. N the month of July, 1883, when the annually-recurring rainy season was about due, the quiet little city of Tucson, in the southern part of the territory of Arizona, was suddenly aroused by a daring stage hold-up about eighteen miles west of the town, on the stage road leading to Florence and the Silver King Mine, near the Gila River. Many people had predicted that as soon as the Apache Indians were subdued highwaymen would undoubtedly infest the then sparsely - populated territory. This prediction was beginning to materialize. The hold-up was not of much importance so far as money loss was concerned. The driver, an old Californian stager, obeyed the command of the solitary masked highwayman unhesitatingly. He threw out the mail-bag and Wells, Fargo, and Co.’s express-box and drove on with the one solitary passenger, a poor washerwoman ea route to the mines, who was not molested. Undoubtedly the robber had expected to capture in the express-box a large sum of money intended for the monthly pay of the six or seven hundred miners in the Silver King region ; but the money was not on board on this occasion. While the hold-up was, of course, the town talk for a few days, little or nothing was done in the way of pursuit of the robber, partly because his booty was insignificant and partly because the sheriff of the county was absent from Tucson at the time, summoning jurors and witnesses for the s&sions of the District Court to be held in September. Exactly one week after the occurrence just mentioned the same stage was held up and robbed by the very same masked man, and at the very place where the first robbery occurred —about one mile east of the Point of Mountain mail station, distant from Tucson eighteen miles. The spot selected by the robber was a short stretch of heavy sandy road, surrounded on either side by dense undergrowth. The stage carried six passengers, some of them armed with revolvers, but, as usual in such cases, none of them attempted any resistance. When the horses reached the heavy sand they came to a slow walk, when all of a sudden a man wearing a white mask jumped from the bushes directly to the front, and, presenting a cocked revolver with each hand, commanded in a firm yoice, “Hands up!” The driver was ordered to throw out the mail-bag and express-box, the passengers to line up behind the stage with uplifted hands. ‘The robber then addressed them as follows :— “The first man who moves a hand drops dead—I shoot to kill; take that in!” Then, turning half round for a second towards a bush whence about six inches of the muzzle of a double-barrelled shot-gun protruded, he added, “You fellows, watch close. Drop the first man who makes a move !” The driver and passengers, thinking them- selves surrounded by a band of outlaws, offered no resistance; they were searched, robbed of their moncy and portable valuables, and allowed to resume their seats. ‘Then the driver was ordered to drive on, with the words, “ Now, you drive slowly and don’t look back. At a walk, do you hear? Drop that whip! You will be followed and made a sieve of, if you play any monkey-shines.” This happened about four o’clock p.m. The driver, mindful of his instructions, consumed over half an hour in covering the distance (one mile) to the mail station. This station, situated on the old California stage route, consisted of a large adobe house, separated into two equal halves by a wide hall- way in the middle of its length. Behind each section there is a room, used respectively as a kitchen and a storeroom ; behind these are the stables, surrounded by a corral of adobe; at a little distance to the north there is a well, with a water-wheel and group of watering-troughs. It

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THE MASKED BANDIT OF TUCSON. 241 : wt — ee ee. ns: aa Gow. res a Prk “high he g ee “The first man who moves a hand drops dead—I shoot to kill; take that in!" was kept by two men who sold occasional meals to travellers and water to the freighters for their draught animals. They owned two horses. The driver of the stage had, of course, to go on his way on account of his passengers, but one of them volunteered to stay behind and Vol. xxiii. 31, render such services as might be required of him in the emergency caused by the robbery. He was provided with firearms, mounted on a swift horse, and sent to Tucson to notify the now returned sheriff of the hold-up. One of the station keepers armed himself and

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PRT ae 242 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. proceeded to the place of the robbery to investigate the premises. He found the mail- bag cut open clean across with a sharp knife and the cover of the express - box shattered, showing plain marks of a hatchet. Letters and periodicals were — scattered over the ground in every direction, as well as wrappers of registered mail matter. The Wells-Fargo express-box had contained nearly twenty thousand dollars in gold and greenbacks and about three hundred dollars in silver. Of this money there was no trace. The searcher naturally looked for tracks of riding animals in the neighbourhood, but was unable to discover a single hoof-mark. He returned fully convinced that the robbery had been committed by one man, who had frightened the whole crowd of passengers with the clever “bluff” of commanding an auxiliary party hidden in the bush whence the muzzle of the shot-gun protruded. ‘The tracks of the driver and passengers, where they were lined up in the road, were plainly to be seen ; besides them there was but one other, made by a pair of heavy No. 8 boots, which had tramped about the road and into the bush, dragging the mail-sack and express-box. These tracks finally led off in a south- westerly direction towards the hills, where a deep natural cave was known to exist, the entrance to which faces towards the south and cannot be seen from either the road or the station. At this stage of his investiga- tions the station man saw a large freight train arriving at the station, which rendered his presence there necessary, and he had therefore, for the time being, to abandon further search. The sheriff, Charles Shi- bell (now Recorder of Pima County, Arizona), arrived on the spot during the night. He was accompanied by two deputies and two ranchmen, one of them being Peter Kitchen, an experienced cattlkeman and trailer, and the other Jesus Maria Elias, also Sheriff Charles Shibell, who started in pursuit of the masked bandit. From a Photograph, Mr. Kitchen, an experienced tracker, who accom- panied the sheriff's party. From a Photograph. a cattleman. With them came two Papago Indians, who are all experts in following tracks. When the sheriff arrived he had a strange piece of information to impart. At the very time when the messenger from the mail station arrived at his office and re- ported the robbery there hap- pened to be present a man from New Mexico, an old rancher and acquaintance of the sheriff. He listened to the details of the hold-up with ever-increasing attention and interest. When the mes- senger had finished his report the man from New Mexico said to the sheriff :— “Charley, I would be will- ing to bet my ranch and all my cattle that this robber is the very same highwayman who, during a period of about nine months of last year, stopped and robbed no fewer than seven mail-coaches run- ning between Albuquerque, Santa Fé, Las Cruces, and intermediate points. The description given by this messenger tallies in every particular with the stature, the mask, the weapons, the commanding speech, and the quick motions of the New Mexican robber, who made use there of the very same words and threats. You have to deal with a most desperate character, Charley. At one of his hold-ups near Las Cruces some passengers attempted resistance. In less than two seconds he shot three of them in the head. They fell dead where they stood, and he kicked their bodies to one side and quietly pursued his search in the pockets of the remain- ing passengers, who were paralyzed with fear and horror. He seems to be the quickest man on the trigger, our cowboys all agrce, that was ever known. Nobody ever saw his face, hence nobody knows him to recognise him. He disappeared from up our way about six months ago when the railroad replaced the stage lines; but I am sure he is the man you are after, and you had better be exceed- ingly careful how you go to work about it. He Digitized b Google

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THE MASKED BANDIT OF ‘TUCSON. 243 ud — Piya Sie From a) The city of Tucson, in the vicinity of which the masked robber held up the mail-coaches. shoots quick, he shoots straight, and he shoots to kill. He is a fiend incarnate.” Very early on the following morning the tracking party started for the place of the hold- up in order to follow thence whatever tracks led away from it. The sky was dark and threaten- ing; along the mountain ridges heavy black clouds were gathering and the atmosphere smelt of rain, It was therefore necessary to waste no time, but to push forward at once, for the heavy rains of the wet season would soon obliterate all trails. Only one track, the one already mentioned as being produced by a heavy No. 8 boot, was discovered leading away from the ambush. As indicated by the station-keeper, it led directly towards the cave, and was very plain at first. When it reached the foot-hills, however, where the ground was harder and in places rocky, the Papago Indians had to use all their ingenuity in following it. It led directly into the cave. This cave was about six feet high at the entrance, and extended into the mountain for a distance of about one hundred and sixty feet. It varied in height, after penetrating about thirty feet in length from the entrance, from twenty-five feet to ten feet, and finally ended in a narrow fissure. About fifty feet from the entrance the searchers found by the light of a lantern, in a kind of natural niche in the side wall, signs of a horse (fotograph. having been stabled there. From here Mr. Kitchen followed the almost imperceptible tracks (the ground being hard rock) of a large horse’s shod hoofs, leading out of the cave. At the mouth of the cavern there was a level sandy space over- looked at first, in which the imprints of the four hoofs were plainly discernible. One of the deputy-sheriffs, together with the afore mentioned station-keeper, who had now joined the party, were left here with instructions to make a care- ful search of the cave for a probable hiding-place of the booty obtained by the robber. All at once Kitchen, standing over a place where the horse’s tracks were particularly dis- tinct, and pointing to them, exclaimed, triumph- antly, “See here! One half of the shoe on the left hind-foot is missing! We have a sure track now, an unmistakable one ; if only the rain will hold back for the day we are sure to get our man.” Kitchen and Elias, the Mexican trailers, now took the lead, and followed the track without much difficulty for fifteen miles across the northern edge of an alkali flat. Then the party (all mounted except the Papagos) entered a large grove of unusually big mesquite trees, sur- rounded by dense undergrowth. Here the task of tracking became more difficult. The robber, in order to mislead pursuers, had made a perfect maze of tracks in the thicket, riding in circles, half-circles, and zigzags, crossing and re-crossing

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244 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZI tle same spot several times—using, in short, every ingenuity to create confusion in the minds of his probable pursuers. — Finally, Kitchen, who knew every foot of the ground within a radius of thirty miles or more, rode ahead to the road leading south from ‘Tucson and there found, as he expected, the tracks imprinted in the heavy dust of the road, which they crossed in the direction of Santa Cruz River. At the river they came into another maze of tracks, made principally by the herds of horses belonging to the Papago Indians and the animals of the Mexican ranchers living along the river. ‘The stream here was quite shallow, forming a ford for vehicles and people on foot. Owing to the defective horseshoe the robber’s tracks were easily distinguished from all others ; after cross- ing the river they followed eastward for about four miles and turned towards the south, round- ing the north-east corner of the Papago reserva- tion, Probably, in order to avoid the Indian police, the robber gave the reservation line a wide berth, as well as the ranches at the Punta de Agua. Gradually circling towards the south- west, he reached the river again about ten miles to the south. It had already begun to rain when the sheriff’s party approached the ford, and just as they reached it a fearful semi - tropical tempest developed, and was soon raging in full fury. ‘The rain came down in dense sheets during four consecutive hours, forcing the pursuing party to seek shelter in an old abandoned adobe house near by. On the following morning the low- lying places around the river were under water, the alkali flat west of the valley road was a lake as far west as the hills, and all pursuit had to be reluctantly abandoned. About four miles south-west of Tucson there stood, on a little knoll, a small adobe house, attached to which was a small corral containing a well, a watering-trough, and a brush shed, supported by four upright poles. It was in- habited by a middle-aged American who had come to Arizona as a health-seeker; he had weak lungs and could perform no hard work. For the sake of convenience we will call him Moran, although that was not his name. Upon his arrival at ‘Tucson he had found there a Mr. Samuel Hughes, who had befriended him some years previously in California. Hughes helped Moran again upon the latter’s arrival, furnishing him with the means of starting a small milk ranch or dairy. Moran would milk his six cows before daybreak and then drive to town to deliver the milk to his customers. On the third morning after the efforts of the sheriff's posse had become futile, Moran, who had just milked his cows and filled his cans, E. had hardly sat down to his breakfast when two violent knocks at his door made him jump to his feet. Moran being alone, and of a timid nature, at first hesitated to open the door; but several violent kicks against the bottom of it, accompanied hy a decisive word of command, finally induced him to obey. Confronting him with a pointed revolver, and fury in his eyes, stood a man of middle stature, heavily built, and bespattcred all over with a crust of half-dried mud. What ensued I shall endeavour to give as nearly as possible in Moran’s own words, as communicated about two hours later to Mr. Hughes, at his residence on North Main Street, in ‘Tucson, after the milkman had delivered the milk to his customers in town, It must be borne in mind that the report of Moran, as here given in connected form, was uttered by the greatly excited and scared milkman in detached sentences, with frequent repetitions, stops, and corrections. “The moment I looked at the man it occurred to me in a flash of remembrance that I had seen him somewhere in town in a peaceful occupation, and I thought he was playing a joke on me. But when I looked into his eyes 1 was shaken with fear; they seemed to penetrate my very brain like steel points. All at once he took hold of me by my coat-collar and dragged me to a corner of the room, where he stood me up facing the wall, ordering me at the same time to hold up my hands and not to make a move, ‘if I wished to live a little longer.’ He spoke in short, jerky, but very decisive sentences. Then I heard him cock a revolver and lay it on the table, at which he presently sat down to eat. From the sounds that followed I surmised that he must be nearly famished ; he ate so noisily. When he had finished, he called me to him and made me sit down in front of him with my hands behind my back. He was holding a cocked revolver in his right hand, while another was stuck in a holster on his waistbelt ; between his legs stood a long shot-gun, and across his body hung a shoulder-belt full of shot-gun cart- ridges. I'rom these arms he never separated himself for a moment. After barricading the door by pulling my bedstead against it, he began :— “*Do you know who I am? No, I suppose not. I generally wear a mask when I start out to meet people. It was in my saddle-bag when that confounded horse decamped. Well, I am pretty dangerous, a desperate man who doesn’t care for the whole universe. I held up the stage at Point of Mountain and have been in hiding since the night before last, wet and hungry. In the storm my horse got

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THE MASKED BANDIT OF TUCSON. 245 away from me. “1 should not have used him any longer anyhow, as his left hind-foot was a dead give-away ; but I regret the saddle, in the bags of which there were a few trinkets, The swag I got from the stage is well hidden. I stole an Indian pony last night from the Papago Reservation ; it is tied out there under your shed, but I have no saddle. Now, listen to what you have to do for me, and see that you do it if you wish to live. If you don’t, I'll kill you as sure as you are now alive. When I shoot I Confronting him with a pointed revolver, and fury in his eyes. stood a man of middle stature hit, and I hit to kill) Take that in. Here ate twenty dollars. You go to town and deliyer your milk ; then buy some grub for me—a loaf of bread, some crackers, sardines, and canned meats, about five pounds in weight Put all! that ina sack and tie it up. Then you buy a saddle — you can easily find a second-hand Mexican saddle at Goldtree the pawnbroker's shop, on Meyers Street. The moon will be up to-night about twelve oclock At that hour you must come with these things-—

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246 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. on your little wagon—along the road from Tucson by that hotel that was formerly Jimmie Lee’s mill on the river. About a mile above that house, on the San Xavier road, you will come to a thicket of tall mesquite trees and undergrowth, which extends along both sides of the road for some distance. Keep a sharp look-out to the left till you come to a tree on which a white rag will be fastened. Here you will turn to the left and carry the saddle and grub about fifty yards into the thicket till you reach a rather large mesquite log lying on the ground. Leave the stuff beside that log and then retire about twenty yards from it. Then you will give three sharp coughs, with a short interval between each. When I return this signal in like manner you will come and join me, and I will give you twenty dollars for your trouble. If you go back on me or try to play any treacherous tricks I shall follow you and kill you, if it takes me a year. Just take that in, and remember I shoot to kill? “ After repeating these in- structions the robber asked for some fat to clean and grease his weapons, which were quite rusty; a clothes brush, a needle, and some thread. He said he would lock my door upon leaving, and place the key in a nose- bag that hung under the shed. Then I drove to town.” After hearing Moran’s story Mr. Hughes immediately sent a confidential note to Sheriff Charles Shibell, requesting his presence at the former's residence. The officer arrived within a few minutes, and Moran repeated his statement down to the minutest detail. The milkman’s presence being, of course, a matter of first necessity for the purpose of capturing the robber, he was made to lie down, and a doctor was called in to attend to him, as he was still in a state of acute nervousness. He was given a sleeping-draught, from the effects of which he awoke in the evening much refreshed, and fit for the emergencies that awaited him. Mean- while Mr. Hughes sent a servant out to purchase a Mexican saddle and the food ordered by the robber. ‘This was perhaps unnecessary, in view of what happened afterwards, but Moran in- sisted that it must be done, and he was not in a condition to bear contradiction. A few of the most prominent citizens were next requested to call at Mr. Hughes’s house Mr. Samuel Hughes, to whom Moran first told the story of his encounter with the bandit. From a Photograph. secretly in order to talk the matter over and suggest a plan of operations. Nothing of what was said there ever reached the public ear, except that later on, after the affair was over, people were generally informed that a vote was taken and resulted in the unanimous decision that the robber must be exterminated It should be remembered that the man from New Mexico—a respectable person, well known to the sheriff—had fully demonstrated and_con- vincingly proved that the robber of the Point of Mountain stage was without a doubt identical with the one who had held up the seven stages in New Mexico and on one occasion had killed three passengers who had attempted self-defence. ‘That the man who had come to Moran’s milk ranch was the robber who had perpetrated the last hold-up was proved by the tracks followed by the sheriff’s posse, the robber’s own re- mark as to the-left hind-foot of his horse, and his state- ment to Moran. There could be no doubt that he was a most desperate man, who would kill any aggressor with- out the least compunction, be he an officer of the law or not. It was agreed that it would be downright foolishness to expose the lives of a good sheriff and accompanying posse to the sure death of one and probably more of them. For all these reasons, and taking into consideration also the insecurity of their jail and the uncertain court proceed- ings—always hampered, un- fortunately, by nonsensical technicalities—it was unanimously decided to kill the robber at the rendezvous he had arranged with Moran for that night. About ten o'clock that night the sheriff, with a well-selected posse of three deputies, accom- panied by Moran, drove to. the building formerly known as Jimmie Lee’s mill. The milkman, knowing himself surrounded by friends, had recovered his equanimity and felt fully able to perform the task assigned him. From the mill they followed the river on foot, keeping under cover of the numerous bushes, until they reached the edge of the mesquite grove. It was still quite dark, but the sheriff and Moran, following the San Xavier road, readily found the tree with the white rag, and, penetrating into the thicket to their left, soon came upon the log mentioned by the robber. As the road was travelled over until a late hour by Mexican

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THE MASKED BANDIT OF TUCSON. 247 ranchers and Papago Indians returning to their homes from Tucson, there was no fear of meeting the robber at present, and so the saddle and the sack containing the food were brought up and placed on the ground immediately in front of the log. Then the posse was posted in a semicircle fronting the log and about twenty yards from it, Moran being in the middle of the right wing. It had been agreed that when the robber approached the log, after his recognition and answer of the agreed cough signals, Moran should give one more cough as a signal for all to fire simultaneously. Any other signal, of course, would have imme- diately aroused the suspicion of the outlaw and frustrated the whole undertaking. Two of the posse carried Winchester rifles, the other two double-barrelled shot-guns, heavily loaded with buck-shot. About half-past eleven the waning moon appeared above the horizon, but could not be well seen by the men lying on the ground in the bushes on ‘account of the foliage on the surrounding trees. All travel seemed to have come to a stop on the adjacent road. Moran emitted the signal—the three short coughs. There was no answer. Neither was there an answer a quarter of an hour later. In about ten minutes more the moon rose above the tree- tops, shedding a feeble light upon the log and its surroundings. Moran coughed again. Imme- diately the three answering coughs were heard, and a man was seen stepping from the under- growth towards the log. Looking about him suspiciously, he said, angrily, “Where is the saddle and the grub?” “Just this side of the log,” answered Moran, and coughed—the signal for firing. ‘The four guns barked almost simultaneously, awaking a tremendous echo. ‘The robber, who had just been bending forward to reach out for the saddle, fell upon the.log face downwards. “You ——!” he snarled. “You have given me away! Tll——” Then there were some sounds as from a person choking, followed by the words, uttered in a feeble voice, “I’m dying!” A spasmodic movement of the shoulders and a stretching of the legs indicated that the end had come. ; In the pockets of the dead robber’s trousers were found forty dollars in gold, a five-dollar greenback, and about ten dollars in silver. He had come fully armed, holding his shot-gun in front of him ready for instant use. On his waistbelt were two revolvers—a Colt’s forty-four and a Smith and Wesson—and a_ well-used bunter’s knife. In the hip-pocket of his over- alls was a neatly-folded mask, evidently pre- pared for future use with the needle and thread furnished by Moran. It consisted of two clean, recently-washed-and-ironed white handkerchiefs, stitched together on three sides; both bore Moran’s initials in red thread. Evidently the robber had carried the former mask in his saddle-bags, which disappeared with the horse when it ran off or got lost in the stormy night. In a small flour-sack which the robber carried fastened to his belt there were some tea, a few crackers, and several small trinkets of value, among them a pair of gold earrings which Mr. Etchells, of Tucson, had sent by registered mail with the stage robbed at Point of Mountain. When the officers brought the light of their lantern to bear upon the features of the dead man, they had the surprise of their lives. With one voice they exclaimed, “Jim Brazzleton!” He, indeed, it was—a man who for three months had been employed as helper in the livery-stable of R. N. Leatherwood, adjoining the court- house at Tucson. This explained why Moran said he was certain he had seen the man some- where in the town previous to his meeting him unmasked at tne milk ranch. Brazzleton had come to Tucson about the end of the preceding May, and had worked in the livery-stable until three days before the first hold-up near Point of Mountain, when he left his job of his own accord. During his employment he had attended strictly to his work, but was at all times uncom- municative and surly, making no friends and avoiding company. Of all the treasure in money and other valuables, of which the outlaw must have accu- mulated a great quantity, not a trace was ever found, either in New Mexico or Arizona, not- withstanding the fact that numerous efforts were made and liberal rewards offered. | Cheques or bonds Brazzleton never touched, leaving them scattered on the ground near the mutilated mail-bags. Moran did not stay long at his milk ranch after the occurrence here related. He said that neither the house nor its surroundings offered any comfort henceforth, and returned to California. The coroner’s jury summoned on the case gave as their verdict that Jim Brazzleton died of gunshot wounds inflicted by the hands of a sheriff's posse, and that the homicide was justifi- able. And so ended the career of the masked bandit of Tucson.

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This view shows Yildiz Kiosk on the left; the Hamdieh Mosque, where the Sultan goes to pray every Friday, on the right ; From a) and the barracks of the Palace Guard on the extreme right in the background. (Photograph. Under the Star and Crescent. By “ Beyzape.” Some striking reminiscences of twenty-five years’ residence in Constantinople, throwing a lurid light upon the espionage, corruption, and intrigue prevalent in Government circles—an appalling state of affairs which, it is hoped, the new regime will put an end to. The author is a high Turkish official, but for obvious reasons prefers to remain anonymous. N the hope that the narrative may @) prove interesting to the readers of THE Wipk Wortp Macazine 1 propose to set down here some of the principal incidents of my twenty- five years’ residence in Constantinople. Some of the names that appear in connection with the episodes are necessarily fictitious, but otherwise the stories are strictly true. Although an Oriental myself, I am not a Turk, and conse- quently I claim the privileges of a comparative outsider to lay before the readers of this magazine unprejudiced impressions of what I saw and heard. The Turk is greatly misjudged and misunder- stood throughout the whole of Europe, and especially in England. The average Turk is a gentleman in the full sense of the word— hospitable, courteous in demeanour, and an excellent father to his children —comparing I. most ‘favourably with the British, German, or American paterfamilias. All that, however, I should add, is provided he is in no-way inter- fered with in religion. The merest suspicion on that point makes him the most fanatical and bloodthirsty creature on earth ; he simply forgets that he is a human being. He says—and I have heard it often—that before his nationality, before anything, he isa Mohammedan. Whether rightly or wrongly, he believes that the moment a child is born an invisible hand writes on the infant’s forehead his ultimate end, and an unseen and irresistible power-— Kismet (fate)—takes him by the hand for its fulfilment. Now, when people religiously believe such a dictum, it is not to be wondered at that they should be indolent and careless of the future. Take, for instance, the Turkish soldiers. I have seen them marching mile after mile in the hot, scorching sun, very often with bare feet, carrying

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UNDER THE STAR AND CRESCENT. 249 in their haversacks only a couple of onions and a piece of dark brown bread! Yet they are content so long as they get these meagre rations. Soldiers like these, infused with the fanatical notions of their religion, fully believing in the promise of the Koran that ‘those who die fighting will ascend immediately to Paradise, no matter what sins they have committed,” are formidable indeed. I am afraid, however, that what I have said about the Turkish soldier does not necessarily include the higher officers of the Ottoman army, many of whom, no doubt, are very indolent. I remember, years ago, there was some revolutionary movement in Tripoli, and the Commander-in-Chief of the expedition took with him half-a-dozen of his wives and a large number of servants! Of course, there are exceptions to the rule. For instance, any country might be proud of men like Marshals Osman and Fuad Pashas and many others; but the evil is that, no matter how energetic a secondary official may be, the moment he gets promotion to a higher rank he seems to fall into a comatose state of inactivity ; his main object becomes his own personal luxury, and he develops an unquenchable thirst for intriguing to gain more power. ‘The welcome news of the grant of constitutional government is certainly a big step towards progress, but I hav my doubts whether it will work. First of all, must be borne in mind that the granting of a constitutional government in Turkey is not on all fours with constitutional government in any other part of Europe, where the Sovereign has, practically speaking, no voice in the actual management of his kingdom. People forget that the reigning Sultan in Turkey is, above all, the “Calipha” of the faithful, the representative of the prophet Mohammed on earth, which gives him an immense autocratic power. Supposing an important reform was contemplated by the Government of which the Sultan did not approve, what would prevent him saying, ‘As a Con- stitutional Sovereign I agree, but as Calipha I must object, and will not allow it!” Secondly, the Sultan, as everyone knows, is a most pitiably nervous and timid man. With the exception that once a week, on Friday, he goes to the Hamdieh Mosque to pray, he very seldom leaves the palace. For years he has had his own special entourage, the members of which report to him daily concerning occurrences in his capital and empire. ‘These men are his main sources of information, and very often they colour matters up to suit themselves. Added to this is an elaborate, all-pervading system of espionage. These things have become second nature to the Sultan, and, humanly speaking, it is impossible for him to give them up and Vol. xxiii, 82 adopt the mode of life that the new régime makes imperative. Moreover, the Sultan is an exceedingly suspicious person, suspicious above all things about his personal safety. A story is told to the effect that one morning he was walk- ing in front of the avenue of his palace, the Yildiz Kiosk. A gardener, who happened to be near the spot, but hidden behind some shrubs, did not observe His Majesty’s approach in time to get out of the way. When he dd see him— the Sultan being also ignorant of the man’s presence—he was only about a couple of yards distant. Losing his head, he suddenly jumped on one side. The Sultan, fearing that he had to deal with a would-be assassin, shot the poor fellow dead on the spot. (He has the reputation, by the way, of being an expert shot with a revolver, and constantly carries one fully loaded.) If the corrupt practices of the various adminis- trative bodies of the empire are notorious, those of the police are simply appalling. My first experience with this estimable body was as follows. I had been asked by a personal friend to spend the evening with him at his residence, situated near the Grand Rue de Péra, ‘in the European quarter of Pera. I was most anxious to see him, so in due course I repaired to his house. We had been class-mates in the same college, and as we had not met for a consider- able time we had, naturally, a lot to say to each other. Time flew on, and when I prepared to leave it was about midnight. Then, to my sur- prise, an urgent message came from my chief; I was to go and see him immediately at his house in the Stamboul quarter, on the other side of the Golden Horn. My friend cautioned me to be very careful, as it was a dangerous time of night to go such a long distance un- attended. We looked about for an “araba” (cab), but could not find one, so I decided to walk to the “ tewnel ” (tunnel)—the underground railway which connects Pera with Galata, Unfortu- - nately, when I arrived at the station I found the doors closed for the night. The urgency of the message from my chief, however, left me no alternative but to walk it. I knew perfectly well that the streets would not be safe, but my trust was in my small five-chambered American revolver, which I always carried in my hip pocket. The shortest cut, I thought, would be by going down the street leading to the Galata Coulé, the tower on the Galata side of the Golden Horn, where a constant watch is kept to give the alarm in case of fire; a similar one exists at the Stamboul side of the Golden Horn, at a place called Sultan Beyazid. It was a fine, warm night, and as I had a good four-mile walk before me I knew that I must, hurry on.

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250 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. bf ie os SNS Vie a From a\ I had got as far as the Galata Coulé all right, when I heard the sound of running footsteps behind me. The street was a narrow one (as will be seen from the photograph), and very dimly lighted. I felt instinctively that some- thing was going to happen, so I slipped my revolver into my overcoat pocket. Meanwhile I could distinguish two forms rapidly approach- ing me. One of them flew past and took up a position ahead of me, the other stopped just behind me. Seeing this manceuvre, I ran to the sidewalk and put my back against the front door of a house. The man ahead of me now approached me and said, “ Ateshin var me?” (Have you got a light?) I replied in the nega- tive. He then said, “ Auzaun itmé Kesséni vé sahatine isterim” (Do not delay ; I want your purse and your watch). While he was speaking I observed the other fellow nearing me stealthily. (Photograph, “T have neither money nor a watch to give you,” I retorted; “go about your business.” Then, thinking to frighten them, I whipped out my revolver and fired a shot in the air. The fellow who was creeping towards me started. ‘“ Be quick,” he cried to his com- panion ; “we shall get into trouble.” Thereupon the man who had addressed me first drew a big “khama,” or dagger, and, hold- ing it by the point, flung it at me with great force. Fortunately, I saw what he was about and ducked my head just in the nick of time. The dagger struck the wall at my left side, and fell clattering at my feet. I immediately fired three shots in succession, and saw with relief that lights were beginning to appear at the windows of the houses opposite. At that instant I heard the quick tramp of many feet coming towards us. ‘The soldiers are coming !”

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UNDER THE shouted one of the men, and both took to their heels. Need- less to say, I began to breathe more freely. Little did I think that there. was more and worse trouble in store for me! For the moment I was some- what dazed, and the night patrol came on the scene so suddenly that I had not: even time to conceal my revolver. ‘There were about ten or fifteen of them all told, com- manded by a sub-lieu- tenant and a sergeant. ‘They surrounded me with fixed bayonets, and the officer, step- ping forward, pointed his sword at my breast and ordered me to hand over my _ re- volver, handle first. He examined it for a few seconds, and then, muttering “A pretty toy,” pocketed it. Next he asked me if I had any more weapons concealed, to which I replied in the negative. “Why don’t you run after the miscreants and arrest them?” I said. ‘‘I was nearly robbed and murdered’ by two men.” “Don’t be in a hurry, effendi,” he replied. “How am I to know that you were attacked ? I heard three or four shots, and I find you alone with a revolver in your hand. Come along ; we shall have to go to the Galata Serai Barracks.” Eyeing me all the time, he gave a curt order, and the next thing I knew I was being marched to the barracks. I knew I had about a two- mile walk before me, and pondered as to how I was to get out of the difficulty, for I knew it would never do to disclose my identity. Finally I approached the officer and whispered, “I do not want to go to the barracks.” “Very good, effendi,” was the answer ; “but you will have to pay for it.” I nodded, glancing significantly towards the STAR AND CRESCENT. 251 I immediately fired three shots in quick succession. : soldiers. Thereupon the officer turned to the sergeant. “I want to talk to the effendi,” he said ; “go ahead a little distance.” When the men had disappeared the following conversation, as near as I can remember, took place. “How much am I to pay you?” - “Well, you know, it is a very serious offence to be discharging firearms at night.” “Quite right ; but I was attacked.” “Pooh! that is only your statement. not see anybody near you at the time.” I came to the conclusion that there was no use arguing the point, so I said :— “Very well, if you take that view, I have no more to say ; so please tell me how much I am to pay you.” “What money have you got?” “ About five medjidiehs ” (seventeen shillings). I did

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252 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “That is not enough. ’ “Well, I can send you some more to-morrow.” “That won’t do. Let me have a look at your watch and chain.” (It was a gold watch, which had cost me, with a short gold chain, some twenty pounds.) “T can’t give you the watch,” I said, “but I will give you my word to send you the money.” “That's no use. Let me have another look at that watch.” He took it in his hand, and before one could say ‘‘ Jack Robinson” he had transferred it to his pocket. At this I completely lost my temper. “ How dare you, you rascal?” I cried. Sh! Don’t talk so loud. I shall have to handcuff you if you do. It is only half a mile to the barracks.” I saw the hopelessness of the case. I had to give him the five medjidiehs, a gold match-box, a silver pencil, and a stlk handkerchief! When he had made sure that I had nothing else of value in my possession, the officer said, “When we reach the end of the street turn sharply to the right and run as fast as you can, as I shall raise the alarm in two minutes.” I did as he told me, and I do not think I have ever run faster in my life. I succeeded in reaching the Galata Bridge in safety, and to my relief found a cab that took me to my chief’s house. It was nearly 2 a.m., and he was waiting anxiously for me. When I narrated to him my adventure, he simply smiled. “ Discretion is better than valour in Turkey,” he said, and then we set to work. Here is another instance of the methods of the Turkish police. About twenty years ago Constantinople was literally flooded with counterfeit money—gold Turkish liras (value about eighteen shillings and sixpence) and half _liras. They were, in all proba- bility, the work of some expert European coiners, the composition being some white metal gilt in the best style. The circulation of this base money became so alarm- ing and the efforts of the police to find the per- petrators were so futile that even the Sultan’s “Camarilla” had to take notice of the matter and inform His Majesty thereon. The conse- quence was that the Chief of Police was sum- moned to Yildiz Kiosk and informed, on behalf of the Sultan, that he had got to find the male- factors in a fortnight, otherwise there would be trouble. Needless to say, the Chief of Police promptly made up his mind to find and arrest somebody — the coiners themselves if possible, but, at any rate, some- body. What he did to attain his object is as follows. There lived in the out- skirts of Pera an honest, hard-working Greek mer- They dropped into the well a sack containing coiners’ tools and a quantity of false money. chant, whom we shall call

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UNDER THE M. Adamides, who was the possessor of a nice little villa with a small garden. One fine night the police, thinking the way clear, noiselessly crept into this gentleman’s garden, which was only protected by a low wall, and dropped into the well a sack containing coiners’ tools and a quantity of false money. ‘Then they quietly retreated. Early next morning a small detachment of police surrounded M. Adamides’ house, and the officer in command demanded to see him. The poor man, greatly alarmed at this intrusion, requested an explanation. The answer he received was that he must consider himself and all his family under arrest, as he was suspected of coining false money, and that they had orders to make a minute search of his residence. M. Adamides, certain of his absolute innocence, _ in- vited the officer and some of his subordinates to proceed. After some time, need- less to say, the articles dropped in the well by the police were fished out of the water, and the poor merchant was promptly handcuffed and marched off to prison. But it was decreed that the police were not to have their way. It so happened, fortunately for M. Adamides, that a servant -girl at a neighbouring house, while waiting for her sweetheart, was a silent witness of the scene of the previous night, and when she saw the commotion next morning, and the subsequent arrest of M. Adamides, she informed her employer (who happened to be a foreign ’ subject) of all she had seen the night before. This gentleman — who, by the way, was an intimate friend of M. Adamides—went straight to the Embassy of his country, saw the Ambas- sador, and narrated the whole story to his Excellency. The servant-girl was summoned to the Embassy, and after a strict cross-examination the Ambassador, to his credit, took the matter up. The consequence was that M. Adamides returned to the bosom of his family after three weeks of imprisonment. Were the guilty punished? That I cannot say ; but the Chief of Police was shortly after- wards sent to Damascus “on a_ mission.” Robert College at Rumeli-Hissar STAR AND CRESCENT, 253 Unfortunately, the affair did not end here. Soon after his release M. Adamides was sub- jected to a considerable amount of unpleasant- ness, and was given to understand pretty plainly by the police that if he remained in Turkey they would continue to make things hot for him. The consequence was that he had to sacrifice his business, sell his house at a considerable loss, and leave the country. Although the lynching of Fehim Pasha (the Sultan’s half-brother) some time ago caused immense satisfaction to the Young Turkey ~ Party on account of his notorious conduct, he was by no means an exception ; there are more Pashas at present of the same low calibre of morality. If I remember the date aright, it was during the summer months of 1885 when the steward of Robert Col- lege was assassi- nated. Robert College, an American insti- tution, is the pre- mier_establish- ment of its kind in Constanti- nople, and stands on the heights of Ru- meli-Hissar, on the Bosphorus. This steward, an Armenian, had two daughters, one of whom was of surprising beauty. The sonofa Pasha living in the immediate vicinity of the college began to pay attention to this girl, but all his overtures were rejected. The consequence was that her father was so much harassed and threatened that he conceived the idea of sending his daughter to America. This was done in such an able manner that the Pashazadé (é.e., son of a Pasha), in spite of his spies, did not learn of her departure until it was too late. Then he swore vengeance against the girl’s father, and one fine morning the poor steward’s body, horribly muti- lated, was found about half a mile from the main entrance of the college. The police were informed, and arrived in surprisingly good time. They surrounded the college, and after idling about for three or four hours went back to the barracks. Naturally, the murderer was not dis- covered, although everybody knew the hand that had inspired the crime, but no one would ven- ture to mention the exalted name, so in time the whole terrible affair was committed to oblivion. (To be concluded.)

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‘ (iste Gea <acn PEGGING OUT THE EMPIRE. By Cotonet G. F. A. WuHITLock. An account of the work of the Yola—Cross River Boundary Commission in West Africa, showing how the borders of British territory are fixed, and how some sixteen hundred square miles of hitherto unmapped country was charted. T. N announcement such as one some- August 17th, 1907, and proceeded to Forcados, times sces in the newspapers, to which is on the delta of the River Niger. On the effect that a Commission is about arrival they joined the steam yacht Corona, to leave England for the delimitation seen in the first photograph, in order to make of the boundary line between English territory and that of a foreign Power, conveys to but few an idea of the work that is to be undertaken. It is hoped the following account of what is now being carried out in West Africa, on the boundary line between Nigeria and the Cameroons (from Yola to the Cross River), may be of interest to WIDE Wor.p readers. All boundary work that is now carried out is in practically unknown and certainly unmapped territory, hence it is necessary that the Com- missioners should, in the first instance, make an accurate survey of the country in the vicinity of é * The st cht. “* Cor ."" in which the British Commissioners the boundary, while to reach the locality of the Ser Tor seagate iuarney: to Lok work is in most cases a very tedious business, From a Photograph. since, as was the case in Nigeria, railways do not exist in the neighbourhood of the boundary, and the journey to Lokoja, which is a large military the only route is over tracks through bush which station situated opposite the point where the for the most part is very thick. River Benue joins the Niger and about four The members of the British Commission, hundred miles up the latter river. which consisted of four officers, a doctor, and In the delta of the Niger there are a large num- two non-commissioned officers, left England on ber of native villages is wis banks. The natives Digitized by s008 e

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PEGGING OUT THE EMPIRE. 255 themselves wear little or no clothing and occupy their time in fishing, while one of their recrea- tions appears to be following the steamers that pass up and down the river in their dug-out canoes, with the hope that the passengers will throw them empty tins and _ bottles, which are greatly esteemed — by these simple folk. The second photo- graph, which was taken from the Corona, shows a native boy jumping out Of his Empty tins and bottles are highly prized by the natives of the Niger delta—This photograph shows a boy canoe after an diving for a tin thrown from the steamer. empty tin. Th the delta the water is sufficiently deep to River Niger proper is reached this is not prac- allow a steamer to run all night: but when the ticable, as the channel is continually changing, and, in addition, there is always the risk of running against a submerged tree. The steamers chiefly use wood as fuel, and at intervals along the banks of the river stacks of it are placed for their use. The third photograph gives an idea of how the wood is stacked and carried on board by the natives. In this photo- graph it will be noticed that women are working, there being one in the foreground and another—with her baby strapped on her back—behind, it being usual for the adults of the neigh- bouring villages, whether male or female, to assist. The picture reproduced on the next page shows a good Re example of the class of shelter From a) Stacking wood for the steamers. Pie : the native canoe men put up

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256 THE WIDE WORLD for themselves on the banks at night to sleep in, while in the foreground there is a very fine specimen of a Nupé canoe. These canoes are made from a large tree by first burn- ing out the inside and then shaping it both inside and out with native axes. One con- tinually finds these canoes made from a mahogany tree, since, until quite recently, the A camp of the canoe men—In the foreground is a typical Nupé dug-out canoe. MAGAZINE. two days’ march from their starting-point. The distance by river from Lokoja to Yola is five hundred miles, and the journey of nine days was made during the month of September, when the Benue was in full flood, Had they proceeded during the dry season, it would have been necessary to have gone in steel barges, which are poled by eight or ten men, and have accom- From a Photograph. natives have had no idea of the value of this kind of wood. On the bank in this photograph may also be seen some of the members of the Commission who arg returning from shooting in the neigh- bourhood. Guinea-fowl and bush fowl are fairly plentiful along the banks of the river, and these make a welcome change to the monotonous round of dishes from tinned meats, ete. On arrival at Lokoja the Commissioners had to wait a week until a steamer was available to take them up the River Benue to Yola, which is modation for two or three white men. One of these barges is depicted in the next photograph. Otherwise one has to travel in a native dug-out canoe with matting as a protection against the sun ; by this method of transit the journey takes anything up to forty days. ; Journeys on the rivers in West Africa during the wet season have their disadvantages, for at the beginning and end of the rains tornadoes are of daily occurrence and are, to say the least, decidedly unpleasant. If one can imagine a continual roar of thunder with incessant lightning,

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PEGGING OUT THE -EMPIRE. 257 A steel barge on the River Benue. From a Photograph. accompanied by a deluge of rain and a gale of wind, lasting from an hour to an hour and a half, then one has a very good idea of the nature of a tornado in West Africa. It is not an uncommon occurrence for a steel barge, similar to the one shown in the photo- graph, to be blown over during a tornado and sunk, and then the unfortunate travellers in it probably lose the whole of their kit, as well as running a considerable risk of being drowned. There are several large towns on the banks of the River Benue, and the picture below shows the inhabitants on the beach at a town called Loko waiting for canoes to take them across the river, and meanwhile bargaining with each other. The natives in these parts, and the From a) Vol. xxiii. —33. A native market on the river bank U

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C. . on ca . < as ue peat chee on -Z ole et a8 weet a ’ uo 7 Gr. ; - 258 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a Photograph. Hausas in particular, are born traders, and it is quite surprising to find how many hundreds of miles they will travel on foot if they think that by so doing they will get a better price for their goods. The town of Ibi, which is about two hundred and fifty miles from Lokoja and half-way to Yola, was reached on September 22nd. This is man is supposed to be able to carry a load of sixty pounds on his head, and since every article of food had to be carried, in addition to all the stores, tents, tools, etc., of the Commission, it was ten days hefore the necessary four hundred natives were available. On Sunday, October 6th, a start was made for Gijaro, a village about thirty miles as the crow flies, and over forty by bush track, from Yola. This village is situated at the foot of a hill of the same name, the position of which had been agreed upon by the British and German Commissioners, and formed a very good centre 4 = iD One of the beacons erected by the party. From a Photograph. a very flourishing place, with a large native market. ‘The Niger Company have a store here where every kind of food can be obtained. On September 26th Yola was reached, and on arrival the collecting of the carriers for the expedition was at once put in hand. Each for the first part of the work. ‘This march occupied two days, and on the first night, out a tornado — luckily a mild one — swept through the camp and made it uncomfortable for everyone, especially the carriers, a good number of whom had never previously carried

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PEGGING OUT THE loads for white men. At Gijaro a site near trees and at the foot of the hill was chosen for a camp. ‘This, on arrival, was covered with long grass, which grows to a height of nearly six feet. By utilizing all the carriers the grass was quickly pulled up and spaces made where tents could be pitched. Every day batches of carriers were detailed to clean up the camp and level it as far as possible, with the result that is shown in the illustration depicting the first standing camp of the British Commissioners. The boundary line runs in a south-westerly direction from a point near Gijaro for a distance of approximately three hundred miles, when it meets the Cross River. The method employed by the Commissioners in securing a map of the country in the neighbourhood of the boundary line was by making a triangulation of it, using the tops of the hills on both sides of the boundary for “trig points,” as they aré called. By this means the latitude and longitude of a network of points along it were determined and their positions accurately fixed, thereby forming a framework on which to fasten the mapping of the detail of the adjoining country, which was carried out by means of the plane-table. To carry out triangulation, however, it is absolutely necessary that a base should be most carefully measured and the latitudes and longitudes of its ends accurately determined. In the present instance, as the latitudes and longitudes of a point on the top of the hill at Gijaro and of one on the summit of another hill called Uom, distant about fifteen miles, had been calculated as recently as 1903 by the Commissions which laid out the boundary from Yola to Lake Chad, the British and German Commissioners agreed to accept as correct the positions of these two hills as then determined, and thus it was unnecessary to measure a new base, and the extremely tedious work of observing by night in the tropics for both latitude and longitude was also obviated. At each “trig point” a beacon was erected immediately over it, in order that its position could be more easily observed with a theodolite from the surrounding points. ‘Ihe fixing of the beacons was very hard work, as the hills met with were nearly all flat-topped and densely covered with trees, some being as large as two feet in diameter. All of these trees had to be cut down and cleared away so as to allow of the beacons, when placed in position, being clearly seen from the adjacent eminences. Even with a gang of sixty natives with axes and saws the work of clearing frequently took four days. One of the pictures shows the beacon that was put up on the summit of the hill called Uom. Beneath it may be seen members of the EMPIRE. 259 (Photegraph. The Emir of Yola and his chiefs coming to greet the Commissioners. From a)

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anes & Sw see Veg 260 ; THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ~ Commission observing with a theodolite under a white umbrella, while in the foreground is a plane-table. Uom is typical of the hills in this part of Nigeria, being composed of huge boulders heaped one upon the other, and over- grown with very long grass and thick bushes. Its top is flat and covered with trees, but these were all cut down and cleared away before the photograph was taken. Although it rises only twelve hundred feet above the surrounding plains, the ascent is both difficult and tedious, there being absolutely no paths up it, and, owing to the thick undergrowth, the greatest care has to be taken that a false step is not made between the boulders, with the result, perhaps, of a broken leg. Although the German Commissioners left Germany on August gth and reached Garua, on the River Benue in the Cameroons, a week previous to the arrival of the British Com- missioners at Yola, they were unable to obtain a sufficient number of carriers to enable them to make a start before the latter end of Octuber, owing to trouble they were having with the natives in that district. Hearing that they were arriving on October 26th at Nassarawa, a village near and on the Ger- man side of the boundary, about twenty miles from Gijaro, the British Commissioners proceeded there to meet them, accom- panied by the Emir of Yola and the chiefs of all the villages in the district. As there were nearly three hundred mounted men, with an equal number on foot, they formed a very fine spectacle, which was accentuated by the bright colours which were worn by the natives, scarlet seeming to be the favourite hue. The photograph on the previous page shows the Emir of Yola surrounded by his followers, he being on horseback in the middle, dressed in a white flowing robe. It is impossible by photography, however, to give an adequate idea of the picturesqueness of the scene on this occasion and the varied hues of the clothing worn by the chiefs. With the Emir’s followers was his band, which consisted of two druminers and a native who played on a reed instrument shaped like a clarinet, and called by them an “alligator,” the three being mounted. The “music” obtained from this instrument is very weird and monotonous, as it seems to have but five notes, and when these, in various orders, with incessant beating of the drums, have been played without a rest for the space of an hour the effect on the European ear is decidedly wearying. The Emir, however, considers he is offering a great honour by sending his band to play in the camp of the white man, and this reason is the only one that can be put forward as an excuse for stand- ing such torture. The picture here re- produced is a photo- graph of a band which belongs to a native called Kofa, who is one of the chief fol- lowers of the Emir of Yola, and which pro- duces equally doubtful music. A native band that produced weird “ music." From a Photograph. (Zo be concluded.)

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SHORT STORIES. By Cuar.es H. ZIEGLER, OF RANGOON, BurRMA. This instalment of our popular series deals with an exciting affair at an up-country village in Burma, the romance of a lost bracelet, and the adventure that befell a theatrical manager in Canada. THE JAIL-BREAK AT KUNGYANGON. wy eal) UNGYANGON, or the “Garden of Nuts,” is a considerable village in the delta of the Irrawaddy, in Lower Burma, some eight hours’ run from ~ Rangoon by the launches of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company. It takes rank as a town, under the charge of a myo-oke, or town- ship officer, who is assisted in his task of main- taining order by a small contingent of civil and military police, under the orders of an inspector and sub-inspector. The military police are natives of India, recruited in the same way as the Indian regiments, and armed with Martini rifles. Their chief duty is to furnish escorts for batches of prisoners, and on the morning of the 26th August, 1907, eight out of the little Kung- yangon garrison of twenty mili- tary police were away in Ran- goon in connec- tion with this work. The police “ guard,” as it is called, is a small: two- storeyed build- ing. The lower portion is of brick, roughly loopholed for purposes of defence, and serves as an office for the police officers. The upper storey is of wood, one corner of it being utilized as an armoury, while its entire centre is occupied by the “cage,” made of stout barred teak, for the confinement of prisoners under trial. Access to it is gained by an external wooden staircase, with a connection by means of a miniature drawbridge. On the morning of the day in question some fifteen prisoners, three of whom were indicted for murder, were gazing wistfully through the From a) The police “ guard” bars of the cage, in anticipation of their morning meal, which duly arrived in pots slung on a stout bamboo pole. As the havildar (native officer) in charge had, a few days previously, discovered an old razor-blade hidden in the rice that was passed in to the prisoners, he hit upon the plan of letting two of them out each day to dole out the food to the rest, though this was contrary to the regulations. That morning the prisoners Po Sa and ‘la Ti, having duly served out the food, ate their own meal outside the cage. Over each of them stood a native sentry, with loaded rifle and bayonet fixed. Presently Po Sa went round to the farther side of the cage for a drink of water, his sentry holding the leading chain, which was fastened to the manacles on his hands, while his legs were confined by the usual irons. As the prisoner seemed in no hurry to get back, the sentry gently prodded him in the ribs. This so enraged Po Sa that, catching up an old dah (a cut- ting instru- ment) that lay at hand, he struck so wildly at the sentry— whose pugaree alone saved him from being wounded—that the man turned and fled down the steps, carrying his rifle with him. Ta Ti, quickly grasping the situation, seized the bamboo pole and in turn made a determined onslaught upon his sentry. Po Sa rushed to his assistance, and the sentry, seeing himself out- numbered, dropped his rifle and made a dash for the steps, being joined in his flight by the third man, on, guard, who ‘had> been taking his (Photograph. at Kungyangon.

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262 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Ta Ti seized the bamboo pole and made a determined onslaught upon his sentry. ease on a mat in a corner. Seeing their ad- vantage the prisoners promptly raised the draw- bridge. Under the directions of Bah Ou, a notorious cattle-lifter, rifles and ammunition were passed into the cage from the armoury, and reckless firing followed. The lock of the cage door was forced open, and eight of the remaining prisoners joined the ringleaders. Taking ten out of the eleven rifles available, and nearly a thousand rounds of rifle and revolver ammunition, the dacoits left the guard-nouse and got clear of the town, carrying away with them seventy-seven tolas of opium from the opium chest and all the money they found in it. Firing wildly at anyone in sight, and singing and dancing as they went, they made off into the fields. All this took place about 9.30 a.m., and the agitated township officer promptly wired to the head-quarters of the sub-division at Twante, “Mutiny—send army.” In response to this amusing appeal a force of ten military police, under a native officer, set out at once by launch with the sub-divisional officer. Prompt assist- ance was also at hand in the shape of Mr. Blake, the Deputy Superintendent of Police, in charge of the sub-division, and Mr. Thomas, the Resident Excise Officer of Kungyangon, who happened to be driving into the town in company. A mounted messenger met them and briefly detailed the news. At 10.30 the town was reached, and Mr. Thomas, getting his fowling-piece and a bag of cartridges, hurried off after the dacoits, accompanied by a couple of intelligent terriers and a few native followers armed with stout sticks. The sub-inspector of police took the

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SHORT trail armed with a sporting gun, while Mr. Blake carried the solitary rifle that had been left un- appropriated in the “guard.” Several others joined in the chase, but, save for the rifle of the sentry who first escaped, they carried no fire- arms. ’ The going was heavy indeed through the flooded paddy - fields and the black swamps beyond, with the pitiless sun blazing down from above and its glare reflected from the water beneath. Mr. Blake, who is a big, heavy man, was presently forced to give in. He handed his rifle to the havildar and urged his men to press on, while he followed up at the best speed he-could make. At 1 p.m. the dacoits gained the shelter of the jungle, having been kept well in sight all the time by their pursuers, and, plunging into the luxuriant undergrowth, they were soon lost to view. Half an hour later Mr. Thomas arrived, and, by the help of his dogs, followed hot upon their tracks. One of the dacoits, a youngster called Nga Bo, surren- dered to the headman of a neigh- bouring village. It appeared that he had been forced to join the others because, as his name meant “The Leader,” it was a good omen for the success of their enterprise. Whether they were hampered by their irons or were over-confident of having given their pursuers the slip does not appear, but at 3 p.m. Mr. Thomas and his men over- took the dacoits, who promptly opened fire from three sides of a pentagon formation, each manned by three of the fugitives. Bab Bliesented {by Lora) te iis From a Photograph. Ou had taken upon himself the leadership of the party, and twice fired deliberately at Mr. Thomas, who pluckily advanced to within fifty or sixty yards and then, with his choke-barrel, drove a charge of S.S.G. into the tall, athletic figure of the cattle-thief, dropping him in his tracks. Catching sight of another dacoit more to his left, Mr. Thomas emptied his second barrel and “winged” Pan Oh, one of the men charged with murder. The third defender on the same side, Po Chan, though indicted for murder, was so terrified by the swift retribution that had overtaken his companions that, preferring the uncertainties of the law to the menace of the deadly double- barrel, he remained in hiding, and when Mr. Thomas went round to his right to try to get a shot at the others, he meekly surrendered to the sub-inspector. Meanwhile the other dacoits broke back, and Mr. Thomas, catching sight of the legs of one of them in the undergrowth, promptly ee, ne te emer Excise Mr. Thomas, the inspector, and STORIES. 263 planted a charge of buckshot in the fellow’s knee. ‘Two days later his dead body was picked up in the jungle. As the rain now began to descend in torrents further pursuit was abandoned for- the day. Five dacoits remained to be accounted for, two of whom surrendered next day. The remaining three, however, under the lead of the resourceful Po Sa, were destined to give a considerable amount of trouble. Police reinforcements were brought up, and Mr. Kiernander, the District Superintendent of Police, who arrived the same night, Mr. W. H. L. Cabell, the Deputy Com- missioner, and Lieutenant Batton, the Assistant Commandant of Military Police, organized several drives, with the assistance of a large number of villagers, but the dense undergrowth and the torrential rains baffled all their efforts. Mr. Cabell had a narrow escape an the occasion of one of these drives, for he passed within a few feet of the lurking desperadoes, who only refrained from firing upon him for fear of betraying their posi- tion. Meanwhile the miscreants had not been idle. At the village of Phillagy they robbed a girl of her gold bangles, and at the village of Kymasu secured booty in gold to the value of three thousand five hundred rupees, besides three hundred and fifty rupees, or there- abouts, in silver. Although heavy rewards were offered for their capture, they re- mained at large, and in bravado proclaimed rewards for the heads of on his sub-inspector of police, on a frag- ment of paper pinned to a tree in the jungle by means of a thorn. Finally, finding the country growing too hot to hold them, and wishing to spend some of their ill- gotten wealth, they abandoned their rifles and made their way to Rangoon. An informer brought in their arms, and Mr. Blake, by means of threats and promises, obtained information upon which he promptly dispatched the inspector of police to Rangoon, where the three rascals were arrested in a house in Latter Street. Thus was the whole gang accounted for, and all the rifles recovered. The most noteworthy feature of this curious affair was the indomitable pluck shown by Mr. Thomas in his @ogged pursuit. Mr. ‘Thomas was presented to Lord Minto on the occasion of his Viceregal visit to Rangoon and warmly congratulated on his valuable services, especially as they were voluntary and no part of his duties. He is to be suitably rewarded by substantial promotion in the service of the Government.

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264 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. THE MISSING BRACELET. By Water E. Murray. IN 1905 an American lady, Mrs. J. B. Ford, famed for her beauty and the possession of a magnificent voice, came to England on a visit to friends living at Maidenhead, on the River Thames. Mrs. Ford had only just returned from Russia, where her attainments and person- ality had made a most favourable impression on the Royal family of that country. The fact that her brother-in-law was an attaché at the American Embassy in St. Petersburg had made the American lady persona grate at Court, and when she left the Russian capital the Dowager Empress, who had been specially friendly, gave Mrs. Ford a valuable bracelet, which she took from her own arm, as a keepsake. Mrs. Ford arrived at Maidenhead at the height of the river season, and found quite a number of prominent persons already gathered beneath the roof of her host and hostess. ‘Ihe time was spent in the way usual at riverside mansions, and Mrs. Ford had been there a fort- night when the curious affair happened which is here chronicled. It was customary for the linen of the household to be sent to town every week to one of the large laundries. For this purpose the latter supplied large wicker baskets. Mrs. Ford instructed her maid to send a number of things to the wash, and in order that they might be included the basket was taken to Mrs. Ford’s rooms. When the maid had finished with it, it was carried downstairs, locked, and given over to the carriers for transport. ‘That same evening the hostess happened to mention to some of the ladies that Mrs. Ford had been the recipient of a valuable bangle, explaining the circumstances. The curiosity of her guests, of course, was at once excited ; they were eager to see the brace- let, and the American lady was asked to show it. Mrs. Ford dispatched her maid for it, but the young woman soon returned, saying, “I cannot find the bracelet, madam!” — Mrs. Ford then went herself to look for it, think- ing it strange that the ornament should not be in its accustomed place. Arriving at her rooms, she unlocked a large “ Saratoga” wunk, took from it her jewel-case, and searched for the bracelet. The maid was right; it was not there. Various bags and drawers were next looked into, but not a sign of the missing jewel was to be found. Mrs. Ford, now somewhat alarmed, questioned the girl, who could only answer that she had last seen the bracelet on madam’s arm ; it had not been given to her as usual to put away. Mrs. Ford was at a loss to understand this. Surely, she thought, she had given the bracelet to the girl, Confident that the missing ornament would presently turn up, however, the lady returned to the drawing-room and apologized, saying that the bracelet had been mislaid, but that she would have it with her in the morning. At bed-time the maid searched every nook and corner of the room, but quite fruitlessly, and next morning Mrs. Ford was reluctantly com- pelled to inform her hostess of the loss. Quite apart from the intrinsic value of the missing jewel and its associations, the situation was a serious one, as anyone who has been a member of a house-party can readily understand. Lady ID—-—, the hostess, had in her service at her riverside house eight servants, and four of the visitors had brought their own with them. All of these were closely questioned by the butler and the housekeeper, but no information was forthcoming. ‘The gardener had secn no sus- picious characters about, and although all the room doors had been unlocked none of the other guests in the house had lost anything. Again, a thief would assuredly not have been satisfied with the bracelet alone, for Mrs. Ford had with ber many other valuable ornaments, which were also kept in her jewel-case. After another thorough search it was decided to call in the services of the police, but despite their every effort no trace of the lost bracelet could be found. Mrs. Ford remembered having worn it two days before its disappearance, so that there was no possibility of her having left it behind in Russia. Mrs. Ford felt very sad over her loss. Its value, in a monetary sense, was a secondary consideration, the lady being very wealthy ; but the fact that it was a gift from so exalted a personage made its replacement an impossibility. Several weeks passed, nothing being seen or heard of the bracelet, and the time came for Mrs. Ford to return to America. Her maid (who had been with her mistress for some years and was quite beyond suspicion) packed Mrs. Vord’s trunks, and returned with that lady to her home in Boston, where Mr. Ford is one of the city’s wealthiest and most prominent bankers. In time, although still mourned, the lost bangle came to be in a measure forgotten. Then one morning Mrs. Ford received a letter from her former hostess in Maidenhead, saying that a gardener long in that lady’s employ had disappeared, together with a maid who had also

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SHORT STORIES. 265° Not a sign of the missing jewel was to be found.~ been in her service. The two had given no notice, and the maid. had even left her box behind. This, on being opened, disclosed various articles of wearing apparel of fine texture, such as could only be part of a lady’s oe ee belongings. Furthermore, a gold watch was found, which no one had ever seen in the run- away girl’s possession. The lady continued that it was possible the missing couple might know something of Mrs. Ford’s bracelet,- and had Digitized by G OOQ le Co

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266 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. remained at Maidenhead for a time to ward off suspicion. At any rate, the police were investigating. Some weeks passed, and Mrs. Ford received another letter. ‘The runaway servants had been traced to America, and the American police were working with those in charge of the matter in England. Evidently the gardener and the maid had hidden themselves well, for Mrs. Ford heard nothing further for many months. In 1907 she was again in Eng- land and spent a few days at Maidenhead. Mr. Ford was with her, and the story of the missing bracelet was again gone over. Mr. Ford, his interest aroused afresh, thought he would do a little investigating on hisownaccount, and, accom- panied by the writer, he visited the relatives of both the gar- dener and the missing maid. The police had, of course, antici- pated him long before, but the American gentleman had ideas of his own as to the proper’ method of pro- cedure. The brothers and sisters of the “wanted ” gar- dener knew next to nothing about him. The man had simply run away with his fellow-servant, and they had heard from him but once, when he wrote to inform them that he was married and never intended returning to the “old country.” The mother of the girl only knew that her daughter had on one occasion sent her five pounds, from somewhere in Ohio—she had forgotten where. The other members of the family were com- pletely in the dark. Having seen them all, Mr. Mrs. J. B. Ford, who lost a very valuable bracelet (seen on her left arm), and subsequently recovered it in & most remarkable manner, From a Photo, by Marceau, Boston, Mass, Ford went back to the gardener’s brother. “If you should by accident hear from or of your brother,” he said, “tell him that I offer a reward of one hundred pounds for the pawn-ticket of a bracelet which was lost here, or two hundred and fifty pounds for the bracelet itself. so if he should hear anything of the matter he may be able to claim the reward.” ‘The man addressed grew quite angry, but Mr. Ford assured him that he had no suspicions whatever ;_ the reward was open to anyone. Exactly six weeks later Mr. Ford received a com munication at Claridge’s Hotel, asking for an interview. It was from the £ ardener’s rother! ‘The American gentleman motored to the little village near Maiden- head where the man lived, and was told the following. The gardener had left his place so sud- denly, taking his sweetheart with him, simply because a rival had made his appearance of whom he was very jealous. Knowing the captain of a tramp steamer, he had gone at oncetoAmerica, where he was now working on a farm at or near Miami, Ohio. He knew nothing about the missing bracelet, and had placed him- self in communication with the police in Ohio, as he had nothing to fear. The things found in the girl’s box had been given her at different times, the names of the donors being forthcoming if required. They had not been sent for owing to his wife’s death within the year. She had often spoken of so doing, but refrained, as he had

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SHORT STORIES. 267 promised to send her home on a visit to her mother, when she could claim them in person. This information was almost immediately followed by word from the American police. Investigation proved the man’s story to be cor- rect, and the mystery of the bracelet remained a mystery still. In due time Mr. and Mrs. Ford returned to America, when the banker, to please his wife, had another bracelet made as nearly as possible like the lost one. Another winter passed, another spring, and in June, 1908, the riverside mansion at Maidenhead was again full of visitors. During the third week of that month one of the servants discovered that the large laundry basket used to convey the linen to London had been broken in transit, the wickerwork on one side being crushed in and the waterproof lining much torn. A new tmsket was asked for from the laundry, and it was arranged that the old one should be returned. In one of the handles was a twisted wire, fasten- ing to the basket a leather-covered card bearing the user’s name. An attempt was made to undo this, but the stout wire resisted manipula- tion, and a pair of pliers were requisitioned. ‘The basket was considerably pulled about during the operation, and when the wire was finally cut and the basket about to be lifted on the cart, something rattled inside it. ‘The servant raised the lid, but nothing was to be seen inside. He shook the basket again, and once more heard the curious rattling. Puzzled, he pulled the torn lining aside, and there, in the bottom of the basket, between the lining and the wicker- work, lay Mrs. Ford’s bracelet ! The ornament was hurriedly taken to the lady of the house, and a cablegram immediately sent to Mrs. Ford in Boston. How came her bracelet to be in a laundry basket which had travelled to and from London dozens of times since the day it was lost? ‘There was only one explanation. The basket, on the evening when Mrs. Ford had sent her linen to London, was placed near her dressing-table. The bracelet had lain on this table, and several articles were placed on top of it. When these were put into the basket the bracelet clung to them, and had worked its way to the bottom and through a rent in the lining, where it had remained secreted ali this time. ‘That it was not discovered long before was nothing short of a miracle, but in the hurry and bustle of a large laundry sorting- room a slight rattle is hardly likely to be heard ; moreover, the basket was not usually accorded such rough treatment as it received when finally discarded. Mrs. Ford, needless to say, w: overjoyed at the return of her property, and will doubtless guard it more carefully in future. THE STORY OF A GLASS EYE. By J. Pirt Harpacre. Tuis exciting little episode happened many years ago. We were a “fit-up” dramatic company, and were visiting a number of small towns in the North-West Territory of Canada. Fit-up business in America is pretty much the same as it is in England ; some towns you strike yield good business, and some—well, exactly the opposite. Our manager, however, had no neces- sity to keep a banking account, and he and his wife generally carried the whole of their assets about their persons, The manager himself, whose name was A——, had two distinguishing characteristics—ne had a glass eye, and he could drink more rye whisky, and carry it better, than almost any man in the States. On one occasion we were travelling from one town to another and, as usual over there, were journeying all night. A had come on board at the very last minute. He was very full of whisky, carried a flask of the same liquid in his pocket, and the wealth of the “show,” in a leathern satchel, was slung by a strap over his shoulder. After taking one or two swigs at his flask, and freeing the strap so that he could have the satchel in front of him to rest on his knees for safety, it was not long before he was fast asleep. His wife, who sat next to him, soon followed his example. Now—of course, this was only known to those who had his acquaintance—the lids that enveloped the glass eye never closed, so that when A slumbered it appeared as if he had one eye open. The train had not proceeded very far when everyone was fast asleep, save one or two rascals whose business it was to be more than wide awake. As soon as everything was quiet these men began roaming round the car, taking stock of all the other passengers arid noting their hand-baggage. They were train thieves. The first person they spotted was A , carefully nursing his precious satchel on his knee. This looked promising, so one of the thieves came near him, and, the seat opposite being vacant, sat down facing our manager. He then saw the wide-open glass eye, apparently staring straight at him. ‘To hide his discomfiture, he pretended to prepare himself for sleep, and to all appear- ances presently dropped off. Every now and then, however, he would peep at his intended

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" th © c r ts. Ge i > SEBS won 268 THE victim, and he got more and more annoyed every time to find the eye still wide open, and staring at him as if its owner was fully aware of his nefarious project. passed. Meanwhile the robber’s accompli were making their hauls upon the other pas- sengers, and our particular thief got wilder and wilder at making no progress. “Confound him!” he muttered to himself. “Will the red-faced beggar never go to sleep?” No; there was the eye still staring at him, its owner seemingly as wide awake as ever, for he never even winked. At last the rascal began to weigh matters up. He noticed that A—— breathed very heavily, and now and then emitted a snore. “Oh, I see,” he thought, greatly relieved, “this is a fellow who sleeps with his eyes open. At any rate, I'll have a try at him.” With that he got up, and looking straight at A , and observing that the eye never blinked or showed the slightest expression, he ran his hand along the back of the seat behind his prey, and with a sharp pair of scissors severed the strap. Just at that crucial moment A—— happened to stretch himself, and the satchel, which, as luck would have it, was full of silver, slipped between his knees and fell with a crash to the floor. A—— woke up at once, and instinctively made a grab for his satchel ; the thief did the same, but with only one hand. With the other he held a revolver almost to A——’s nose. Still the latter never budged, but held on like grim death. ‘Then, with a groan, he realized his peril and let go, whereupon the robber backed away, still keeping him covered. ‘The noise awoke Mrs. A——, who, seeing what was amiss, immediately yelled blue murder. ‘This soon brought all the other passengers round them. (The reader must remember that this was a long American car, with a yangway down the middle and seats on cach side, holding seventy or eighty passengers when full.) ‘The three thieves thought it about time to be clearing, and tney backed towards the door, followed by the rest of the travellers. Each thief had his revolver in his hand, and out of the whole lot travelling there was not one person who dared make a forward move for fear of getting a bullet through him, It was a picture three determined-looking men, with their backs to the door, facing thirty people who could do nothing but gabble awayjlike so many frightened geese. At this moment there appeared upon the scene a calm, serene-looking, elderly clergyman. He pushed his way through the crowd till he got between them and the thieves. Then he held up his hands in an appealing manner, and said :— ‘Thus a considerable time WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, for Heaven’s sake, don’t let us have any bloodshed! Don’t shoot, gentlemen. You may not be as good as you ought to be, but don’t have the life of a fellow- creature on your souls; and you ”-—turning to the passengers—“go back to your seats, and don’t tempt these men to fire.” ‘This seemed to be very good advice, for none of us particularly relished glancing down the barrels of the revolvers, so we took it and resumed our places. ‘Thereupon the thieves opened the door of the car and presently vanished into the night. Now, a peculiar thing about A——’s eye was that, after he had been asleep, the natural moisture of the socket seemed to dry up, and before he could move it he had to give it a turn or two with his fingers. This he always did upon first awaking. Before he rushed with the rest to stare after the thieves he had this duty to do, and Mrs. A—— seized the oppor- tunity to upbraid him bitterly for losing the satchel. Recriminations were strong on both sides. It was all due to his drinking habits, said the wife ; A—— retaliated by saying that if she had minded her own business and looked after the bag while he tackled the thieves all would have been well. At this the lady laughed sarcastically, deriding the courage of the occu- pants of the car in general. The little clergy- man again intervened. “My friends,” he said, “let me beg of you not to say unkind things to each other, things you will ever regret. It is my duty in life to pour oil upon troubled waters. I have had to use my influence many times to bring husband and wife together, and I am pleased to say I generally succeed.” The little man was visibly affected by his own words, and a tear actually glistened in his eyes Mrs. A—— sniffed and said no more, but she made a mental note that she would have it out with her husband later. The clergyman wiped his eyes and made his way back to his seat. It was noticed by A—— that the parson kept his hand on a rather bulky package under his top- coat, but he thought nothing of it, as many passengers carry their valuables beneath their overcoats, The train was now slackening its speed to enter one of the larger stations. Most of the passcieers had to alight, and amongst them were A , his wife, and the little clergyman. The three walked along towards the exit, and all the way the clergyman condoled with them upon their loss, hoping that if they ever met again it would be under happier circumstances. One thing, above all, he was thankful for—that he had been present to prevent bloodshed.

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SHORT STORIES. A—— and his wife said never a word ; but their thoughts were very sad, for all their worldly wealth, save a little money the lady had in her purse, had disappeared. By this time they had reached the exit. What was the surprise of the husband and wile when, from out of the crowd, two tall, well-dressed men stepped forward and placed themselves on either side of the little clergyman. “ Well, Oily Jim,” said one of them, clapping him on the shoulder, “we've got you, at any rate. The rest have slipped us for the present, but you're safe enough.” With that the handcuffs were snapped on the little man’s wrists, his left arm was jerked up, “Gentlemen, gentlemen, for Heaven's sake, don’t let us have any bloodshed! Dan't shoot, gentlemen.” and A. ’s satchel fell on the. platform, its contents intact ! The little parson, it turned out, was a member of the gang, and one of the most clever rascals in the States, acting as a cover for his accom- plices and a repository of their spoils.

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re ts. & r * EARNST’S LUCK. By Frep M. Lee. The faithlessness of a sweetheart, the perfidy of a partner, and the astonishing self-sacrifice of a man whose life’s happiness was wrecked are the main features of this impressive narrative. The- author writes: “The story is true in every detail; I heard the particulars from Earnst’s own lips when I visited him at his cabin about four years ago.” GP OLD was struck in the Black Hills eval of Dakota in 1876, and soon the ex- VAYy citement was intense. Men flocked Ws¥ from all over the country to this land of riches, though their en- trance was disputed by the Sioux Indians, to whom the Government had allotted the territory, and many a fight ensued until the red men were driven far into Montana in the campaign which resulted in the fight on the Little Big Horn and the death of the gallant Custer. Among the army of gold-seekers was one William Earnst. He left his home in Missouri, walked to Omaha, and there joined one of the numerous wagon trains bound for the new El Dorado. Earnst had passed his fortieth year, yet, strong and hearty, he could give many a younger man a hard tussle. He had won the heart and hand of pretty Hattie Reynolds long before leaving home, but his poverty prevented their union. The possibilities of gaining riches in the mountains seemed so great that Earnst decided to go West and try his luck. He talked it over with Hattie, and they came to the conclusion that it was best for him to.go. Then, when he “struck it rich,” she would come ‘to him and they would build a little house and settle for good near his mining claim, taking short trips up into the mountains in the summer and spend- ing the cold winters, perhaps, in one of the large cities. ‘Thus they planned, building fairy castles in the air, as lovers will. Hattie promised to be always true and never forget him, even though she was the belle of the village, with many a suilor, and he over forty. And so, with many a fond farewell, they parted. ‘Three weeks later Earnst joined one of the numerous outfits of “ prairie schooners” bound for the hills. ‘here were seven of them in the train, and they travelled together for protection against a possible attack by Indians. In the train was one William Stevens, a fine, handsome young man, tall and straight, with dark hair and blue eyes, a happy-go-lucky fellow, full of fun. His merry laugh rang out on the still night air around many a camp fire, and he scemed to be the life and soul of the little band. His object being the same as Earnst’s, it was not to be wondered at that the two should form a strong attachment to one another. The quiet man of forty liked the rollicking spirit in the youth of twenty-five ; Stevens admired Earnst’s stolidity and evident steadfastness of purpose. As time passed and the outfit neared the hills, the entire train would stop for a day or two at a time to prospect at some place that seemed particularly promising, and men would leave camp, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs, with pick, shovel, and pan, to search for the precious metal. Earnst and Stevens always went together on these expeditions, and by the time the end of their long journey was reached they had decided to join forces. When the wagon train disbanded the partners found their way to the busy camp of Custer, the place where gold had been discovered. When provisions had been purchased they packed their outfit on the back of a pony and struck out into the mountains, following up one of the numerous streams of bright clear water. Un- fortunate in their efforts at first, they crossed the Divide and plunged farther into the wilder- ness, depending on rod and rifle for a livelihood. At last, on one of the little streams tributary to Squaw Creek, they got “colour,” but not in the quantity they hoped for. — Still, they did not lose heart, but struggled along. Day after day they waded into the little creek and washed the gravel from its sides and bed. The return was not great; still, it was more than wages, and they continued to work and hope—one with visions of a young girl back in Missouri who was - waiting for him and his success, and the other of the wealth that soon must be his. : One day Stevens was taken ill, and before the next morning was in a raging fever, which developed into the mountain type. He was too ill to be taken to the nearest town, miles away, and for days and weeks Earnst nursed his partner, watching over him as a mother over a sick child, till the fever abated and Stevens was beyond the danger period. Then came the slow process of nursing him back to health. Many a plump grouse went to make up a rich broth, and later tender steaks of venison, daintily cooked

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EARNST’S LUCK. 271 over the blazing camp fire, gradually brought the convalescent Stevens back to his old-time strength. When he was well enough to leave the cabin he would come out into the bright sunlight and watch his partner down in the stream panning and rocking out the dust. One day, as he sat by the cabin dozing, he heard a yell down the creek, and, looking up in amazement, saw the usually quiet Earnst throw his hat in the air and rush wildly towards the cabin, holding the pan in front of him. When he came up Stevens stared eagerly into it. He saw gold—more gold than the two had hitherto panned out in a week’s time. Earnst set the pan down and, throwing his arms around Stevens, laughed and cried almost like a schoolboy. Sure enough, Earnst had struck a very rich pocket of pay gravel. With visions of Hattie in his mind, he worked unceasingly, watching the stock of sacks, in which they kept their precious dust, gradually fill up, and each day or so another full one was added to the already large number hidden beneath the fireplace. One day a stranger stood at the edge of the timber and watched Earnst pan out the gold. He saw him rush wildly towards the cabin, holding the pan in front of him. on Digtized ty GOOTe 2008

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anne ae GE nw 272 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Before the miner knew anyone was in the vicinity the new-comer had seen all he wanted, and he soon located a claim just below that of the partners. ‘Then he disappeared, making his way to the settlements, and ere his return the gulch was filled with men. Later a town sprang up, to become one of the most prosperous in the hills. ‘The camp is now known as Keystone, South Dakota. At last, to his heartfelt joy, Earnst realized that he was now quite wealthy enough to ask Hattie to share his lot. Logs were plentiful, but lumber scarce, yet Earnst, with his newly- acquired wealth, decided to have the home he would bring Hattie to different from the rough shanties of the other miners. He therefore had lumber brought from over the mountains at con- siderable cost, and a neat little cabin was built beneath a big pine-tree, overlooking the little creek, with views of the mountains in the distance. When everything was in readiness he sent word to Hattie, telling her of his find. They were now rich, he said, and all their plans could be carried out. She was to come as soon as she could. Happy was the day when a letter came telling Earnst that Hattie would soon start and hoped toarrive a week later. The day the stage was due Earnst did not work, but whistled, sang, and otherwise gave vent to his feelings. At noon he made Stevens knock off. They must meet her together, he declared. Was it not right that his partner, who had shared all his trials and hardships, should greet his future wife by his side? So they waited the arrival of the stage together. ‘Towards dark it appeared up on the mountain-side and later swung into the main street of the camp at a smart trot. Was Hattie there? Yes, there she was, her sweet face peeping out from beneath the curtain at the side. ‘The coach stopped. Earnst did not wait for the driver to open the door, but flung it open with a bang, and Hattie sprang out into the great rough miner’s arms. After the first greeting Stevens was introduced to her. She advanced and shook his hand, telling him how glad she was to meet the man who had shared all her lover’s trials and joys. Over the little confidences and love-making of the two we will draw a veil. Hattie was installed in the hotel, there to wait the coming of the preacher who made a monthly visit to the camp, when the wedding could be performed. Meanwhile the partners continued to work their claim with good results, though the pockets that had brought them so much gold had now “pinched out.” Hattie came each day to the littke house that would soon be her home to tidy things up, so that Earnst would look round and, putting his hands behind his back, observe knowingly to his companion: “Ah, Billy, my boy, it pays to have a woman about.” Things went on in this way for some time, though gradually Stevens got into the habit of absenting himself from his work, going to the cabin, and remaining a short time. This did not happen often, but it grew more frequent as time passed—so much so as to attract the atten- tion of Earnst. Still, he thought nothing of it, for he was a kind-hearted fellow. During one of Stevens’s visits to the house, however, Earnst happened to run a long splinter into his hand from the handle of his pick. Hurrying to the cabin to attend to the wound, with no thought of Hattie or Stevens in his head, he came suddenly on the pair. ‘They were standing in the centre of the room. Stevens's left arm was around Hattie’s waist, and with his right he was holding her hand. Stevens’s back was towards Earnst, and as the latter paused thunderstruck he heard his partner urging his suit, while Hattie, with downcast eyes, appeared a willing listener. Stepping quietly back without being noticed Earnst hurried away, shocked and unnerved at what he had seen and heard. Now—too late—he realized the object of Stevens's frequent visits to the cabin. All the intense jealousy of his quiet nature was aroused, and cried out for revenge. How should he punish the faithless partner who, like a snake in the grass, had wormed his way into the affections of his sweet- heart and stolen from him what he valued more than all else in his life—Hattie’s love? And she—why had she allowed Stevens to pay her attentions? Why had she listened to him? ‘Then his reflections took. another turn.. He was himself to blame, for how could he expect her, a young and beautiful girl, to take up with an old man, when there were younger and hand- somer men to attract her? Finally, overcome by his emotions, he rushed away into the woods, like a madman, and there remained until he had calmed himself into reason and all the black thoughts and evil promptings had been put” aside. It was late in the evening when Earnst returned to the cabin, a changed man, with his mind made up. _ His partner received him with a good-natured laugh, asking where he had been, and telling him how they had searched all over the village for him. Earnst froze his badinage on his lips by one stern look. Then ensued a_ heart-to-heait talk, with no reproaches, no heroics, not an unnecessary word. Before it was over Stevens frankly acknowledged his love for Hattie. He deeply regretted, he said, that

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EARNST’S LUCK. Hattie, with downcast eyes, appeared to be a willing listener. after all the years of their companionship, battling for wealth, it should come to this, that he must rob his partner of his sweetheart, but he believed love came before all. the hut Earnst went to the hotel. Hattie came out to meet him as usual, but his face told her that something was amiss. With his heart wrung with anguish, yet controlling himself with an iron hand, he told the. girl what he had seen and heard at the cabin, and begged

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ct aa : Wonderingly — “too astonished 274 her not to deceive him further. He spoke kindly, telling her that he realized he was an old man and ought not to have expected her to love him in prefer- ence to a younger man. Tearfully Hattie acknow- ledged her love for Stevens. It had been gradual at first, she sobbed out, but when she tried to tell him hew Stevens first began to pay her attentions Earnst would listen no further, but, bid- ding her come to the cabin the following morning, strode away. At the appointed time she was there, as was Stevens. Earnst stood at the little window, gazing out at the distant mountains, and hardly knowing how to proceed in face of the black despair that filled his heart. however, he mastered his feelings, and in calm and simple words told the pair of his determina- tion to leave. He would go far away into the outer world, he said, or to some new min- ing camp, and begin his life all over again. Hattie — should have the cabin he had built for her, Stevens the claim, with all its sluice-boxes and dams. to utter thanks —the pair accepted his sacrifice, and it was settled that Farnst — should THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. William Earnst as he is to-day. From a Photograph. At last, take the next stage out. But “Man proposes and God disposes,” for by the following morning Stevens and Hattie had disappeared from the camp — no one seemed to know just how. No parting word was left, no good-bye for the man who had been the lover of the one and the partner of the other. Whether at the eleventh hour conscience pricked them and they found themselves unable to accept the bounty of the man whose happiness they had wrecked will never be known; the fact remains that they had fled. Earnst waited days, months, and years—and _ is still waiting — for some tidings of the pair, but no news comes. Bent and aged now, Earnst dwells in his cabin in that gulch in the Black Hills. stream still flows merrily on over the rocks past The little the cabin, the pine tree, larger now, stands beside the door, and the birds sing just as sweetly on the mountain - side. There the old man sits beside the door, alone with his thoughts. And there he will re- main with them till, in the ver- nacular of the West, he “cashes in” and the neighbours bury him beneath the great pine tree beside the cabin he loves so well. The cabin in the Black Hills which Earnst built for his prospective bride, and in From a) which he has now lived for many years in solitude (Photograph.

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Through the Rocky Mountains on a Raft. FRANK VROOMAN, F. R.G.S. The stirring record of a notable achievement in the far northern wilderness of British Columbia. With winter and its dread ally, starvation, hard upon their heels, the author and the men of his prospecting expedition essayed a feat that had never before been accomplished—they built a raft and set out to drift down the Finlay and Peace Rivers to the borders of civilization. Terrible rapids barred the road, but there was no other alternative; they must either risk this voyage into the unknown or share the miserable fate of so many other daring pioneers in the Northland. This narrative tells the story of their manifold adventures. tyoo I left Edmonton, the capital of Alberta, situated at the north- western limit of the C.P.R. branch- line, two hundred miles north of Calgary, with a pack-train of a score of cayuses (native ponies),bound for Fort Grahame and Trans-Finlay, wading the muskegs of the plains, past Lesser Slave Lake, Peace River Landing, “Fort St. John, and up the Halfway River. There I and my men incontinently lost our way in a_ bewildering maze of irresponsible Indian hunting trails among the head-waters of the Halfway River. three anxious weeks, out of the tangle of brush and fallen timber, with the spectre of starvation and the vision of approaching winter to spur us on. It was at this critical juncture that one of my pack-animals nearly brought about a catastrophe. A mule broke camp, and in one night disposed, on its own private account, of a half-sack of flour and half a slab of bacon, when we could | 1. We cut our way with axes, during ~ already see the bottom of the grub- box, and the © men were getting up at night to secretly raid the sorry remainder. ‘To the comfortable epicure, who can—if he- likes—have hot sausages four times a day, this may appear a trifling incident. But under conditions more primitive and less merciful, when we were over a thousand miles from the last traces of a frontier, lost and floundering in a seventy-mile swamp, ofttimes cutting new trails foot by foot with the axe, and never knowing whether we should get out at all, such a loss might easily bring the North- land’s too frequent reward for such unmitigated audacity as ours. But we found our trail at last, in the perilous vicinity of an ultimate extremity. We reached Fort Grahame, spent nearly a month in the Trans-Finlay between the Omenica and Ingenica Rivers, and then set to work to build a raft on which to continue our journey down the Finlay and Peace Rivers. The dry timbers forming the raft were chosen .for buoyancy with the utmost care, from dead standing spruce trees about two feet thick, and each log was. bored with a two-inch auger at the ends and in the middle, hauled into the river by the most wearisome labour, and bound immov- ably together by three log girders, with long birch-pins driven in and solidly wedged. Strong stanchions about three feet high were built fore and aft, to hold well out of the water great thirty-

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276 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. negotiated by anything save now and then a canoe. Rocks and rapids promised an unusual phase of the strenuous life, and whispered ghostly chances of strenuous death as well. And now, at last, well on in the month of September, the big raft was finished. There it lay in the Finlay, tied up just opposite the Hudson Bay store at Fort Grahame. I had a motley list of passengers—five men, six cayuses, a mule, and a yellow dog. On board were tools, blankets, tepees, dunnage- bags, about a thousand pounds of mica, a can with my gold in it, and our very slender stock of provisions, which had been hoarded and supplemented by every possible device for over two months. I had been assured that I could get plenty of the necessities of life at Fort Grahame, but there Billy Fox, the trader in charge, told me that the company had not sent in enough to provide for his own Indians. Game had been very scarce that year; and not one moose had been killed by any of the Sicanee tribe up to September 8th. Upon leaving I was able to procure one sack of flour, one small piece of bacon, and a few beans. That was all. I could not, and did not, blame Billy Fox. He did all he could. It was, there- fore, necessary for us to advance with all possible speed, or we were sure to starve on the way. u Fortunately I had brought plenty of tea and The Author, Mr. Frank Vrooman, F.R.G.S. tobacco, and the teapot and the old pipe were From a Photo. by E. J. Hamucker. sufficient to assuage many a hungry’craving, and, c eres foot sweeps, hewn with vant axes out of trees. We get spared no pains—indeed, te 2 we dared not; for there @? must be no shirking in vas! each single detail of the Q sic hard and tedious labour if of getting to the water aca and putting together that 1 on which our very lives Sac were to depend, even more than we imagined, in the rough rafting which lay for our battering for several hundred miles ahead. In a country where Heaven helps only those who help them- selves, I was determined to leave nothing to Pro- vidence which foresight, vigilance, or industry could forestall. The long curves of unknown and boisterous waters below had never before been Frvma) Mr. Vroomsn’s party ashore at Fort Grahame, (Photegraph,

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THROUGH THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT. 277 if not to change the aspect of the world, at least to ameliorate our conception of it. We led the cayuses aboard and tied them in their pen amidships—six of them, with the ubiquitous mule. I had sent the rest of the ponies back by the trail over which we had come, with two men, who killed two of them and ruined the remainder before reaching Fort St. John. The primary duty of the seven animals I took with me was to carry the outfit in packs over the portages past the rapids and—should the need arise—over the frozen trail, when the ice came to close the river against the further progress of the raft. These animals might also serve us in the capacity of provender ; for we From a) could not starve, at least, while we still had the cayuses (and the mule!) to fall back upon, be the trail never so impracticable or the game ever so scarce. But a cayuse, or even a mule, cannot live on air, and we might either have to kill our living commissary before it.starved to death, or make up our minds to follow its example. It was with neither downcast nor phlegmatic spirit that we fired our farewell salute to the hospitable post, and watched its well-known landmarks recede until we turned the bend. Now for the mountains and the river, the call of the shining trail, and dreams of home ! I had been persuaded to attempt this ambi- tious rafting journey by the representations of a certain plausible liar named Charlie, one of my guides, who claimed to know the country, and who succeeded in persuading me, moreover, that he spoke truth. But we found later—when it was almost too late !—that he had never been within five hundred miles of it. At Fort Grahame, therefore, I had engaged a French . “breed,” Flemand by name, who knew the stream, and undertook to overtake us the next day in a canoe, to guide us, for a consideration, past all the rocks and rapids which lay before us, as far as Hudson’s Hope. We drifted slowly down-stream, keeping to the deep water and the main current by the use of poles and our great sweeps. For hours at a time the only sound to break the silence of mountains and forest was the lapping sound of little waters beating against the timbers or gurgling up between them; the quaint and monotonous music of our drifting advance, much more tuneful than the more boisterous The raft ready for the voyage. notes of the breakers which we so soon learned to dread. A little over half-way to the river-mouth from Fort Grahame the Ospica debouches from the east, and a mile farther down the broad, clear waters of the Omenica from the west flowed in. Here were two streams calling us to go up and explore their hidden ways, though the Omenica is better known than the Finlay or the Peace. Still, there was something golden hidden in their gravels, something bidding us go up and guess their secrets. ‘They will tell their tales to others some day ; but’ as for us, who had a task to perform and a goal to reach, we could not linger by the way. Soon the monotony of our journey was relieved by the arrival of our guide, Flemand, who overtook us in a sycamore canoe. We had navigated so far in safety without him, but we welcomed his arrival, nevertheless, and the added sense: of security it brought. But he

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WIDE 278 THE From a) The raft under way. started badly by piling the raft on to a shoal, so that we had to lighten ship by pushing the cayuses off into the river, where they waded ashore, and then push the raft into deep water, taking the horses on board again farther down. We hoped soon to reach the Peace River, but ‘our raft was a sluggish vessel and a clumsy— indeed, it did not promise to lend itself at all well to the negotiation of the ugly waters that lay ahead. So we drifted on, stopping to pan gold here and there along the banks. In about three days we reached Pete Toy’s Bar. Here Pete Toy, the Cornish miner, a quarter of a century ago, used to make a hundred dollars a day with a “rocker.” Joe Dates was his “ pardner,” and, like Pete, spent most of his life digging gold out of the ground, only, like Pete, to lay it back again in a goodly pile, where the North King now guards their secrets. For both disappeared — sud- denly, and no man knows when or how they died. Their yellow dust they buried, but no man has buried them. Dust to dust! Strange their fate “Pete Toye's Bar,” where WORLD MAGAZINE, and strange the irony of it. Twelve miles farther down is the beautiful basin formed by the confluence of the Finlay, flowing almost straight from the north, and the Parsnip, flow- ing almost straight from the south. Here is a round, half-mile pool of crystal water, and then the Finlay Rapids, whose sullen roar may be heard long before they come into view. These two rivers, the Parsnip and the Finlay, occupy a long valley lying close to the westward base of the Rocky Moun- tains. This is the head of Peace River. Here its waters turn due east in ugly temper and boisterous complaint at the unequal task Nature has set before them. Strange name to call a river—the Peace— which has cleft asunder the Continental Divide, (Photograph. “and whose dauntless waters have leaped clean through the Rocky Mountains into the mid- continental plain; yet such is this unique and incomparable stream, and such is its name. But the Sicanee Indians live here. For thousands of years they have hunted the bear and beaver and moose, and on the wilder heights the goat and the mountain sheep. Once there was a poet among them. He is gone, and his name is forgotten; but the name he gave this river remains : two old-time prospectors mysteriously disappeared. From a Photograph.

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THROUGH THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT. 279 Tsetaikah — “The River that Goes into the Mountain.” At the head of the Peace River we made for the shore, for the Finlay Rapids were looking even uglier than we had anticipated. We brought our craft to the left bank, took off the goods and cayuses (and the mule), made a portage of all our household and other goods to about three miles below, got Flemand’s canoe down to intercept the raft and board her and steer her ashore when she came through—if she did come through—made camp, and returned to the raft. ‘Taking with us the little fat boat I had bought from Billy Fox at Fort Grahame, we pushed the raft from shore, poled her as far out into the stream as we safely could, and then, to avoid getting into the rapids ourselves, climbed into the boat, let the raft go, and paddled hastily ashore. We hoped the current would carry the raft through. ‘Ihere was one chance, but it was the only chance; there was no alternative. We took it, and lost. Away went the raft in her lone career, an abandoned and floating domain, we pygmies sitting attentively on boulders, cogitating the two problems: whether she would go to pieces, or whether, if she came through, we could catch her again. But the wild plays with loaded dice. You do not get even chances in the hazard of the north. For suddenly, in the midst of the foaming chaos, she stopped short, like “the old man’s clock,” although I cannot say “never to go again,” for the spring freshets would wind her up, but never for us. We were sitting on boulders ; she was sitting on a rock. This exquisite crea- tion of our own unaided handiwork, our own naval architecture, lay there like a derelict at anchor, defying the swell and surge of the whole of the Finlay Rapids to move her. There she stayed, beyond our reach, wasting our thrice-precious time, while every hour the inevitable frost was following harder upon our footsteps, and with him his dread satellite, hunger ; and we sat on the bank, shivering and dejected, chilled by the rain that drove in sheets on the wings of a heavy gale. I suppose there was something comic in the very completeness of our discomfiture; but if there was, we entirely failed to appreciate the-joke at the time. What could we do? We talxed of row- ing out to the raft in the small flat boat, board- ing her, and trying to push her off, trusting the while to Providence to look after the boat and our return to shore. But what chance was there for that frail, flat-bottomed structure to live through the angry tumult that lay between us and the raft ? Finally Dolph and Jim ventured to take the little boat and yo out to try and loosen the big craft. They started, paddling up-stream, in order to circle and come down to it from above. From the shore I watched their gallant struggle as they came into angrier waters. Then I decided to call them back and take no further chances. ‘he little craft was already pitching and dipping badly. I fired a gun. They could hear nothing. I began waving my hand, stand- ing by the water’s edge. Finally they saw me waving them ashore, and, after a moment’s hesi- tation, started back, landing far below me. I told them they were risking their lives, and that I would not allow it. They wanted to go back. T assured them that there was not one chance in a hundred of getting the raft off the rock it hung on, and that, should they succeed in getting it off, there was not a chance in a thousand of getting it past the other rocks below and through the ugly waters. We, therefore, pitched camp, had supper, and turned in, The next morning we awoke to find our bedding full of sand and water. It had not ceased to rain or snow during the night, and the storm still blustered, but the raft had held together and was.sull anchored there, where we could not reach it, in the midst of the rapids, apparently as sound as ever. It was worth something to know that we had built to with- stand the tremendous action of eighteen hours in the Iinlay Rapids. Perhaps we could build as well again; there was a crumb of comfort in this. We held a council of war, so to speak, and agreed to try again to sail out to the raft in the boat, and get her free by some means or other, to be invented when we reached her ; but the currents were as ugly as ever, and the attempt seemed to be too dangerous to be worth its attendant risks. ‘Two of the men ventured out some little way, for we were loath to abandon so stout a craft, but they hesitated, as well they might, about going farther, and I called them back, for I believe they must both have been drowned had they persisted in the attempt. There now remained only one way out of our difficulty. We must abandon all hope of using our stranded raft again, and set patiently to work to build a-new one. When the men came ashore again we went below to camp, swam the cayuses and our mule, and with the boat and Flemand’s canoe we conveyed our outfit in smoother water to the south bank of the Peace, where the straizhtest trees seemed to grow. Un- packing the essentials of our outfit, and making the best shift we could, we turned in to sleep on the gravel bank, fairly tired out by the labour of the day. But there was harder to come ! We awoke the next morning to find ourselves lying under a coverlet of snow, and after a scanty breakfast betook ourselves to the woods

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280 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I began waving my hand, standing by the water's edge. with the horses to search for logs suitable for raft-building. Then followed days that were endless, as it seemed to us; days of unrelieved toil, for we dared not stay our hands and rest, knowing ourselves so hard pressed for time. These were days of hewing and hacking and hauling and boring and wedging without cessa- tion, when the axe was heavy in the hand, and the numbed muscles tightened and slackened, indeed, but worked from mere force of habit— days of unfailing monotony, for our procedure never varied. First there was the search for the doomed monster spruce, whose stature was bis un- doing. If he pro- mised fifty clear feet of dry timber, he was commandeered and pressed into the service. We chopped through his understandings with axes, until at last he gave us warning by his swaying, and we bolted for safety beyond the danger- zone, and down he came, crashing — his way through his neighbours’ branches with a volley of cracking wood. Work for the axes again; we had _ still to amputate his limbs until his trunk was clean, and ready to be dragged out of the ush to the river. This was a great business, too, for we had to harness all the cayuses together in Indian file, head to tail (even the mule was con- strained again to sub- ordinate his rampant egoism to the common weal), and hitch them up with ropes and harness of tracking lines to the fallen timber. And so, with volleying whips and the persuasive profanity proper to such strenuous occasions, the team jerked under way (we lost time and energy because they were not trained to pull steadily). So the great fifty- foot log was hauled, bumping and jumping, through the forest, through obstacles galore, and over or around them, to the river ; hauled by main force of five weary human beings and seven tired horses—one more unit ready for the contraption that was to bear our crazy expedition farther and farther into the unknown. (To be continued.)

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THE GIPSY POLKA. By A. Goron, EX-CHIEF OF THE PaRIS DETECTIVE POLICE. Another fascinating real-life detective romance, told by the “Sherlock Holmes” of France. mg) N March, 1894, the members of ¥ my family became much concerned ga| about me. They watched me with anxious faces, and I must own that they had some cause for alarm. I, who since the age of fourteen had never touched a note on the piano, now performed every morning on the instrument with one finger, and ‘the piece I played was always the same—an old-fashioned polka. I had not, however, become music-mad. Nature endowed me with an excellent memory for faces, facts, and figures, but, unfortunately, melodies are not included in the list; and, as I was particularly anxious to retain a certain tune in my mind, I took the precaution of playing it every morning. ; The day before I first blossomed into a musician I had received a curious visitor, a weasel-faced little man, with red-rimmed eyes and a tiny, pointed nose. He was the most nervous creature I have ever seen, and it was - only after several ineffectual attempts to speak that he stuttered the words :— “A ro-robbery has been committed, M. Go-Goron—a great ro-robbery !” “Where ?” [ asked. “ At Mme. de V ’s, J—I—am her lawyer —her confidential man.” “Take your time,” I said, “and tell me what has occurred.” The little man, whose name was Falconnet, sat still for a moment, wiped his forehead, blew his nose, and presently resumed in a quieter tone. “ My client, Mme. de V——, lives at Marly. She is a Polish princess, and was married to M. de V——, formerly in the diplomatic service. He died some twenty years ago. The Princess is a little—what shall I say?—eccentric. She has withdrawn from the world, and lives very quietly in her house at Marly. She has some magnificent pictures, but, curiously enough, keeps them locked up in a lumber-room at the top of the house. I don’t suppose they have even been dusted for years. Her snuff-boxes are her hobby. Her collection is—or, I should say, was—quite unique, not only historically interest- ing, but very valuable, some of the boxes, set with precious stones, being worth a considerable amount of money. It has always been one of her weaknesses to show them to strangers who apply Vol. xxiii. for permission to view them. No more than three persons at a time were admitted, escorted by Pierre, her man-servant, who, with Rosine, his wife, and Mariette, their daughter, form the domestic staff. During the last six months Mme. de V—— has hardly ever been out, but yesterday she went to Paris to call on a friend, and she told her people that she intended to stay the night at this person’s house. Pierre foolishly seized the opportunity to take his wife and daughter for a drive into the country. He had, of course, carefully locked the house, but when he returned towards evening he found the glass cupboard in the drawing-room broken and the snuff-boxes gone. He at once sent for me, and this morning, when the Princess returned from Paris, there was a terrible scene. Mme. de V—— is much upset, and asks you to take the matter in hand at once. Can you come with me now, M. Goron?” “No,” I replied ; “but I will be at the house towards two o'clock. See that nothing is disturbed there.” At the appointed hour I arrived at Mme. de V. ’s. Seen from a distance the house, of the Louis XV. period, looked very stately, stand- ing in the midst of what appeared to be a beautiful garden. The illusion, however, was dispelled on nearer approach. The garden was woefully neglected ; grass grew thick in the walks, and weeds covered the beds. The gate was opened by Pierre, a man of about seventy, his eyes swollen and red from crying. He took my card in silence and con- ducted me to a small room on the ground floor. After a while a woman, whom I guessed to be Rosine, came in sobbing, and informed me that her mistress was not yet dressed, but would be glad to see M. Goron. A moment later the Princess entered, and I beheld an elderly lady in a blue dressing-gown, smoking a cigarette. Her hair, hanging lank, showed grey at the roots, where it required a fresh coating of dye. She was tall, and must have once been very handsome, her aristocratic bearing contrasting strangely with her costume and freedom of manner. “M. Falconnet has occurred ?” she began. please follow me!” The drawing-room to which she took me presented a curious medley of styles. Against what has Well, then, told you “Yes?

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222 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. . the wall, facing the door, were three huge cup- boards with gliss doors, the one on the right crammed with dust covered books, the one on the lett tilled with Stvres and delf plates, Mme. de Vo - went up to the centre cup- board, and, turning to me, said : “My snuff boxes, seventy-two in’ all, the majority of them heirlooms, were kept in there. The thief, or thieves, made a clean sweep, as you see, TE would sooner have lost all my other property than those boves.” She stamped her foot: passionately, and) con- tinued : “Tt is hbeartrending $M. Goren, 1 have heard of your skill and T rely on you to. arrest these miseteants |” Although To omade every allowance for her annovanee at the less she had) sustained, the Impertous tone in which the woman addressed me gute on my nerves. Werhout replying mspovtead the centre cupboard Pre glass had been smashed, and the broken bits ittered the The thief, or thieves, made # clean sweep, as you sec.” floor. The shelves wer eempty; the unwelcome visitors, as the Princess said, had indeed made a clean sweep. At my request she todk me to the dining-room, to her boudoir, and finally to her bedroom, as erratically furnished as the drawing-room. To the right and left of the bed hung several portraits with their faces to the wall. The Princess followed my glance. “Those are my disappointments in life!” she remarked, in a harsh voice. “I suppose your servants are beyond suspicion?” I asked. “Yes. They are fools, but they are to be trusted. They deserve, however, to be thrown into the streets for having deserted their post : and I do not yet know how I shall deal with them. I called the old people and their daughter, and Patiently listened to their tale; but they had no Information to offer bevond the fact that they had found the street door and the garden gate locked, as they left it when they went out I

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THE GIPSY went into the garden, and it became clear at once that the thief had effected an entrance by climbing over the wall at the back of the house, worked his way by the wooden trellis-work to the first Hoor, and forced his way in through the window. It required no skill to do it. More- over, the footprints on the flower-bed below the window showed that only one person had been at work. I took the measurements of the foot- prints, returned to the dining-room, and looked for something likely to help me in my search— for what in police parlance we call a “ visiting- card,” left by the thief. As I had given orders not to disturb anything in the room it had not been swept, and scattered about the place were the cigarette-ends which the erratic mistress of the house was in the habit of throwing on the floor. Suddenly my eye lit upon something, and I picked it up. “T see your cigarettes are all gold-tipped. Do you ever smoke any other?” I asked the lady. ; “No, never.” “Does anybody else smoke here except yourself?” “No; Pierre has forsworn tobacco. do you——” “And your cigarettes are all Egyptian?” “Yes. But why——” “Because the end I have picked up is not gold-tipped, and the tobacco is English. The thief has been kind enough to leave a ‘ visiting- card,’ after all.” For the first time I saw a smile on the lady’s face. “What do you deduce from it?” she cried, eagerly. “Well, it does not look ‘professional.’ Housebreaking is a delicate business, and the members of that craft, as a rule, do not smoke whilst they operate. Your thief must be a care- less, easy-going gentleman. Of course, he brought a bag with him, for I do not see how he could have stowed away seventy snuff-boxes in his pockets. I suppose it -is almost useless to ask whether you have at-y suspicion ?” “No, M. Goron. I have not the slightest idea who the thief can be. I allowed people to view my collection, but they had first to send in their card, and, from my bedroom window, I always watched those coming in. Only well- dressed, respectable - looking persons were admitted, and then never more than three or four ata time. The burglar must have awaited his opportunity ; yesterday he found it. And now, M. Goron, I expect you to do your duty.” Again her tone annoyed me, and I replied somewhat curtly :— “You need not remind me of my duty, Why POLKA. 283 madam ; I am not in the habit of neglect- ing it.” The Princess coloured slightly. “Please excuse me,” she said. ‘I did not mean to offend you. But this robbery worries me more than you think. And yet I am accus- tomed to worry,” she added, softly, passing her hand across her forehead. I bowed, and as I walked to the door I stopped a moment before an old harp, next to which stood a small table covered with music. On the top lay a piece with “ The Gipsy Polka ” printed on the title-page, with a picture repre- senting a youth playing the violin to a girl leaning against a tree. The Princess, who had stood deep in thought, turned round. “You are looking at my old polka?” she asked. “Yes. I never saw anything more cleverly drawn than the sketch on the cover.” “When I was a girl that melody was the rage,” explained the Princess. “Please take it, M.Goron. Let me give it to you as a souvenir. T can spare that copy.” “In that case I accept it. that attracts me.” She gave me a minute description of the stolen property, and IT promised to communitate with her the moment I discovered anything. The following morning, whilst I was dressing, a note was brought tome. It read as follows:— It is the drawing Deak M. Goron,—I am afraid you took away two copies of my old polka. As I can only spare one, kindly return the other by bearer.—Yours, ELizaneTH DE V——. I promptly undid the roll of music—which, on my return, I had thrown on a table—and, as I expected, only found one copy. There was certainly nothing very remarkable in Mme. de V—— thinking I had made a mistake, yet for some unaccountable reason it struck me as strange ; and I sent word that I would call on her that same afternoon. Mme. de V was lying on a couch in her drawing-room when I arrived, reading a novel, with a pile of cigarettes near her. The place had been swept, but the bits of broken glass in front of the cupboard were still lying about. She pointed to them the moment I entered, and said :— “T promised myself they should remain there until you found my thief, and I never break my promises. Have you any news for me?” “No; except that I took only one piece of music away with me. In fact, there was no other copy.” “There were two!” she called out, in the haughty manner of a person not accustomed to being contradicted.

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284 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Only one!” I repeated, doggedly. With an impatient gesture she rang the bell for Rosine, who confirmed that the music on the little table, with the two polkas on the top, had not been disturbed for years. “In that case, madam,” I said, “your thief must have walked away with the missing copy.” “Tt’s impossible !” she cried ; “it’s really too absurd.” “T agree with you that it sounds absurd, but with criminals we must always be prepared for a few surprises.” According to time-honoured custom, I ordered a description of the stolen property to be inserted in the leading French and foreign papers. It has always been considered a necessary pre- caution, to which, however, I never attached much importance, as it only puts the thieves on their guard. I then reviewed the whole case and, before deciding upon any course of action, sent for M. Falconnet, the lawyer, who, I learnt, bore a first-class reputation, “T am sorry,” he said, “not to be able to give you any assistance, although for more than twenty-five years I have been looking after the Princess's affairs. Between ourselves, I have often been tempted to withdraw from her. She is terribly self-willed and dictatorial ; but, some- how or other, I put up with her erratic ways. She has seen much trouble.” “ Chiefly of her own making, I suppose?” He nodded. “My client may have been a little indiscreet in the selection of her friends,” he added, ‘but that was a long time ago. For the last fifteen years she has lived in retirement, reading novels all day, and worrying my life out with her money affairs. ‘The loss of her collection is a terrible blow to her, although she is too proud to show it. I hope for her sake you will soon capture the scoundrel, who——” “____ is a stranger to the place?” “Undoubtedly ” “You think so, because you distort facts to suit your theory, instead of doing the reverse,” T told him. “You may possibly hear from me soon,” M. Falconnet had failed to throw any light on the affair, and on reaching home I began pondering over it, but my glance always wandered to “The Gipsy Polka,” with the beauti- fully-drawn figures on the cover, and the con- viction stole upon me that it would lead me to the right trail. This conviction grew so strong that, to the alarm of my family, I started there and then my one-finger performance on the piano. Three weeks elapsed, and things did not look promising. I had not made a step forward. As the result of the discreet and searching inquiries I had made about the people with whom Mme. de V had been associated in the past, 1 believed two or three times that I had found a clue; but I soon discovered my error. Worst of all, the Princess gave me no peace. She would burst into my office ; she waylaid me ; she levelled her sarcastic reproaches not only at me but at poor Falconnet, whom she drove to the verge of hysterics. As to the polka, the musicians I consulted assured me that it was an old-fashioned tune of the period of our great- grandmothers, and as dead and buried as they. This did not sound hopeful. Another three weeks elapsed. I had called on the governor of the Mazas prison and was walking down the Rue de Lyon looking for a cab, when suddenly I stood still. Somewhere near me a little, piping voice was singing “ The Gipsy Polka”! I ran down the by-street whence the sound came, and on the edge of the pavement beheld two musicians—a poorly but cleanly-dressed girl of about fifteen and a boy with a concertina. The girl was the vocalist, and she sang my polka. There could be no mistake. I had practised it, Heaven knows, long enough. My musical experts, afterall, were wrong when they said that the melody was buried. I waited till the girl had finished and then gave her a silver coin. “ Merci, monsieur,” she said, and looked gratefully at me. A few houses farther was a wine-shop kept by a man called Lupin, whom I knew, and thither I conducted the two performers. Lupin was not at home, but his wife was serving behind the bar, and stared with astonishment when she saw me enter with this quaint escort. I made the children sit down and had a hearty meal placed before them. The boy set to with a will, but the girl took a small piece of paper from her pocket and wrapped some of the meat in it. “What's that for?” I asked. “t's for father!” she whispered. “Don’t you trouble,” I said. He will not be forgotten.” In reply to. my questions she told me that the melody she had sung had been taught, to her by her father. Her mother was dead, and her father, owing to an accident, was paralyzed, and had been bedridden for eight years. “T will take you home,” I said. “I want to speak to your father.” Mme. Lupin, at my request, had meanwhile made upa parcel containing cold meat, sausages, cheese, and other provisions, which, with a few bottles of wine, were put into a cab. I bade the children enter, and drove with them to the Rue Nicot, a narrow street near the Val de Grace Hospital. We ascended the dark, rickety “Eat away.

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THE GIPSY POLKA. 285 stairs to the sixth floor ; the girl opened a door, and I found myself in a tiny room, where, on a camp-bed, a man was lying. ‘The child had spoken the truth. The poor fellow was paralyzed. His daughter went up to the bed, kissed him, and said :— “This gentleman wants to speak to you.” “Excuse my troubling you,” I said, “but I am interested in a melody your child sang, which she said you taught her. Do you mind telling me what it is and where you heard it?” “It’s no trouble,” replied the man, in a courteous tone. ‘“ My poor mother used to sing it to us children, She had been lady’s-maid in a noble family in Prague, and had learnt. it there. I always remembered the melody, but I “cannot give you the name of the song. I have forgotten it.” I thanked him and withdrew, telling him that henceforth things would go better with him. And I may remark here that the charitable pecple to whom I recommended my frot'gés behaved splendidly and took them out of thcir misery. “The Gipsy Polka” had proved a godsend to the poor family in the Rue Nicot, but it had not brought me any farther. Yet I did not feel disheartened, for I felt intuitively that the catchy tune would yet play a decisive part in the case. On my return to the office I found my fair enemy, the Princess, waiting for me. She had come, she said, to inform me that she had discovered that Mariette—Pierre’s and Rosine’s daughter—was engaged to André Carreau, employed in a glass factory. André, according to her, had a “ villainous look.” “Since you cannot lay your hands on the thief, M. Goron,” she remarked, in her usual scornful tone, “I must come to your assistance. You had better watch this youth whilst I search in another direction. And the day you bring me the news that you have caught the scoun- drel, I will give a handsome sum to any charity you like to name. Aw revorr, M. Goron!” And she swept out of the room. I could have informed the lady that in my search after the culprit I not only knew all about this André with the “ villainous look” —an honest, hard-working lad—but I had also gathered many curious details about most of the personages with whom at some time or other she had been acquainted. A few of them had died, others had disappeared, and I had not come upon one whom, even distantly, I could connect with the crime. But I did not want to inflict needless pain on her, and therefore listened to her caustic remarks with a polite smile. The robbery had been committed on the gth of March, and on June 9th, exactly three - taken possession of the place. months later, I took the night train to Cabourg, a fashionable watering-place on the Normandy coast, where I had an appointment the next morning. Anxious to make the most of thy four-and-twenty hours’ holiday, I had risen early and gone for a long stroll. At ten o’clock I found myself seated outside the Casino, where I had to meet my man. Under the influence of the bright sunshine and the happy surroundings I forgot fora moment the enemies of society | was hunting. The Princess and her snuff-boxes- had also vanished from my mind. I inhaled the fresh sea-breeze and, with the morning paper still unopened in my pocket, I watched the bathers and felt happy. The windows of the concert-room behind me were open, and I heard the merry laughter of the young people who had Suddenly I was roused from my reverie by the sound of a piano. Someone struck a few notes, and “The Gipsy Polka” burst upon my ears. I promptly entered the room. The performer—a pretty, fashionably- dressed young lady—was still playing, talking at the same time to a gentleman whom I recog- nised as M. L——, a rising young barrister. M. I——, whom I knew very well, shook me warmly by the hand. “Who is that young lady at the piano?” I asked him. “Mile. Bertha F——.” “Any relation to the great shipowner at. Havre?” “His daughter.” “A millionairess ?” “Yes. Let me introduce you.” “ Mademoiselle,” I said to the girl, “allow me to compliment you on your talent. I have been listening with much pleasure to the melody you just played. What is the name of it?” “T don’t know,” she laughed. “I picked it up from hearing Amédée hum it.” “Who is Amédée?” “My brother. I dare say he will be able to tell you. You can ask him yourself, for he came down on Friday for the week-end, and I expect him in every minute.” Instead of returning to Paris by the four o’clock express, I decided to remain the day in Cabourg. Towards five I was pacing up and down in front of the Casino when I saw Mlle. F—— walking with a tall, good-looking boy who bore a striking likeness to her. She stopped as she passed me and introduced me to her brother, telling him that I was curious to know “something about the funny tune with which he had been worrying her so long. This statement seemed to amuse him hugely. “Why, I caught it from Coco,” he roared. “You surely know Coco? Everybody does!”

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ry ne Ear CARA © Ry yneye } eae 286 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The performer—a pretty, fashionably-dressed young Iady—was still playing, talking at the same time to # gentleman whom I recognised as M. L —. “No, I have not, the pleasure.” “You surprise me! His name is Cocollis— er something like it—but we all call him Coco. He is a Brazilian, an awfully funny chap. He’s as ugly as sin, but the women adore him because he makes them laugh !” I engaged Amédée in conversation, and, re- verting once more to Coco, learned that—by turn sailor, miner, journalist, bushman, and merchant —he was a curiously attractive, if somewhat unsatisfying, personality. He seemed at home in most parts of the world, and with people of all degrees he was hail-fellow-well-met. He was well-known at Maxim’s and other places of amusement, but Amédée had not seen him for some time. Coco was decidedly interesting, and I longed to make his acquaintance. I made further inquiries, which disclosed that M. Cocollis, a/as Coco, had arrived in Paris some seven months ago with Baron P——.,a tich Brazilian, who had engaged him as secretary. ( lo

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THE GIPSY POLKA. 287 A few wecks later a telegram had recalled the Baron to Rio, but Cocollis had remained behind. He owned, it was said, a little property near San Antonio, but remittances reached him very irregularly. When in funds he spent his money freely ; whilst at other times he would unblush- ingly partake of his friends’ hospitality. An ugly murder case in Neuilly kept me busy for nearly a week, but having succeeded in arresting the assassins I bethought myself of Coco. I heard that of late he had absented himself repeatedly, and had only just returned from a yachting cruise with two Stock Exchange men. He had a small apartment in the Rue Cambon. Anxious to see him I had him watched, and was informed that he would dine that evening at Leon’s, in the Avenue de V'Opéra, with some Americans. I went early to the restaurant, took a seat in a dark corner, and towards eight o’clock the party arrived. I recognised Coco from Amédée’s description, and must own that the expression “ ugly as sin” was well applied. With his flat, broken nose, distorted mouth, and hollow cheeks, he looked by no means an Adonis. Moreover, he limped, one of his arms was twisted, and he would have been positively repulsive had it not been for his eyes. ‘I'hese were large and shining, with long, silky lashes. Only once, several years ago, had I seen such magnificent eyes, but they had belonged to a man with handsome features, a fellow called Morillo, badly compromised in a case of extortion. Coco was in great form, and in my quiet corner I often had the greatest difficulty to refrain from laughing at his jokes. His party were a long time over their meal, and from the restaurant drove to the Casino de Paris. As they filed out of the room I had an oppor- tunity of having a good glance at Coco, and then the idea came into my head that Coco and Morillo might be the same. I could not help smiling at this grotesque notion, yet, on my way home, this fantastic idea had so rooted itself in my mind that I felt bound to act upon it. I sent for the pavers relative to the Morillo affair, to study them in the evening at home, and then rang the bell for Siblot, a smart young officer I had only just enrolled. “Siblot,” I said, “1 am going to give youa chance of distinguishing yourself. ‘There is a certain Cocollis in whom I am interested. Here is his address. I want you to bring me one of his cigarettes. It doesn’t matter whether it is a whole one or an end he has thrown away. It must not, of course, be a cigarette offered him by a friend, but one of his own.” “T understand, sir. You shall have it.” The documents I had taken home did not assist me materially. What was more important, however, was that I remembered that Morillo, who had been three days in custody and was then released, had passed through the anthropo- metrical office. Should I have a doubt about Coco’s identity, M. Bertillon’s never - failing system might always come to my assistance. Siblot was waiting in my office, and with a proud smile he deposited a small box on my table. It contained a cigarette-end. “ How did you manage it ?” I asked. “The moment I left you, sir, I went to the Rue Cambon and watched my man. At 7 p.m. he went to a house in the Rue Laugier, where he dined. At ten he came out and drove to the Café Américain, where he remained an hour, smoking two cigars. From there he strolled down the Boulevard, and, having met some friends, went with them to Maxim’s. I sat down at a table next to them. I was already beginning to fear that I had come on a bootless errand, when to my relief, towards one o'clock, Cocollis, whom his friends called ‘Coco,’ pulled a cigarette out of his case and lit it. From behind the paper which I pretended to be reading I never took my eyes off him, and the moment he threw the end away I dropped a coin, and, stooping quickly, picked up the end at the same time as my coin” “You are sure you made no mistake ?” “ Quite sure, sir.” I then compared the end brought me by Siblot with that found in the Princess’s drawing- toon. Jf was the same tobacco — “Three Castles,” if Iam not mistaken. Although this was a great step forward, the moment had not yet arrived to cry victory. 1, therefore, ordered Siblot to keep Coco 1n sight, and once more reviewed the situation. The veil around the mystery was slowly lifting, and renewed hope brought renewed _ inspiration. And then I remembered a certain Hatsfeldt, a German, implicated in the Morillo affair, who kept a flower and fruit shop in the Rue Saint Denis. I sent for him. “ Hatsfeldt,” I said, “1 have no intention of raking up the past, but I have a question to ask you. Can you tell me what became of Morillo after he was released from custody? Did you ever hear of his having met with a serious accident, with a smash of some kind?” The man's face was amusing to watch Having been “in trouble” several times he had now become what 1s popularly called ‘a reformed character," and he looked proud at being able to assist the authorities ““M. Goron,” he began in a pompous voice, “T have never met Morillo since the affair. But my brother-inlaw second mate on the

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7 c : 288 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Minerva, whilst in Buenos Ayres, saw Morillo’s name among those killed in the awful accident near that town. It was too good an end for such a scoundrel !” he added, in a virtuous tone. Hatsfeldt’s statement fitted my theory, for, if Coco really was Morillo redivivus, it was not surprising that I had only recognised his eyes, considering that the rest of his face had been battered in. And, if the cigarette experiment could be relied upon, it was Coco who had broken into the Princess’s villa. For all that it was preposterous to think of arresting Coco. 1 wrote to Cocollis to call on me the next morning, and at half-past ten he was announced. He looked very disturbed and held a handker- chief to his face. He apologized for this by saying he was suffering from neuralgia. He would have been surprised had I told him how many people had already come to me with half their faces hidden, on account of pseudo-tooth- ache, earache, or neuralgia. “T have asked you to call,” I began, ‘“ because I know you were secretary to Baron P——. Do you happen to know his address ?” “Yes. He is in Vera Cruz.” “Very well. I want some letters he took away with him referring to a man called Masson.” “T don’t remember anything about that !” he replied. i “JT dare say not. Please write him a short note here, which I can enclose, asking him to forward me those letters.” “T will, if you want me to ; but I can assure you that I never heard the Baron mention M. Masson.” He sat down at my table, and whilst he penned the note I looked over his shoulder, comparing his writing with that of a letter from Morillo I had found among the documents. /f was identical. I next called one of my men, ordered him to take the somewhat astonished Coco to one of the adjoining waiting-rooms, and sent a messenger in a cab to Falconnet, requesting him to come immediately. Three-quarters of an hour later he was shown in, but remained on the threshold, gazing helplessly at me. “Come in and shut the door!” I cried. “What is the matter with you?” “The voice! The voice!” he stammered. “What voice? Speak up, man!” He seemed so dazed that I shook him by both arms. “Speak up!” I repeated. “Mo-mo-rillo!” He forced the words out with difficulty. “What villainy is coming to light now ?” I asked myself, whilst Falconnet drank the glass of water I poured out for him. He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, and said in a quieter tone :— “I caught sight of the fellow in the next room. It is—Morillo. 1 did not recognise his face—it is so altered. But—I heard him talk— and I knew his voice—] have known it since he was a boy! He is—the Princess’s—son, the scoundrel! She was married before, but divorced, and But never mind that! He has always been a trouble to her. She and I were grateful when we heard of his death! And now he has returned—and has broken into his mother’s house! Poor, poor woman !” For a minute neither of us spoke, and then the same thought struck us both. “He cannot be arrested for robbing his mother,” I said. “ According to Article 308 of our Criminal Code, only civil proceedings can be taken by parents against their children in cases where the latter have despoiled them.” Again there was a silence. “M. Falconnet,” I continued, “I think we understand one another. I must now attend to that scamp. I shall probably be away for an hour, and will then tell you what I have done.” I found my prisoner staring at the pictures of criminals that adorned the walls. “ Morillo,” I said, in a not very gentle tone, “why did you change your name to that of Cocollis ?” “J—I——” he stammered. “You made a false declaration at the Police Prefecture when you had your name entered in the strangers’ register as Cocollis. You will now have to go with me to your Chambers, as there are other matters requiring investigation !” The thunderbolt seemed to have knocked the very life out of him, and he did not utter a syllable when I drove with him and the officer in whose charge I had left him to the Rue Cambon. He remained speechless in a chair whilst I searched the apartment for some traces of the robbery at the Princess’s. : “You villain!” I cried, ‘what have you done with the property you stole from your mother’s house?” He staggered to his feet and made a vain effort to speak. “ Answer me!” I shouted. He ran his tongue along his parched lips. “I—I broke up—the boxes—and—disposed —of the—stones,” he said, in a broken voice. He breathed heavily and buried his face in his hands. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Fetch me ‘The Gipsy Polka’ you carried away from the villa!” He gave a start, and, like a man walking in his sleep, went into his bedroom and brought out a

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THE GIPSY POLKA. i 289 He staggered to his feet and made a vain effort to speak. bundle of newspapers. among them. “Why did you take that?” But his lips, convulsively drawn together, refused to move. The secret of his having abstracted it—if secret there was—was never revealed to me. The man was so prostrate with fear—perhaps also with remorse—that I gave him a few minutes to recover. “Morillo,” I said at last, “I do not intend to waste time or words over a creature like you. The crime you committed against your mother is, unfortunately, not one that can bring you within my grasp. I am, therefore, not com- mitting a felony in not arresting you. But your false declaration at the Prefecture, on the strength, no doubt, of forged or stolen docu- ments, would warrant me in having you com- mitted to jail and afterwards expelled the country. Your mother does not know it is you who broke into her house. I give you two hours to pack your trunks and clear out of Vol. xxiii. —37. The piece of music was France. My man will remain here with you and see you off. Do you understand ?” “Yes,” he whispered, unsteadily. ‘1 thank-—” “No thanks, if you please. Your mother thinks you are dead, and dead you must remain to her.” _ When, on my return to my office, I informed Falconnet of what had occurred, he gave a sigh of relief. “T fear I do wrong in not acquainting the Princess of all this,” he stammered, in his usual nervous fashion. “But I think I must sacrifice my duty.” “T_ sacrifice my pride,” I interrupted, “in letting the lady believe I never caught the thief!” And we shook hands. Morillo left Paris that afternoon. From that day to this nothing more has been heard of him. A year later I learnt of the Princess’s death. While she was alive I could not have published this story, but her death set me free to do so.

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How many of our readers know what an abalone is? It is a gigantic shell-fish, greatly esteemed as an article of diet by the Chinese and Japanese, and so constituted that every part of it—body, shell, and juice—is of use and value. Mr. Inkersley gives an interesting description of the abalone industry on the coast of California. r wy HOUGH the abalone has long been «by highly esteemed as an article of food paeq 4 | by the Chinese and Japanese, it is | AS! known to comparatively few white ~ people, unless they are or have been residents of California. ‘The supply of abalones in Chinese waters is not large, and the Japanese have captured and eaten them so diligently that their fishing-grounds have become depleted, and the people are now forbidden by an Imperial edict to take the valuable sheil-fish. Though its habitat is of limited range, the abalone is found in great abundance off the coasts of Central and Lower California, from Cape Men- docino to Cape St. Lucas, or from the thirty- fifth nearly to the fortieth parallel of latitude. It abounds on the rocky shores of San Luis Obispo and Monterey Counties, whence large quantities, dried and canned, are sent to Hong-Kong, Shanghai, and the principal ports of Japan. The capture of abalones was the chief occupation of the Chinese at Monterey, but recently immense numbers of dead abalones have been found in Monterey Bay, and are sup- posed to have ‘been killed by a slime deposited on the rocks by the Californian earthquake of April 18th, 1906. The abalone is a gigantic sea-snail, in appear- ance like a land tortoise or a terrapin shorn of its head and legs. It has a single shell, which is not horny, but calcareous, like that of the clam or oyster, and is found only in rocky places in clear sea water. Abalones crawl about the bottom of the ocean, just outside the surf, at a depth of from twenty to a hundred or a hundred and twenty feet. They vary in size from a pinhead to thirty-four inches in circum- ference. On the coast of California there are five varieties—the black, found along the whole coast ; the red, rarely taken beyond the limits of Monterey County and part of San Luis Obispo County ; the green, which abounds farther south, and the Japanese and Australian, the latter being called the ‘‘peacock abalone.” A large

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ABALONE - FISHING. 2g holding muscle is attached to the shell near the middle. The mouth has a long ribbon- like tongue, fur- nished with teeth, by means of which the animal rasps its food off the rocks in shreds, suitable for swallowing. In the adult this tongue is about three inches long and a quarter of an inch wide. ‘The eyes are at the end of two ten- tacles near the mouth. The creature feeds solely on weeds and mosses, and, unless it is forcibly torn from its home, spends its whole life within a radius of a few feet. The abalone is extremely fecund, the female laying millions of eggs every year. The outer colour of the shell harmonizes with the rocks on which it lives, while the inner surface is pearly and iridescent. A Japanese diver about to descend in search of ubalones. From a Photograph. The abalone pearl is now in- creasing in value. Its nucleus is a particle of foreign matter that has found lodgment in the digestiveorgans, so that the aba lone, being un- able to get rid of it, coats it with nacre as does the pearl oyster. Pearls are found in few abalones, how- ever, though several are sometimes found in the same specimen. The Chinese and Japanese pay from seven to twelve cents (threepence halfpenny to six- pence) per pound for the dried flesh, each pound representing about ten pounds of fresh abalones. It is evident that the aborigines of the Pacific Coast used abalones largely as food, for abalone shells are found in all the shell-mounds that exist in regions where the abalone lives. (Commercial Art Co. [ < OOO Le)

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292 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The Chinese and Japanese along the coasts of California obtain the abalone in the only practicable way—by diving for them. The diver prises the animals from the rocks with an iron bar, and places them in a rope-basket, which is hauled up to the surface by men in the boat attending him. A diver will remain under the water, sometimes at a depth of more than a hundred feet, for five hours unless devil- fish attack him, shut off his supply of air, or otherwise stop him from working. If the body of the drowned man was rescued with great danger and difficulty by his countrymen. The abalones are brought ashore in boats and spread out in a sunny place to dry, the process reducing their bulk greatly and render- ing their flesh tough and horny. Great quantities of dried abalones are sent to the Orient, where the people soak and stew them, or grind them to powder and make soup. This is the simplest and crudest method of preparation. Some Japanese cut the flesh from the shell while the abalone is still alive, boil it, and pack it in cans in the same manner as oysters, This method is quicker and better than sun-drying, but yields a tough product. On the coast of Mendocino County, California, to the north of San Fran- cisco, is a gorge near the ocean named Dark Cypress Point, Bay of Monterey, near which a Chinese fisherman was drowned through getting his hand caught by an abalone. From a Photo. by Putnam & Valentine, diver is seized by a devil-fish, his companions haul him up and cut off the tentacles of the powerful creature with hatchets. Several years ago two Chinamen were searching in a boat for abalones off Cypress Point, in the Bay of Monterey. ‘The man at the oars tried to keep the boat steady while his companion prised a large abalone from the rocks and reached down to seize it. The abalone closed upon the man’s hand and held him so that he was drowned. The oarsman was thrown out of the boat by a wave, but swam ashore. Some hours later the Gulch, where there. is a camp of fourteen Japanese fishermen and one woman. Eight of the men fish, while the rest dry the abalones and prepare them for shipment, the process taking three months. The men catch about two thousand three hundred abalones a day. They use a boat of Japanese type, forty feet in length and made of two-inch planks ; five timbers project about three feet from the gunwale on each side, and on these the oars rest. The oars are about thirty feet long, made of two pieces of timber so joined

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ABALONE - FISHING. 293 The fishermen at work in Monterey Bay. From a Photo. by Putnam & Valentine. View of a Japanese abalone fishing camp on the coast. From a Photo. by C, C. Pierce & Co.

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a: \ Me SY \ t Netbamy ry a tT ) « 294 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. that the upper part, about nine feet long, will work while the lower part is immersed. When the wind serves, a square sail is set. ‘The fishermen employ a cheap diving-suit, with a galvanized metal helmet, and a two: cylinder pump. The diver works six hours daily, going down at nine in the it is washed again in cold water, put into trays of wire-netting, and deposited in a drying-house on the When all the moisture hillside. Drying the abalones in trays—The meat is exported to the East, where it is esteemed a great delicacy. From a Photo. by C. C. Pierce & Co. morning and coming up at noon, going down again at one p.m. and coming up at four p.m. In about twenty minutes he sends up a basket holding as many abalones as four men can lift into the boat. Another basket is sent down while the first is emptied. When the boat reaches the camp every- body turns out to man the windlass by which the craft is pulled up the skidway. The abalones are weighed as they are taken from the boat, to determine what the boat- men are to get for the day’s work. Two Japanese with chisels take off the shells and put the flesh intoa vat, in which it lies till next day; then it is washed and thrown into boiling water to remove the slime and a dark pig- ment at the edges. Next From a Photograph. has dripped away the trays are taken out into the sun. On foggy days and at night they are put back into the drying-house. When quite dry the flesh is placed on mats on the beach, the mats being piled into a stack, with a piece of canvas over them at night. When dry enough the flesh is " acked in sacks, each a folding about two hun- dred pounds, and sent to a Chinese commission merchant in San Fran- cisco, who ships them to China. A few years ago some Americans, who had ob- served the large quantities of abalone shipped to China, tried to find a process of making the flesh of the abalone soft and palatable. The abalone lives in deep, pure ocean water, and is

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ABALONE - FISHING. 2905 a clean feeder, so that its flesh is superior in soundness and wholesomeness to that of oysters and other marine creatures which live near shore in water contaminated by many im- purities. Besides this, the viscera of these creatures must be swallowed whole, while those of the abalone are quite separate from the muscular or edible part, and can be cut away by one stroke of a knife. The weight of a fairly large fresh abalone is two pounds, of which all but half a pound is good meat, the shell being very light. The meat is nutritious, being highly albuminous, like that of clams, oysters, lobsters, and shell-fish generally. Albumen is one of the chief elements of nutrition in milk, cheese, eggs, etc. But the flesh, as it comes from the shell, is too tough to be eaten, whether uncooked, boiled, stewed, or fried. ‘The toughness used to be partly eliminated by pounding and hammering it, but this did not render the meat really tender. No matter how long it may be boiled, the flesh remains hard. After many experiments, a San From a Photo, by\ The village of Chinese abalone-fishers at Monterey Bay. Franciscan named J. W. Gayetty discovered that if the abalone is killed by electricity its flesh is rendered soft and succulent like that of an oyster. A company uses his method at an abalone-canning factory at Cayucos, San Luis Obispo County, Cal. This company owns several roomy, sea- The outside and inside of the abalone shell—Peari buttons are largely made from the nacreous material of the interior. From a Photo. by Commercial Art Co. . worthy boats, each carrying two Japanese divers, one of whom goes down for three or four hours and is then relieved by the other. ‘The diver tears the aba- jones, with moss and seaweed attached to them, from the (Putnam & Valentine.

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296 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. rocks and sends up the shells as rapidly as possible. Under ordinary conditions he can send up a ton of abalones in an hour. As soon as the boat comes to shore the abalones, if not wanted at once in the cannery, are thrown into a tank of salt water, the bottom of which is strewn with rocks, so as to resemble the floor of the ocean, and are kept there till they are wanted. The flesh and juice of the abalone and various souvenirs are made of the beautiful -iridescent material. The shells are used on the Pacific and Atlantic coasts of the United States, and are exported to Europe, the value being thirty-five to one hundred and thirty-five dollars per ton, according to their quality and the demands of the market. Abalone shell scraps are used for tiling, wainscoting, steps, balusters, etc. What is called “ mother- of-pearl paint,” when deposited on wood or Eleven thousand pieces of abalone meat drying on the beach at Point Lobos, California. From a Photograph. are treated together, and the product acquires a flavour more delicate than that of the oyster. This “abalone food” may be stewed or fried, while the juice makes a good broth, soup, or appetizer. It is relished by invalids, and can be retained when other foods nauseate. The leading hotels and restaurants of San Francisco, Los Angeles, Oakland, and other Californian cities have “ abalone chowder ” on their bills of fare, and there are many delicious ways of cook- ing the prepared flesh. Though the flesh and juice of the abalone are the most important parts, nothing is wasted. The shells alone pay all the expenses of opera- tion, the meat and juice being clear profit. The manufacture of pearl buttons depends largely on the nacreous material on the inner side of the abalone shell. Cuff-buttons, paper-cutters, scarf-pins, inkstands, knife-handles, candlesticks, metal, covers it with a pearly nacre, making the articles look as if carved from a single large shell. The viscera are gelatinous and yield a * glue of high value for the use of cabinet-makers, “so that it will be seen the abalone is of the greatest service to mankind, its body forming a nutritious food and its shell various ornamental and useful articles. There is no reason for fearing that the supply of abalones on the Californian coast will fail. Millions live at a depth. too great for divers, and as fast as an area of fishing-ground is depleted it is occupied by full-grown abalones coming in from the ocean. The work of diving for abalones is likely to be confined to Japanese and Chinese, as white men would want too high wages for such hard and dangerous work. The Japanese are not only skilful in capturjng the abalone but have no fears.

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The Old Mexican Mine. rn "Sebo By WALTER RopeERTs. A financier asked the author to pay a visit to a long-abandoned mine and make a report upon it. Mr. Roberts went out alone, and met with an experience which he is never likely to forget. PSSSqOME years ago I was acting as (CAN travelling correspondent for an im- <A] portant mining journal in the United States. I had to visit the various mining districts that were then most attracting public attention, and to write special articles about them, giving what independent information as to their merits and prospects I could gather. That my articles attracted some attention was attested by the fact that I received frequent letters from people who were entire strangers to me, asking in many cases for fuller information, and in some instances inviting me to visit particular mining properties. At the time of which I write there was much interest taken in gold-mining circles in some rich developments that had taken place along the great “mother-lode” in the Sierra Nevada of California, more especially in the counties of Tuolumne and Mariposa, in both of which very extensive operations were in progress. I had been for some time in “ Bret Harte’s country,” as these counties are called, had made myself entirely familiar with all that was going on, and Vol. xxiii —38. : had written a great deaP about it for my own journal and also for San Francisco daily papers. For a time Hornitos, in Mariposa County, was my headquarters, and there, one afternoon, the driver of the mail stage-coach brought me a lengthy communication from a wealthy mining speculator in San Francisco, whom I did not then know personally, but whose name at the time was a household word in mining camps. The letter contained an introduction from my managing editor in the shape of one of his visiting-cards, on which was stencilled, “Do all you can for Captain Pascoe, who will explain matters.” e Captain Pascoe’s letter explained that he had taken an offer of an old “‘prospect,” where a shaft had been sunk in the early ’sixties. It was said that when work was abandoned in the shaft for want of money to continue it, at a depth of sixty to eighty feet, there was a “ good showing,” and as the situation of the property was right on the line of the great mother-lode Captain Pascoe felt inclined, in view of recent discoveries, to spend a little money on further

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298 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, exploratory work. As for myself, he did not wish me to send him an “expert” report, but only to visit the place, make a general investiga- tion, and advise him by wire if I thought it worth his while to send up a mining engineer and a crew of men to thoroughly prospect the vein. The old shaft had been sunk by Mexicans, and what information Captain Pascoe had about it was derived from some of them after a lapse of thirty years. Mexicans’ information about mining property in the sale of which they have a direct pecuniary interest is, to say the least, of more than doubtful value when fresh ; when it has the romance of a generation super- added, it is of a kind to make Ananias turn in his grave and groan with envy. I knew where the old Mexican mine was situated, though I had never been actually on the spot. It lay some two or three miles south of an old trail that led from the Mercer River to Coulterville, an important new mining town- ship on Maxwell's Creck, and was distant not more than twenty miles from where I was at Hornitos. Accordingly, I telegraphed to Captain Pascoe that I would visit the mine and let him know the result from Coulterville. A rancher who happened to be passing through Hornitos gave me a lift in his wagon and set me down not more than four or five miles from the old shaft. The country there- abouts ran out into the foothills that stretch along the lower levels of the great Sierra Nevada. It was bare of large timber. Here and there were a few stunted trees and bushes, but the view was open for miles. In the background lay the great Sierra§tier upon tier of dark and ever darker purple, receding on the horizon in filmy white—either snow or clouds, it was hard to tell which. In front lay the fertile valley of the San Joaquin, with its vineyards, orchards, and farms; while Mount Diablo, in the dim distance, stood sentinel over the landscape. It was blazing hot as I walked along. What grass there was had been eaten bare on all sides by sheep, whose tracks ran in every direction. Coming upon a more than usually well-beaten track, I followed it for some distance till it brought me to a miserable, broken-down-looking shanty, occupied by a Mexican shepherd and his family. They spoke little English, but enough to indicate the way to the old mine, which was on the top of a little hill, remarkable for the fact that there was on it only one small, stunted tree, and that within a few yards of the mouth of the old shaft itself. The Mexican shepherd said I should find it a long walk, and advised my riding, for which purpose he offered to sell me his horse, as, owing to the dryness of the season, he had no feed for it. I eventually bought the animal, together with a saddle, bridle, and green-hide neck-rope, for twenty-five dollars, and arrived at the old shaft about two hours before sundown. I tied my horse securely to the one solitary tree, and then set about investigating the old mine. On the “dump,” as the pile of rock that comes out of the mine is called, I had no diffi- culty in discovering some rather nice-looking quartz. It was “sugary” ribbon-rock, apparently free milling, and even without a magnifying glass I could see fine specks of gold. I judged it to be rock that might average ten to twelve dollars of gold to the ton—good enough, if only there were sufficient of it. To form some idea as to that, I had to go down the shaft, the top of which was covered with some old rotten boards. These I easily removed, and then threw a few stones down. They fell with a “plump” into water at the bottom, and, judging by the sound, I estimated the depth to water- level at about fifty to sixty feet. The depth of the water at the bottom, of course, I could not even make a guess at. ‘laking off my coat and soft felt hat, I folded them together, and put them down near the shaft, with a chunk of rock on top to keep them trom blowing away. I had with me a very small geologist’s hammer, a couple of candles, my pipe and ’baccy, and my matches in a water- tight box. ‘This was my outfit as I prepared to descend the old shaft. As I have before remarked, timber was very scarce in the locality, and I found that what timber had been used in the shaft was of the worst description, being what miners call “round stuff”’—the limbs of trees and trunks of smalt saplings from which the bark had not been removed. This now hung in ghastly-looking strips, or had fallen to the bottom. The ladder by which I had to descend was a very primitive affair. For uprights it had sap- lings fastened to the walls by wooden pins, and the rungs were pieces of round branches about two feet apart. Weighing something in the neighbourhood of sixteen stone, I looked at that ladder with great disfavour. However, there was no help for it, and I started down, trying each rung carefully with one foot before I leant my full weight on it, and holding on by the uprights with my hands. I had got down about eight or ten feet when away went one of the rungs. I held on like grim death to the uprights, but out came the pins and away they went, too. I dropped about six feet and caught one of the lower rungs. It held me for about a second, and then carried away. I grabbed frantically at a lower one, and that came away also. Then I snatched at

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‘ THE OLD MEXICAN MINE. another, and another, pulling them all away and my velocity increasing momentarily till I came “souse” into the water, having stripped nearly every vestige of the ladder away in my descent, not to mention a ton or two of dirt and gravel. I went clean to the bottom of the “sump,” as the foot of the shaft where the water lies is called. It 299 There were five or six dead rattlesnakes, a couple of coyotes, some crows, an owl, and several other birds, all in various stages of decomposition, floating in the water amongst the broken sticks. Fortunately, their perfume was lost upon me, as a bump on the nose in my fall had temporarily unfitted that organ for business purposes. was about ten = = or twelve feet deep, and I got to the surface as quickly as I could _ struggle through all the débris that had littered down the shaft. I managed to fix two poles trans- versely a little above the water, and, scrambling on them, sat down toconsider the situation. The “pro- ceedin’s struck me as bein’ highly irreg’lar,” as an eminent Californian judge remarked when a disap pointed litigant knocked him off the bench with a volume of the statutes. I was scratched and bruised from head tofoot, but a careful exami- nation disclosed no broken bones. [I still had my little geologist’s pick in my belt, and my candles were see : Collecting all the sound sticks I could gather, I began to build a scaffolding across the shaft. Then I built another about seven feet above, .and passed the tim- ber of the lower one up on to that, drawing up the last of it with my waist- belt and some string I hap- pened to have in my pocket. About day- break, judging by the light at the top of the shaft, I was get- ting on famously and must have been about thirty feet above the water. Then I got to a part of the shaft where my sup- ports met with bad _ holding- ground. I-leant my weight on a transverse stick ; it gave way and went down, taking about a ton of earth with safe. It was night by this time, and, looking upwards, I could see the stars over the mouth of the shaft. They seemed quite low down and just above it. I lit one of my candles and made a more careful survey. When I looked down I got rather a shock. The old shaft seemed to be a favourite suicide ground for the animal creation. I lit one of my candles and made a more careful survey. it. I followed the earth after an instant’s delay, falling to the bottom of the “sump” again, and on coming to the surface renewed my acquaintance with the rattlesnakes, coyotes, and other carrion. I was a bit discouraged, but after a smoke —fortunately my tobacco, being “plug,” was not so wet that it would not smoke, and my pipe,

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300 though broken, had still enough stem left to get a “draw” out of it—I recommenced the laborious work of platform-building. , My efforts were not attended with success, however, and I again went into the “sump” in a hurry. Things were now getting beyond a joke, for it was near my second night out; it might be weeks before anyone came that way, and I had tied up my poor horse so firmly that there was small chance of his breaking away and going back with the saddle on to the Mexican ranch, and thereby giving the alarm. I was hungry, too, and sleepy. I ate a bit of my second candle, hada drink of the wateraround me, and then, strange tosay, slept like a top on half- a-dozen saplings which I fixed across the shaft about two feet above the water. I must have slept for a long time, for the sun was shin- ing into the shaft when I awoke. I was _ breakfasting frugally on a small piece of candle, when I heard the most welcome sound I ever heard in my life. It came from the surface, and it was a human voice that called :— “ Halloa, there !” “Halloa!” answered I. “What the deuce are you doin’ down there ?” demanded the voice. “Fell down the shaft,” was the answer. “ More fool you!” was the unfeeling comment. “Wait here till I come back.” “T won’t run away. Don’t fret about that,” I answered, and then, with a feeling of great inward satisfaction, I lit a fresh pipe with my last match. It seemed hours before my discoverer came back. He rode my horse over to the Mexican ranch, where he got some green-hide ropes and enlisted the services of the Mexican. Between THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. them they pulled me to the surface, taking a turn of the rope round the tree and “ yanking ” me up a few feet at a time. My rescuer, I discovered, was old Jim Arkell, a veteran prospector and pioneer in Mariposa and Tuolumne counties. He had seen my horse on the previous day when he passed along the trail some distance away. Observing it still in the same place next day, he surmised that some- Between them they pulled me to the surface. thing must be wrong, and on coming over to the mine found the boards off the mouth of the shaft, and my hat and coat lying on the ground. Old Jim came along with me as far as Johnny Grapes’s vineyard, where we had a time of rejoicing. It was really necessary, for I believe that nothing short of the “ Jackass” brandy of local production would have taken the taste of the water in that horrible pit out of my mouth. Later I made a report to Captain Pascoe, in which I pointed out that I had “gone thoroughly into” the mine, and had “ prospected it right to the bottom” ‘more than once. On the strength of my report Captain Pascoe bought it, and the last time I saw him he told me he was quite satisfied with his purchase.

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A Mystery of the Bush. By G. L. Prior. Telling how the children of a South Australian stockman were kidnapped by a black fellow, and of the life-and-death race that ensued until the little mites were finally recovered unharmed. To this day the author has never been able to solve the problem which the story suggests—Was “ Lottery” telling the truth or not? Police Camp, Innaminka. DeaR Mr. Priok,—Just a line to advise you that Lottery is travelling down the creek in company with four lubras. Will you kindly p an eye upon him and endeavour to protect him as far as possible ?—Yours faithfully, R SERGEANT, O ran a letter I received one morning at Koounginanjania cattle-station, on the Strelecki, in the north of South @| Australia, of which I was the manager. The communication did not interest me particularly, for I had received several similar ones previously—every time, in fact, that the said Lottery had been overcome by the inevitable craving of all Australian aboriginals to “ go walk- about,” or, in other words, temporarily renounce his duties as black tracker at Innaminka Police Camp and revert for a few weeks to his native haunts and habits, untrammelled by the con- ventions of the state of semi-civilization that had been thrust upon him by force of circumstances. Lottery was by birth and inclination a “ War- rigal nigger,” hating white men and their ways with all the intensity of which the untutored savage is capable. Fear of the white man’s revenge alone compelled him to seek sanctuary in the police camp, the only place in which he was safe from the rifles of many stockmen in the North, who would have shot him on sight had they encountered him alone in the bush. Captured in the first instance on a charge of having murdered a stockman, Lottery had con- trived to outwit the police escort and escape. Recaptured some months afterwards he had again got away, only to be retaken and sent to Adelaide for trial. To the astonishment of all, this child of Nature actually succeeded in breaking out of Adelaide Jail, but after being recaptured for the fourth time he was finally tried and acquitted on the ground of insufficient evidence—a verdict that was so unpopular among the stockmen in the North, who regarded it as a gross miscarriage of justice, that many had openly avowed their intention of taking the law into their own hands if the opportunity should present itself. Indeed, so firmly were these men convinced of Lottery’s guilt, and so disgusted with what they considered the blundering of the despised “townies,” that swift retribution was only averted by Lottery’s attaching himself to the police force asa tracker, a post which assured for him all the protection that it was humanly possible to obtain. Lottery’s restless disposition, however, chafed at the enforced restrictions of life ina police camp, and he would from time to time “vo walk-about,” and, taking his life in his hand, roam for a while in defiance, yet ever in deadly fear, of the grim-faced bushmen. Extremely wild and wary by nature, Lottery, with the assistance of the lubras (women) who invariably accompanied him on these occasions, had been successful for a long time in evading the Nemesis that was on his track, but in order to protect him as much as possible the police always notified the station managers to be on the look-out whenever the wanderer was known to te making their way. As I have already said, the communication did not interest me very much, for I considered Lottery quite capable of looking after his own skin. Moreover, I had other things to attend to, for the drought had just broken up, and with the advent of rain had come the oppor- tunity and necessity for making a fortnight’'s mustering expedition. All hands were busy making preparations, the women-folk cooking and preparing supplies and the men overhauling and getting their gear in order. So it came to pass that after lunch no one noticed my two little daughters, Connie and Tot, aged five and seven respectively, stray away in search of the brilliant flowers that had sprung up as though hy magic after the recent downpour of rain. It was nearly dusk before anyone observed that they were not playing around the house as usual. As calling proved futile, I immediately set some of the lubras that were working about the homestead to find and follow their tracks. This was soon accomplished, and a great fear seized me when we found that the tiny wander- ing footsteps were leading nearer and ever nearer to the creek, which, swollen by the recent rain, was coming down “a banker.” The tracks led on up to the bank of the creek, and here I was pleased to find the children had turned aside, but darkness gathered apace, and soon we were unable to follow the trail any longer. All night long the station hands and a dozen black boys and lubras searched and shouted in vain, each carrying a firebrand and keeping in

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402 3 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. touch with one another. How eagerly I scanned the water’s edge may be readily imagined, for 1 feared that perchance the children might have stumbled into the creek in the darkness, yet no sign of the lost little ones Could we discover. Daybreak found us still searching and speedily enabled us to pick up the tracks lost in the darkness, It soon became evident that the children had continued to follow the creek in a northerly direction, evidently under the impression that it would lead them home, whereas, on the contrary, they were going up instead of down, and so being led farther and farther away. Before very long we found a place where the little ones, tired out, had fallen asleep at the foot of a great gum-tree. As soon as it was light they had continued to run on up the creek. We hurried off after them, feeling - greatly re- lieved and assured that we should soon overtake them. I kept close behind Billy Bone- broken, an old and faithful darky who had been long in my employ, and who was, in his way, much attached to the children. Though aged and somewhat lame, Billy’s skill in tracking was something to marvel at, and the keenness of his eyesight and Sherlock Holmes’like interpretation of the most trivial sign often put to shame the bush-lore of younger and more active blacks. On this occasion Billy Bone-broken fully maintained his reputation; hobbling along as fast as his legs could carry him, he kept up a running fire of observations. “ Bin see it snake and away run,” he exclaimed, suddenly, as the tracks turned sharply to one side ; and he showed us where the children had turned and run away from some snake that had left nothing save a freshly-overturned dead leaf here and there to mark its passage. “Here bin sit down,” and he pointed to the foot of a gum-tree where they had rested awhile. “Getting hungry feller now,” he remarked later, indicating some bushes from which the berries had been recently gathered. “Close up knock up now, soon find it,” as the little footmarks showed plainly that the children were tiring fast. “ What for bin hide it like this ?” he queried, as he detected signs that the children had been walking behind some bushes. Suddenly the old man stopped as though shot. ‘Halloa, someone bin find it!” he ex- claimed. Then, motioning the others to keep Billy Bone-Broken, whose remark- shia skill enabled the search-party to the tracks of the lost children. From a Photograph. back, he gazed long and intently at the ground, which even a novice could tell had been trodden by several pairs of feet. ‘ Black feller’s track, black fellerand four lubra; him bin away take it,” announced the old man, with a curiously- puzzled expression upon his wrinkled face. “ Little missy bin knock up ; can’t walk no more. Lubra bin carry um. What for away take it?” In a flash there came to me the remembrance of the letter I had received the previous morning. “ It’s Lottery’s track!” I almost shouted. The old man gazed at me in astonish- ment; he knew nothing of the letter, but thought 1 had recognised the track by the same subtle sense that he himself had done, and my heart stood still as he gravely re- joined: “That Lottery ali right ; no good that one Lottery.” I, too, thought no good of Lot- tery, for 1 had often heard it prophesied that he would some day revenge himself upon the white men by some outrage similar to the one of which he had been accused. Why had he taken the children away instead of bringing them back to the station? The same thought must have occurred to us all simultaneously. At such a moment it is not necessary to speak; everyone seems to know instinctively what is in the mind of the others, though the only outward sign made might have been a slight involuntary movement of the hand towards the handles of our revolvers ; yet each man knew that his comrades had registered a mental oath that if harm had befallen the children Lottery would stand a very poor chance of being a second time acquitted on grounds of insufficient evidence, or, for that matter, ever surviving to be tried at all. The three white stockmen and myself —who, by the way, had undertaken the search so far on foot—stood as though spellbound for a few seconds. Then Billy’s remark, “Must get nanto” (horse), set us thinking and acting again. A moment later one of the stockmen was running madly back towards the station for horses, whilst the rest of the party pushed on after Billy, who was following the track left by Lottery and his lubras at such a pace that, lame though he was, it took us all our time to keep up with him. Presently, like a hound at fault, he stood fora moment undecided and then com- menced hobbling excitedly hither and thither. With a yell he disappeared behind a bush and returned holding something towards me with a

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A MYSTERY OF THE BUSH. 303 He held ont to me what I immediately recognised with s thrill of horror as my children's hair. look upon his face I shall never forget. His dusky skin had turned absolutely ashy grey as he held out to me what I immediately recognised, with a thrill of horror, as my children’s hair, which had evidently been cropped close to their heads. “What for cut it like that?” I queried, shakily ; but the old man either could not or would not reply, yet I knew full well that he either knew or suspected that something dread- ful had happened, or was about to happen, to my children. : Only those who have lived for years among them realize how little the whites—or, for that matter, the present generation of Australian aboriginals themselves — know of the many strange, fast-disappearing rites and ceremonies still at times practised with utmost secrecy by the natives among the wild and impenetrable fastnesses of the Northern bush. The genuine Warrigal black, who still clings to these old observances, holds little communication with his fellows who have worked for or been associated with the whites in any way. Lottery, as before mentioned, was a wild creature of the woods whose acquaintance with white men had been like that of a trapped tiger. Billy was a much older man, who had only rubbed shoulders with civilization late in life. Consequently both were well acquainted with the inner life and habits of the wild tribes. That Billy knew or feared that this cutting off

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304 THE of both the children’s hair was but a prelude to some diabolical rite or heralded some unthink- able atrocity was plainly to be seen by his blanched face and the look in his eyes, which shone with a murderous fire that boded no good to his fellow-countryman. ‘To question him further would, I knew well, be worse than useless, so I waited as patiently as I could until the old man had finished his examination of the surrounding thicket, and once more commenced to hobble off along the track left by Lottery and his lubras. This led in a direction at an angle to the creek, away from the station and towards the vast tracts of wild, unexplored country around Lake Wancoocha, which was one of the head-quarters of the notoriously bad tribe of blacks to which Lottery belonged. I sent a black boy back post-haste to the station, telling him to start every man and lubra on the place out in pursuit, and within a few hours a dozen willing, half-wild mounted black boys, with as many more lubras on fvot, had joined in the chase, and were riding and searching in a long open line across the sandhills, keeping in communication with one another ‘by means of smoke signals. To us who followed Lottery’s track it was evident that he was making for the wilderness with feverish haste. He had selected a line that was practically a continuous chain of clay- pans, across which the walking was much easier than over the sandhills, and where his tracks were extremely difficult to follow. Indeed, but for Billy’s extraordinary capabilities there is little doubt that our progress would have been pain- fully slow and tedious, even if we had succeeded in following the track at all, which is doubtful. Time and again we felt convinced—and said so—that Billy must have overrun the track and be going on in the hope of finding it again. Billy’s only response was to ride stolidly ahead until he came to a patch of softer ground, where he would draw rein and point to where the impressions were so plain that they could readily be distinguished. Upon one such occasion I could swear that I heard him mutter beneath his breath :— “Fool feller you can’t see it!” Under any other circumstances prompt retribution would haye followed even the sus- picion of such an unpardonable remark. As it was, I pretended to have noticed nothing, but took the hint and asked no more questions, following my keen-eyed guide with implicit faith as he cantered along, checking his horse every now and again as though in doubt, but ever urging him on afresh as that seemingly invisible track revealed to him every step his quarry had taken. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. To add to our troubles, with sunset there came a heavy fall of rain, which, of course, obliterated the tracks altogether. The following two days were spent in an agony of suspense and unsuccessful searching. Anxiously we climbed sandhill after sandhill, scanning the line of smokes in the hope of seeing three rising close together, which would announce that one of the black boys had picked up the track or sighted the fugitives. At last, on the morning of the third day, the long-delayed signal was seen curling skywards on our extreme right. “Him close up Take Wancoocha, boss,” exclaimed Billy Bone-broken. — Forthwith he urged his horse into a gallop, heading for a point some distance to the north of the spot whence the signal was rising. Hard and fast we rode, you may be sure ; and the cessation of the other signals told plainly that all the searchers were converging upon the fugitive. Heaven help Lottery and his lubras should three or four black boys together come up with them before one of the whites came upon the scene! I knew full well that without the restraining influence of a white man the whole lot would be murdered out of hand, without the slightest hesitation or chance of offering any explanation whatever; for all black boys remain savages at heart, and in a chase of this description would be sure to lose their heads, and, urged on by tribal hatred and lust for blood, would simply rush in with the unreasoning ferocity of a pack of hounds upon their quarry. Once they had tasted blood it was by no means improbable, in their blind frenzy, that they might slay the very children they had started out to save. Heavens, what a ride that was! Our horses’ hoofs rattled loudly over the hard clay-pans as mile after mile flashed by ; while in my heart hope and fear alternated. On, on we sped till the shores of the lake suddenly appeared seemingly but a few yards ahead ; but it was only a mirage, though, per- haps, the most wonderful in the world. For miles round Lake Wancoocha, a stranger ap- proaching would swear that the shore of the lake was only twenty yards ahead all the way until he rode close up to the actual lake. This particularly curious mirage only vanishes a few moments before the lake itself comes into view. Billy was close alongside me as the vision disappeared. “Close up appa (water) now, boss,” he shouted, as with a final effort our panting steeds dashed up a ridge, from the summit of which the lake could be seen in reality for the first time. There, across the plain, we witnessed a strange

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He rode monkey-fashion, with feet out of the stirrups and reins loose upon his horse's neck, gesticulating wildly with both arms. and exciting scene as we galloped along, power- less to do aught but shout advice and warnings that could not possibly be heard. A mile and a half ahead Lottery and his lubras were flying for their lives, while half a mile behind them raced three black boys, urging their horses to their utmost speed, and mad with excitement. From our point of vantage _ we could see what they could not—that Lottery stood a good chance of escaping, for the time being, at any rate—for ahead, just round the end of a belt of timber, the white tents of a police-patrol camp gleamed in the sunlight. Billy saw them and grasped their significance at once. My horse was tiring fast, and Billy forged Vol. xxiii.—39. A MYSTERY OF THE BUSH. 305 . ak roa ea | ahead, making a strange, uncouth picture as, attired in nothing but a shirt, which displayed prominently his twisted leg, he rode monkey- fashion, with feet out of the stirrups and reins loose upon his horse’s neck, gesticulating wildly with both arms. It was a neck-and-neck race at the finish, for Lottery turned the moment he spied the camp. But the fugitive won, he and his lubras tumbling headlong into the trooper’s tent so unexpectedly that the astonished officer had barely time to collect his wits before the black boys also rushed into the camp. Only with the greatest difficulty were they restrained from falling upon the exhausted and cringing Lottery, who was so frightened that it

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306 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. taking them back home, he started to carry them to the police camp at Innaminka. — Find- ing that he was being pursued he tried to get away anywhere, finally abandoning the children in the bush when hard pressed. What would have occurred had not a patrol of police happened to have been camping on the shore of Lake Wancoocha can easily be imagined. His tale seemed so plausible that I was com- pelled to accept it, though the way in which he averted his eyes when Billy confronted him made me doubtful of the truth of his statements. That there was some understanding between them I am certain, yet nothing could overcome Billy's reticence or induce him to offer any explanation. “No good that one Lottery,” was all he would ever say upon the subject. For myself, 1 was so overjoyed at finding the little ones, whom I had almost given up as lost, that I gave Lottery the benefit of the doubt, and he was accordingly released, though I and many others who were in the district was some time before he could recover himself at the time often think that a terrible tragedy sufficiently to say more than “In blanket; in was only averted by the exceptional tracking blanket!” By the time I arrived it had been abilities of old Billy Bone-broken. ascertained that the children were _ safe, somewhere or other, in a blanket. Lottery was arrested, pending developments, though with the aid of one of his lubras it was not long before I found both Connie and Dot fast asleep beneath a tree, rolled up in one of the blankets served out by the Government to the aboriginals. Lottery’s — explana- tion of his strange conduct was simple, yet not altogether con- vincing, When he found the children they were in a fever, and so his lubras cut off their hair (which we had found), as they do with their own piccaninnies under similar circumstances. Then he got frightened that they would die, and that he would be . blamed for it and A present-day photograph of Miss Dot (on left) and Miss Connie Prior (on right)—The latter is : : holding the hair which was cut off their heads by the aboriginals, and behind them is the blanket in killed; so, instead of which they were found, A photograph of the two child taken just after they were found, and showing their cropped heads. ra

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THE WIDE WORLD: In Other Magazines. PITY THE POOR — NYONE glancing casually at this photograph, which A appears in THE STRAND MaGaziNE, and which was taken just outside Jerusalem, would imagine the man to be carrying an enormous load of boxes, whereas he is really walking in front of a camel. THE DIAMOND MOUNTAINS OF KOREA. HERE are thirty-four monasteries and monastic shrines in the Diamond Mountains of Korea, and they are tended by three hundred monks and sixty nuns. Chang-an is the oldest, and has been in existence for some generations. In A.D. 515, during the reign of Po-pheung, a king of Silla, it was restored by two monks, Yul-sa and Chinkyo. Other monasteries akin to this in their romantic setting and Picturesque seclusion are Pyo-un—which, together with Chang-an, is situated upon the western slopes—Yu-chom and Sin-ga upon the eastern slopes. These, with thirty others of less import- ance, excite the most profound interest and enthusiasm among the Koreans, many of whom repeatedly brave the difficulties and fatigues of travel in the Keum-kang-san to visit them.—FROM ‘‘ THE SUNDAY STRAND.” THE MAORI CANUTE. IR JOSEPH WARD, the popular Prime Minister of New Zealand, likes a good story, and he can also tell an amusing one. [ere is a favourite. A certain Maori ‘‘ witch-doctor” was held in great awe and reverence by the superstitious natives. This man claimed that he was enabled by his magic to walk upon the water, and one day his disciples went with him to the sea-shore, expecting to see him perform the miracle. When they reached the water’s edge the man turned to his followers. ‘‘Do you all really believe that I can walk on the sea?” he asked, in solemn tones. ‘‘ Yes, yes,” they replied, reverently, ‘‘we do.” ‘‘ Then,” said the witch-doctor, as he walked coolly away, ‘‘ there is no need for me to do it.” —FROM ‘ TIT-BITS.”” PRIVILEGES FOR MARRIED TRAVELLERS. [s Norway married couples are charged a fare and a half when travelling on the railway, this being one of the privileges conferred on married people there. There are nearly a thousand miles of railway in that country, which, with the exception of forty-two miles, all belong to the State. In Austria and Hungary, where the zone system of railway travelling was first introduced, a wife who is accompanied by her husband can travel at half-fare ; children of the same family from six to twelve travel at one-third fare—if more than two only one-fourth rate is charged ; from twelve to twenty they travel at half fare. —FROM ‘*‘ WOMAN’S LIFE.” RIDING ON’ AN AVALANCHE. a es whole white mass commenced to move slowly down, carrying us with it and gaining impetus each moment. At once I realized our horrible position. I looked around ine. Everything was moving—every- thing. The speed increased, the large slabs of snow began to mount one on to the other and slide down together with a noise like rustling silk. I was helpless— uite calm, funnily enough ; and under the beautiful blue sky and shining sun we were slipping towards the awful precipice. All four of us were more or less buried in the soft, moving mass, absolutely incapable of doing anything to save ourselves ; but we could just discern below us to our right a little rock. The thought flashed through our minds : Could we possibly reach it in time? It was our More swimming than walking we struggled My three friends only hope. towards it. just reached it in time. I was too late and was carried past; but, with the last effort as of a drowning man who clutches at a straw, J threw out my arm and found it gripped. Thank Heaven ! —FROM ‘ FRY’S MAGAZINE.”

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Odds and Ends. A Peripatetic Restaurant—When Niagara Ran Dry—A Tree on a Tower, etc. Feeake WHE eating-stall is quite an institution John cooks weird dainties into the composition '¢ yAN| in China, and the average China- of which it is unwise to inquire, for the China- Ds! eg } man thinks nothing of stopping and man has a scientific appetite—that is to say, he |~a> | having a feed at a street restaurant. will eat anything that in any way forms food. ——— The _ photo- Squeamishness is a graph here reproduced depicts a peripatetic café, the proprietor carrying the whole of his stock-in-trade on his shoulders. The stall itself consists of two cylindrical boxes attached to a yoke or pole. One of these boxes usually con- tains a fire, on which sensation unknown to him. The keepers of these street stalls sell good fruit, ex- cellent pastries, and simply delicious sweets at a price so low that it would astonish even the proprietor of an Italian restaurant. fire in one box and his stock-in-trade in the other. Everything is wonderfully cheap, but it is not wise to inquire too closely into the composition of some of the dishes. From a Photograph.

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ENDS. ODDS AND 4 3 3 3 8 z i= E 3 é 5 3 2 5 14 yc 3 2 3 & 3 3 Zz s 3 Es The American From a) 2 Ps Bie Ss nad Sons aa ae o wes 3.82 2O Ete c ° us} it appeare asing roar and clouds of eddy second picture forms a strik e. flow was diverted by ice-jams and winds that swept the water back up Lake Erie and allowed and 16th of this year, when nearly the entire the fall as ci The raphs here reproduced American cataract as it is great The two striking photog) depict the American Fall of Niagara. the precipice, to the accompaniment of a never- appears at ordinary times, with its full volume of water pouring majestically over the brink of first shows thi = = ee Put Sethe Py Natok ee da OSES St aaa one ey tbs! al ge cheat sd Srp Sac’ ‘stale tLe ee ICE 6 TORS be “th ES Bie oe) Pere ey 5. SRE PS EE oe Seah wae ae Gk EO ere FI & E ka £ i 8 2 3 = H 3 8 | 2 z rand near to (Photograph. People came from fa: . 3 ® i 3 3 3 A 3 H 3 5 February, it appeared ii The Fall as From a)

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eA uy Q ! S25 rye VALAY) " er 310 THE WIDE WORLD SALE OF INHERITED INDIAN LANDS The public is hereby Informed that the following list of Inherited Indian lands, within the limts of the Crow Agency, Montana, are offered for sale under Secton 7 of the act of congress approved May 27, 1902. Allottee. Advertised by Description of Land | Acre: age 40 70 5 80 S%N% 161N33E .|160 Root Digger ..........,Fox Woman . Big Elk ... Covers Hig Nock ..,../Pretty Shield ......... Pretty Striped Snake . Strong Bull . : Little Coyote -|W% SEX 10 1S 33 BE} 80 S% NE% 1018 33 © 80 Lot 9, 3 .. Crooked Face \Strikea the Shield First) Brings Two Horses Egg Woman Morning Star -.. Ten Bears .......-.--/Buffalo That Shaki Charles Tenbear River Crow ........--|Philip Eagleturns May Owlabove ‘|NEY, SW% 111.8 33 E] 40 .|S% NW% 1218S 33 Ej 80 .|N% SW%12 18 $3 E 80 Willows .,... S% SW% 1218 33 E| 80 Medicine Rope ,......|Medicine ‘Medicine . .|NEX NW% 1318 33 E] 40 The Boy: .vcessseveses Plenty Medicine Rock|S% NW% 131 8 33 E) 80 Looks at the Rising Sunjiron Fork .. eee Striped Snake Two Horses INo Medicine [Comes to See the Buflala .. Strikes the Chief ,,,../Pretty on Top . Gets There First eed eeptiagae 40 |N% NEM 13.18 33 B] 80 .INW% SW% 131833 B] 40 Bad Bul) Strikes the Top Looks at thy SW% SW 13 F838 B] 40 Buffalo Calf ..,,.,... |Goes to Ground Every-} * “ ‘Takes Across the Water ... . ‘rooked Arm .. Neséswieisi's'aa 8 80 Knows Her Scalp .,../Otter That Shows .... : {O.d Bird Woman .....|SW% NE% ....0.... Strong Well Known ..|NW% SEX 14158 33 E| A facsimile of a Govern- ment notice referring to Indian lands — Notice the extraordinary names of the owners. only an_ insignifi- cant trickle to pass over the cataract. DPhis: “'Diry Niagara” scene, needless to say, attracted great attention, and people hurried from far and near to witness the unique spectacle. A somewhat similar pheno- Menon was wit- From a) MAGAZINE. nessed again early in April, when the dammed-up waters above the falls rose forty feet above their normal level and caused untold damage. The list reproduced on this page is a facsimile of a portion of a notice pub- lished in the Billings, Montana, Gazette, relating to the sale of allotted Crow Indian lands. Our readers will notice the extraordinary names of some of the advertisers, and one trembles to think what a directory of the tribe would look like. A well-known landowner in Bengal employs several of his elephants, when not engaged in shikar, in dragging an iron roller over his metalled roads, effect- ing a considerable saving in his labour bill in this way. It is not every elephant, however, that will lend himself to such work ; and, indeed, animals for this work require to be selected with caution. The mischief that an elephant bolting with a roller behind him would cause may Le better imagined than described. “Jack Frost” has a way of producing some very extraordinary artistic effects. Look, for example, at the photograph shown at the top of the opposite page, which was taken in the mountains of Silesia. It shows one of the inns scattered here and there in the forests. The whole building has been thickly enveloped in hoar-frost, giving it the appearance of some creation of the con- fectioner’s art. Trees, rocks, underbrush, (Photogr apn.

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ODDS AND ENDS. 3it ago (writes a reader) my attention was drawn to the Court House tower, on which was growing a tree, as shown in the following photograph. From an old resident I learned that the Court House was built in 1854, and about 1878 a soft maple tree commenced to grow on the tower, getting its nutriment, apparently, from sand in the concrete. It is a hundred and thirty-five feet — ~ 7 From a) A freak of “Jack Frost."” (Photograph. and telegraph-poles are hidden by a similar dis- guise, until they become absolutely unrecog- nisable, and everything looks as though it had been coated with crystallized sugar. The effects witnessed are charming, but when a lonely wanderer encounters one of the storms which cause them he is likely to have an extremely unpleasant and even dangerous experience. Below is a striking natural curiosity from India. A Ficus religiosa, or sacred pepul tree, is seen growing round a date palm, the portion of the bark clinging round the palm resembling a huge lizard. People come from far and wide to behold this remarkable illusion. When in Greensburg, Indiana, a few months — ra creme . sis oni 7 A tree ing on the top of a tower—It is conjectured that it must : ‘Acatriking ‘netaral carjesity from Jadia. have sprung from ‘a seed dropped by @ bird tn « crevice of the 3 From a Photograph. 5 From a) stonework, (Photograph,

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gi2 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. from the ground, sheds its leaves regularly, as every self-respecting tree should, and generally keeps seasonable pace with other vegetation growing under normal conditions — on Mother Earth. Opinions are divided regarding its origin, but it is com- monly supposed that a seed must have been dropped by a bird in the crevice from which it grows. One of the last of the wild creatures one would expect to see trained for the service of man_ is the moose, the largest of the deer family. Full grown, it attains a height to the shoulder of over 5 six feet, and is exceed- “From a Piste. by) A moose that has been trained to harness. (E,W. Mathers ingly hardy and _ strong. Unlike the caribou and many other of the big and trained moose to draw heavy loads. One of deer, the moose is docile in captivity — not these animals is shown in our photograph. Their foolishly frightened, like most of its species, owners, for reasons that are obvious, always saw but steady, confiding, and affectionate. Inthe — offtheir wide-spreading antlers; a prod from these, far northern districts of Canada one occasionally even in play, would probably mean a serious meets a tribe of native Indians who have tamed wound, hence the necessity of removing them. Taroucn THe Rocky ed: The Bentsen . ee ; MOUNTAINS ON A RY apowaey GLASSGEVE Cen. eT P ep, he OX © e When Niagara Ran Dry A Feripatetic Restaurant j = wsy POLKA 4 acelin hy Ni Pegs, é A Lost HAMLET ‘THE OLD x, ATLANTIC arte ret | °. .. OF Tucson PEGGING OU je JAIL BREAK AT Sa THE EMPIRI KUNGYANGON - How I CLIMBED G Mount PopocaTEAE: UNDER THE STAR v CRESCENT , 7 A MYSTERY OF THE Bus’ The map-contents of “ "The Wide World Magazine,” ig which shows at a » glance the locality. of each article and narrative of adventure in this number.

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Digitized by Google

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DIGGING HIS CRUTCH DEEP IN THE SAND, HE BRACED HIMSELF TO WITHSTAND THE IMPACT. (SER PACE 322.) Digttized by Google

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Vol. XXIII. AUGUST, 1909. No. 136. An Artist's Adventure. By H. A. Hamicton. The story of a lame man’s terrible race with the tide. fN the long list of unexpected expe- ! riences which have from time to i time fallen to the lot of persons whose ordinary lives and occupa- tions are quiet and uneventful, it would probably be hard to find a more remark- able adventure than that which occurred in Boston Harbour, U.S.A., some years ago to a certain Mr. George Evans, an American artist. Few, if any, men have been called upon to prove, in such a terrible manner as he did, the grim truth of the old saying, “Time and tide wait for no man.” The story of Evans’s experience, as told below, possesses a peculiar interest, on account of the fact that he was lame and, excepting for very short distances, unable to get about without the use of a crutch—a circumstance which, needless to say, rendered him less capable of contending with unusual difficulties than a man who was not so afflicted. At the time the incident took place Mr. Evans was visiting some friends who had rented a cottage at Hull, a favourite Boston seaside resort. During the day, while the men of the family were absent in the city, Evans occupied his time in making a series of sketches of Boston Harbour and its approaches. On the particular day in question he set out from Hull alone, as was his custom, in a small boat, the property of his friends. He possessed a fair knowledge of the management of sailing- craft, although, until his present visit to Hull, his experience in that line had been confined to boating on rivers and lakes. The boat which he used on this occasion was Vol. xxiii—40, not of the ordinary wooden type, but was built of very light sheet-metal, rigged as what is known as 2 “catboat,” and, with the exception of three or four feet of deck forward, was practically open. g The weather when he left Hull was fine, clear, and sunny, for it was the middle of September ; and a gentle breeze from the south soon carried him clear of the harbour entrance. Having brought his boat into position off Lighthouse Island, Evans lowered his sail, and, taking out his drawing materials, set to work on a sketch of Boston Lighthouse and the neigh- bouring islands. It was not long, however, before he discovered that the conditions were not favourable for sketching, as a long, heavy swelt setting in from the south-east rocked the boat about a good deal. Nevertheless, as he was bringing his visit to a close on the following day, and this would therefore be the only oppor- tunity he would have for completing his picture, he determined to make the best of matters and work on. An hour or more had passed thus, when the sky began to cloud over and the atmosphere grew decidedly cool. Pausing for awhile in his work to look around him, Evans perceived a thin grey mist creeping up, which presently resolved itself into drifting wreaths of fog, rolling gently in on the light breeze. For some minutes he sat watching the strange sight, wondering at the same time whether it would be possible to reproduce it on paper or canvas. Turning at length to put the last few finishing touches to his sketch, he discovered, to his

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316 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. amazement, that the fog was settling down so densely over the harbour that lighthouse and islands would soon be shut out from view. During the two or three weeks he had spent at Hull, Evans had seen enough of these September fogs to know what they meant. Coming on as they so frequently do towards the close of the afternoon, they shut down so thick that the greater part of the traffic in. the harbour comes toa standstill for the time being ; even the excursion steamers, whose .pilots are familiar with every foot of the harbour, are obliged to stop running. Hurriedly stowing his pencils and pads away, Evans set about getting sail on the boat so as to get inside the harbour and back to Hull while there was still a possibility of seeing his way. But he had hardly trimmed his sheet and brought the boat close to the wind when the sail began to flap, and before many minutes what little breeze there was diced away to a flat calm. As the boat was without oars the artist was now helpless so far as making any progress was concerned, and was therefore obliged to possess himself with what patience he could until a breeze came along. And so he lay, with idly flapping sail, the boat rising and falling on the long ocean swell that swept in towards the harbour. He could see nothing, for the fog was now as thick as a blanket, and all he could hear was the distant surge and splash of the waves upon the rocks and, at regular intervals and seemingly right over his head, the high pitched notes of the fog siren on Boston Lighthouse. As he lay thus becalmed it would appear, from subsequent events, that the flood tide carried him some little distance inside the harbour entrance, and when at length the breeze sprang up again Evans was led to conclude that it was still from the southward, for he could still hear the siren on his starboard quarter. So he flattened in his sheet once more and stood away close on the port tack, a course which would have served his purpose admirably had the wind really been from the direction which he supposed. Judging from w after- wards happened, however, it is very evident that the return of the breeze was in reality a shift of wind to south-west, so that instead of sailing up a clear channel he was blindly running his boat into danger. The breeze came along in freshen- ing gusts, and the boat, hecling to the weight of it, slipped through the water at a good pace. Evans, all unconscious of the catastrophe looming ahead, was actually congratulating him- self upon his good fortune, when he suddenly caught the unmistakable sound of waves break- ing upon a beach, evidently close at hand. With a sudden sense of apprehension he leaned forward to try to pierce the thick gloom ahead, but before he could grasp what was happening the boat was lifted on the crest of a huge comber and the next instant dropped with a heavy crash on to the beach. Actuated more by instinct than by any promptings of reason, Evans grabbed his crutch, which lay in the stern-sheets beside him, and scrambled with all possible speed from the boat on to the sand. How he succeeded in doing so without even getting wet was more than he could ever explain: for when he turned to look at the boat he found it lying on its beam-ends, almost parallel to the shore, with its bottom turned towards him, while each sea that came along washed right over it. ‘The cause of its capsizing so readily was due, as he at once saw, to the fact that it was practically flat-bottomed and fitted with an unusually deep keel, which caused it to heel right over as the water receded from beneath it. As he stood viewing the disastrous result of his foolhardy sail through the fog, Evans recog- nised the utter impossibility of attempting to right the boat ; so, consoling himself with the fact of having escaped without injury, he natur- ally began to wonder what to do next. He had not the remotest idea as to where he had landed ; for the fog was so dense that it was impossible to see more than three or four yards in any direction, Concluding, however, that he had by some unaccountable ineans run ashore on one of the islands round about, he d ed to walk inland and see if he could obtain some assistance in getting to Hull, or, failing that, at least procure shelter until the fog cleared. He therefore struck off straight up from the water, but had not proceeded many yards when, to his amazement, he found he was approaching the sea on the other side. It occurred to him then that this would most likely be a narrow neck of beach at the end of the island, and, turning off to his right, he continued on. But still, to his surprise, the ground did not appear either to widen or rise, and there were. still waves breaking on each side of the narrow bank. Growing somewhat puzzled, he decided to face about and investigate in the opposite direction. Passing the place where his boat lay, he noticed that it seemed somewhat farther off the beach, and made a mental note of the fact that the tide must be rising pretty fast. When he had walked some considerable dis- tance in this new direction and found no change in his surroundings he began to grow somewhat anxious, for apparently there was no land to be

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AN ARTIST’S ADVENTURE. 317 He suddenly caught the unmistakable sound of waves breaking upon a beach, evidently close at band. reached in either direction higher or broader than that on which he then was. As he stood in a state of growing uncertainty as to what he ought to do, he noticed, for the first time, the tolling of a bell at short regular intervals, apparently no great distance away. For some moments he stood listening to it and to the Boston Lighthouse siren, while a sus- picion which had risen in his mind gradually grew to a certainty. In some inexplicable manner he had run his boat on to the Great Brewster Spit. It seemed utterly incredible to him how he could ever have got there ; but, nevertheless, everything now seemed to point to the fact—the narrow sandy ridge on which he stood, the direction from which he heard the siren, and the bell, which, he’ felt convinced, could not be anything else but the fog-signal on the “Bug” Lighthouse. In fact, it was only a week or so previous to this that he had included the Spit and lighthouse in one of his pictures. The Great Brewster Spit, it is here necessary to explain, is a long, narrow ridge in Boston Harbour, extending in a peculiar, tortuous fashion from Great Brewster Island, at the north-easterly side of the entrance, to what is known as the “Narrows” Channel. Here its extremity is marked by a “pile” lighthouse, Officially named the “Narrows,” but locally known as the “ Bug” light. Following its many curves and bends, the Spit is nearly a mile and a half in length, though a direct line from the “ Bug” to the island measures something less than a mile. At low water the Spit is left dry, being then some two or three feet above low-water level, but at high water the tide rises over it to a height of from nine to twelve feet. As Evans was quite familiar with these facts concerning the tides, some idea may be formed as to his feelings now that he was perfectly satisfied in his mind as to where he was. With a sudden thrill of apprehension he remembered the boat as he had passed it a few minutes before. The tide, as he then plainly saw, was rising fast, and in a short space of time the entire Spit would be covered with a depth of water more than sufficient to drown him, crippled and unable to swim as he was. As the full sense of his perilous situation broke upon him, it seemed for some moments to render him almost incapable of the power to think. Presently, however, he recovered his self-control, and cast about in his mind for some way out of

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318 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. his predicament. There were, however, but two courses open to bin he must try to reach either Great Brewster Island or the “Bug” Light- house before the tide rose sufficiently to cut him off. But which should he decide upon? He had no means of telling on what particular part of the Spit he was stranded. At times the tolling of the bell sounded so plain that it seemed as though it must be close at hand ; then, again, at the end of the silent interval, the next stroke, influenced by some vagary of the atmosphere, would have a faraway echo, leading him to the conclusion that he must, after all, be nearer to the island. His uncertainty of mind on this point was positively painful—and all the while the waves rolled steadily in and broke with a dreary, sinister moan on the sand, before and behind him, as if warning him that his waste of precious moments might prove fatal. If only the fog would lift and give him an opportunity tos But there seemed to be no immediate prospect of this. In desperation Evans finally decided to make for the island, his decision being strengthened by the belief that the ridge must rise to some extent.as he neared the land, whereas, for all he could tell, its outer end might already be under water, His mind once made up, the artist took a firm grip of his crutch and started off on what was surely one of the most remarkable races ever run. Cruelly handicapped by Nature, he gtimnly set himself to outpace the unfaltering, incoming tide, knowing full well that in’ the event of failure bis life would pay the forfeit. Without allowing himsclf, however, to specu- late upon this latter dread contingency, he sped over the ground as he had never done in his life before. But he found the going laborious and exhausting over the soft sand. Sometimes his crutch slipped wide from him, while at other times it sank into a soft, muddy patch, requiring quite an effort to recover it and avoid toppling over at the same time. Although the air was chill and damp, the perspiration was soon streaming from him. The exertion was greater than anything he had ever been put to in his life before, yet he knew that, spite of heaving chest and sobbing breath, he must not think of relaxing his pace ih the least ; it was a question of his speed against that of the in-rolling tide. And thus, as he pushed resolutely on, peering into the vapoury gloom ahead, he gradually became aware that the fog was thinning. This fact stimulated him to renewed effort, the more so as he presently thought he could dimly dis- cern the outline of Brewster Island, apparently no great distance ahead. But the feeling of reassurance ty which this sight gave rise was somewhat damped when, some little distance farther along, he found himself turning off on one of the serpentine bends of the Spit—no longer approaching the island, but moving nearly Iel"to it. The fog, however, was now steadily drifting away, enabling him to see things around and ahead of him more and more distinctly each moment. Presently there occurred a momentary break in the western sky, and the yellow after- glow of sunset shed a parting gleam over the harbour. He paused for a moment to try to estimate what distance he still had to cover, and at the sight his heart sank within him. Measured in a direct line from where he stood, the island was in reality a much greater distance off than he had at first judged it to be through the veil of thinning fog, while the white lines of surf, clearly outlining the winding course of the Spit, disclosed to his anxious gaze the long, roundabout journey he had yet to make before he could consider himself out of danger. The situation was one well calculated to try the nerve of many a man more accustomed to dealing with desperate emergencies than was Mr. Evans. But, despite the quiet and uneventful nature of his ordinary daily life, Evans was fortunately possessed of a temperament which did not readily admit of defeat, a quality which now stood him in good stead. With a definite knowledge at last of the nature and extent of the danger with which he had to contend, he wasted no time in futile moanings over his bard luck, but, keeping a cool head and steady nerve, he swung along with all the speed that he was capable of in his physically handicapped condition. When he had covered some fifty or sixty yards more of his journey, he saw what he con- cluded must be the turn where the Spit recurved again towards the island. But the light had now died out of the sky, and in the gathering dusk, through which floated the last few straggling patches of the fog, he was fast losing the definite outline of distant objects. When, therefore, he arrived at what he had taken to be a bend in the Spit his dismay can well be imagined when he discovered that it was instead a narrow neck, across which the tide was already making a clean breach ! As he stopped for a minute to try to measure with his eye the distance which separated him from the dry portion of the Spit beyond, he noticed that as the waves spent their force the actual depth of the water was probably not more than eiyhteen inches. With the ever-present

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AN ARTIST’S ADVENTURE. 319 He watched for the breaking of the next heavy sea; and then, as it receded, he started off through the water. thought in his mind that time meant everything to him, he watched for the breaking of the next heavy sea; and then, as it receded, he started off through the water. He found it even more difficult to wade through the water with his crutch than to travel over the soft sand; but, spurred on by sheer desperation, he succeeded, after a hard struggle, in reaching dry land with no greater mishap than a wetting. Without a single backward glance he pushed on again, hardly daring to speculate as to what might yet be in store for him before he reached the island. On each side of his ever-narrowing path the great swell broke with a slow, rhythmic regularity, as though so certain of its victim as to obviate all need of haste. After a while he came again to a place where the waters met ac! the S it The sight sent y GOOgle gitized b

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320 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a thrill of dread through him, and a sudden sense of the futility of his efforts came over him. Only for an instant, however, did he allow this feeling to take possession of him, for here he found that it was only the very heavy combers that swept the bank, leaving a comparatively dry path for him as they receded. So he crossed here without any particular difficulty other than that caused by the wet, clogging sand. By this time the strain of his forced and un- accustomed exertions was beginning to tell frightfully upon him. Every joint and muscle in his body was weary and aching, and he swung his crutch with an arm that was well- nigh numbed from sheer exhaustion. And yet he knew that he dare not pause for so much as a breathing space; the hungry wash of the water on each side of him im- pressed insistently upon his mind the fact that every moment increased his peril. It was in this con- dition that Evans eventually arrived at a point which was to prove the crisis in his adventure, where his already overtaxed powers were to under- go a test which might well have ended dis- astrously for any man, even supposing him to have been physi- cally fit in all other respects save that of being a swimmer. Stretching away in front of him till they gradually merged into one and finally disappeared in the distance, two white lines of foaming surf bordered his slowly but surely narrowing path. And as he toiled wearily but doggedly over the yielding surface, Evans presently came to a spot where the bank ended abruptly. Over a portion of the Spit, some fifty or sixty yards in extent, the long, heaving waves of the Atlantic swept in, smooth and deep, from either side, and, colliding mid-way, broke with a splash and a roar, sending a heavy shower of spray many feet high into the air. Filled with a feeling of blank despair, Evans gazed helplessly around him, as if seeking some hitherto un- Mr. George Evans, the American artist who nearly met his death on the Great Brewster Spit in Boston Harbour. From a Photograph. noticed outlet from the trap in which he was caught. But there was no escaping the grim facts of the situation. To lose heart now and abandon the struggle in despair meant simply certain death, while to attempt the hazardous feat of wading across through the hungry tumble of waters, where it seemed as if only a powerful swimmer could hope to live, offered, at least, what ghost of a chance there was of saving his life. The terrible gravity of the situation served to steady his nerves. But now, unfortunately, he allowed himself to commit one of those apparently trivial, but really unwise, actions which, strange to say, certain people will do even in the most critical moments of their lives. Although knowing that he had not a moment to lose, it suddenly occurred to him that he would like, if possible, to preserve his watch, which he prized highly, not so much on account of its monetary value as for certain —_ associations connected with it. So he took it from his pocket and proceeded to wrap it hurriedly in his handkerchief, in- cluding also, as the result of ari after- thought, a roll-of dollar bills. He then knotted the hand- kerchief securely around his neck. This done, he gathered his courage for the supreme effort and watched anxiously for the meeting of two larger combers than usual. In the “smooth” which succeeded he waded des- perately in, going deeper and deeper until the water was almost breast-high. Finding, after a while, that it rose no higher, he began to grow more confident, though there now flashed through his mind the fear that he mighc fail to follow the true direction of the Spit and stumble into deep water. With eyes fixed on the dry portion of the bank beyond, he struggled on with grim determination, his left arm out- stretched to aid in retaining his balance, while

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AN ARTIST’S ADVENTURE. 325 From a) The Great Brewster Spit at low water. (Photograph. From a\ The Spit at half-tide, nearly covered. (Photograph. From a) The Spit at high water, with the sand covered many feet deep. [Photograpn. These three photographs give us a graphic illustration of Mr. "s peril on the Great Brewster Spit. In the first view the Spit is shown at low tide, while in the last the narrow stri of Jang ie gutirely eubsnerted, as ix was very oon efter Mr. Bi Vol xxiii —4t se hoc!

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322 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. his right hand gripped his trusty crutch with desperate energy. As he advanced, slowly at best, he began to think the undertow would prove too much for him, but with superhuman efforts he managed to keep his feet, and had succeeded in getting almost half-way across, when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the dark, undulating heave of the long swell coming in on his right. Instinctively he glanced in the opposite direction, and there, to his dismay, descried a similar wave heaving up on his left. Digging his crutch deep in the sand, he braced himself to withstand the impact. Then, almost before he had time to realize it, the great seas met, piling high over his head in a seething, terrifying roar that for a moment or two numbed his senses. He was carried off his feet and tossed, rolled, and flung about by a force that was simply irresistible. He was beneath the water, drown- ing ; conscious of a curious ebbing of strength and a tightening about his throat which threatened suffocation, while the terrific noise of waters in his ears seemed 4s though it would burst his brain. At length, when consciousness was beginning to desert him, he suddenly found his head once more above water. Gasping, he filled his lungs with a long, deep breath, and, gazing dizzily about him, realized where he was. He was on his feet once more, the water almost level with his shoulders, but, to his infinite horror, he discovered he had lost his crutch ! Imagination can but feebly picture his mental condition now as, in an agony of helplessness, his eyes swept searchingly over the surface of the waters. But no sign of the crutch—needed now more than ever in his life before—could he see. With the instinct of self-preservation strong upon him, he struggled on as well as he could without it; but finding now that the water was gradually deepening he turned off a little to his left, when, to his no small relief, he rose till his shoulders were clear. This helped to reassure him, and with a growing hope that he would yet pull through all right he struggled bravely on. It was now he discovered that the hand- kerchief knotted around his neck was shrinking with the wet and tightening in such a way as to almost strangle him. With one hand he tried to cast it loose, but before he could manage to do so a dark wall of water rose alongside of him, its crest seething white in the glgom. With a stunning roar it broke upon him, smothering him beneath its resistless weight. Striking out in a wild, spasmodic manner he regained his footing again and, vomiting quantities of water, gasped and struggled for breath to relieve his aching chest. Four times in succession, with little more than breathing intervals between, did the giant rollers of the Atlantic overwhelm him, making cruel sport of his pitiable helplessness. And each time he gave himself up for lost, as he realized how utterly futile were his efforts to contend against their overpowering might. At length, on hands and knees, clawing and clutching frantically at the wet sand, he drew himself foot by foot beyond the reach of the water, and, more than half drowned, collapsed on the sand in a state of utter exhaustion. How he ultimately reached the bank he never could tell. It was to instinct more than to reason that he felt he owed his life. As the pure air rapidly restored him, his first act was to tear the handkerchief from around his neck, and then, with the horror of drowning still dominating his mind, he pulled himself wearily to his feet. As he turned to glance along the Spit towards the island to see, if possible, what further difficulties lay in his path, his eye lit upon something that caused his heart to give a great bound. ‘There, not twenty feet away, thrown up at the edge of the surf, lay his sorely-needed crutch! With eager haste he limped towards it, and with its firm support once more beneath his arm felt an entirely new man. The remainder of his path to the island was fortunately still above the tide, and he accomplished the distance without further mis- hap. Continuing along the western side of the island with no very definite idea as to what he should do next, he was fortunate in falling in with a party of seven men, an elderly woman, and a boy—all Italians—gathered around a couple of good-sized petrol launches, such as these people use for conveying their wares to and from the summer beaches. The machinery of one of the boats had got out of order, and, with much shouting and gesticulating, each one of the party seemed to be suggesting and advising, but nobody doing much to put matters to rights. Evans’s appearance amongst them naturally caused some surprise, but he quickly explained his case, and the offer of a five-dollar bill, albeit somewhat damp, soon induced the owners of the sound boat to undertake to land him at Hull. In conclusion, it may be of interest to mention that, although Mr. Evans was more than once as near to drowning as a man could possibly be without entirely losing consciousness, he at no time experienced the panoramic review of his whole life which is said to come to drowning men. His sensations, as he described them, were similar to those frequently experienced in dreams—a sinking or falling away into space accompanied by an agonizing sense of one’s powerlessness to prevent it.

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THE EXPLO DUKE OF THE ABRUZZI. By EpwarbD WHYMPER. HLR.H. the Duke of the Abruzzi is well known to “Wide World” readers as one of the world’s foremost travellers and explorers. Now that the Duke has just started upon another expedition in the Himalayas this authoritative article will be read with additional interest, dealing as it does with His Royal Highness’s achievements in scaling Mount Blias, Alaska, his adventurous dash towards the North Pole, and his conquest of the ‘“‘ Mountains of the Moon.” meg IS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE |} LUIGI AMEDEO OF SAVOY, } Duke of the Abruzzi, has taken his | place amongst the foremost travellers ™ Of this generation. Upon three occasions he has conducted and directed expe- ditions in various quarters of the globe, and differing widely in their nature. On all three I. It took many people by surprise that upon his first expedition His Royal Highness selected Mount St. Elias as his objective. This moun- tain, roughly speaking, is on the other side of the world, and it does not appear likely to prove specially attractive to an Italian Prince. It lies on the border of Alaska and of British territory, and in round figures it is about eight thousand he has shown himself a master in the art of travel. He is now off upon an ambitious ex- pedition in the Hima- ‘layas. If one may judge from the past, he will beat the record there as he has done elsewhere. He has foresight as well as energy and capacity, and is just the man to surpass his predeces- sors. Before His Royal Highness undertook the first of his great journeys he was well known to be an expert moun- taineer, tough and cap- able. His three great journeys embrace (1) the first ascent of Mount St. Elias, (2) attainment of progress towards the North Pole, and (3) the conquest of the Mountains of the Moon. From a) H.R.H. the Duke of the Abruzzi, some of whose exciting experiences are here related. miles from Rome to the place upon the coast where one must land for Mount St. Elias. No fuss was made over this journey. The transit was effected before anybody save a favoured few knew what was going on. Real work began on landing, and then Prince and peasant had to share and share alike. Mount St. Elias is not a peak to trifle with. It is the most majestic mountain on the western coast of North America, and until the last few years no one ever dreamt of ascending it. Naviga- tors saw it long ago, admired it, and measured it, but none of them—not even the boldest — essayed to scale it. Their opin- | Photograph. ions, as to its height are

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324 THE rather discordant. One made it so many thousand feet high, and another made it half as high again. ‘These discrepancies can only be accounted for by supposing that some of the observations were made after dinner, unless indeed the mountain is as elastic as india- rubber. The summit of Mount St. Elias is set back about thirty-five miles from the coast, but there are no ranges intervening which interfere with the view of it, and the whole height of the mountain, whatever that height may be, is seen ata glance. The entire space from the ocean to the peak in a north-east direction, and for about seventy miles along the coast in a west- north-west direction, is occupied by a vast glacier, originating in Mount St. Elias and its allied mountains. The area of this mighty glacier is computed to be between one thousand four hundred and one thousand five hundred square miles. As this great glacier plateau rises towards the interior very gradually, its true nature cannot be seen by voyagers along the coast. Although in some places the glacier projects into the sea, and is obviously ice, for a large part of the seventy miles the surface of the ice is covered by moraine, having bushes and trees growing over it. The eastern portion of the glacier plateau is now termed the Malaspina Glacier, and the western part of it has been named the Guyot Glacier. At the beginning of 1897 the Duke of the Abruzzi decided to attempt an ascent of Mount St. Elias in the following summer. He selected as companions his A.D.C., Lieutenant Umberto Cagni, Signor Vittorio Sella, the eminent photo- grapher, Signor F. Gonella, and Dr. F. Filippi, all of whom were well known to be expert mountaineers, although amateurs ; and as pro- fessionals he took the guides Petigax and Croux of Courmayeur, Maguignaz and Pellissier of Val Tournanche, and Botta, a guide who had travelled with Signor Sella in the Caucasus. The composition of the party looked like business, ‘and they went to work in a business- like manner. Leaving Turin on May 17th, they came to London and completed their equipment ; started from Liverpool by the Lucanta on the 22nd, left New York on the zgth, and arrived at San Francisco on June 3rd. After laying in stores they left on the gth, and on the 2oth were at Sitka, the capital of Alaska, having gone from San Francisco to Seattle by rail, and thence by steamer. On the same night they were off again upon another steamer, which towed a schooner that was waiting in readiness to convey the expedition. On the 22nd they reached Yakutat, and on the next day landed WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at a point on the opposite side of the bay, a spot which had been recommended for their starting-point by Professor I. Russell. Working with the utmost celerity, it thus occupied thirty- two days to get from London to the edge of the Malaspina Glacier. From this place the route was followed which had been planned be‘ore- hand. They first crossed the fringe of forest and the frontal moraine, a distance of about eight miles, then traversed the whole breadth of the Malaspina Glacier to the nearest spurs of the mountain, twenty miles more; next, worked up the eastern side of one of the tributary glaciers for about ten miles farther, and then crossed over that glacier and the ridge which bounded it on to another glacier, the head of which led up to a ridge that descends from the summit towards the north-east. The crest of this north- east ridge was then followed to the summit. They left the coast on June 24th, and stood on the top on July 31st. It thus took thirty-seven days to vanquish the mountain, or five more days than were occupied in going from London to the edge of the Malaspina Glacier, a distance of more than seven thousand miles ! This ascent is from several points of view one of the most remarkable that have been made. It was accomplished by Italians exclusively, who, it should be remembered, were to some extent handicapped by the great distance which had to be travelled. Just before they left San Francisco another party started on the same errand, headed by Professor Bryant, of Phila- delphia. Bets were laid that neither would succeed, and that the Americans would excel the others. In the result every one of the Italians reached the summit, and none of the Americans, I believe, got half-way up! The feat was accomplished by paying attention to the experiences of others who had gone before. “The real difficulty,” Dr. Filippi said, in the account that he gave of the journey, “is that of preparing the equipment and organizing the expedition. When once started, it is essential to have a well-studied system of bringing up provisions by means of caravans of porters, whilst the caravan at the head is occupied in seeking out and preparing the way.” Though progress was slow, it was extremely methodical. On the thirty-seven days that the ascent occu- pied, twenty-two different camps were made, the highest being twelve thousand two hundred and eighty-five feet above the sea, at a distance of about sixty-three miles. from the starting-point on the coast. Transportation of the food and formation of depéts occupied a large part of the time. Ten American porters, or “packers,” were employed on this work, but they stopped far short of thetop. ‘‘ Five were students of the

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THE EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE OF THE ABRUZZI. 325 re 44 hee Z epee From a} Universities in science, in letters, and philosophy. Four were mariners, and among them was a professor of Latin and Greek, and a poet.” It used to be said on the Pacific coast of North America that the meanest thing any white man had ever done was taking home washing for a Chinaman ; but what is that compared with a professor of Greek and a poet carrying up soap, candles, and petroleum for a party of Italian Alpinists ? At the beginning, a weight of six hundred and thirty-five pounds was carried on each of four The scaling of Mount Elias—A camp on the sérace of Newton Glacier. (Photograph. sledges. After sixteen days of labour, when the twelfth camp was established at an altitude of three thousand one hundred and eighty feet, about thirty-five miles from the coast, the American porters went back to fetch up more supplies. The others continued upwards, dragging and some- times carrying the sledges. Nineteen days after starting they crossed the ridge between the first and second glacier, and pounded up the latter for thirteen days, making six more camps, on an average only a mile and a third apart. “ Enve- loped in blinding mist we toiled laboriously Digitized by I O08 e

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326 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) through the powdery snow, in which we often sank to our waists, patiently seeking our route over insecure snow-ledges, amid the deafening roar of the avalanches. Out of thir- teen days only three were fine. Often we woke in the morning to find our camp half buried in the snow.” Their twenty-first camp at the head of this glacier was only about half-way up the mountain (eight thousand nine hundred and fifty-eight feet). A steep bank or wall of snow led up from the glacier to a notch or cof for which they were aiming in one of the main ridges. Most of their belongings were now left behind, in order to travel with greater rapidity. On July goth they left the twenty-first camp, carrying only the things which were requisite for two and a half days, and in six hours got to the co/ (twelve thousand two hundred and eighty-seven feet). The twenty-second camp was made there, and soon after midnight they started again, up a long snow ridge which ran direct to the summit, going in three divisions. First went the Prince with his aide-de-camp and two guides, then Gonella with two others, followed by Sella, Filippi, and Pellissier. “The air was perfectly calm and the tem- perature ideal. About nine o’clock a halt was ordered for breakfast, at an altitude of sixteen thousand four hundred feet. From this point onward the ascent became more and more trying ; one after another felt the effects of the rarefied air, some complaining of headache, others being affected with difficulty of breathing and general lassitude. The ascent is monoto- nous, without the smallest difficulty, now on the wide crest of the ridge, now on one or another of its slopes. We were forced to halt five or six The Prince and his companions on the summit of Mount St. Elias. (Photograph. minutes every quarter of an hour. At last we sighted overhead a sharp pinnacle of ice, and a little beyond it to the right the great snowy dome of the summit. “The advance party started once more up the now gentle incline. We followed, tired out and unable to believe that we were close to the summit. Suddenly Petigax and Maguignaz stop and stand aside, and the Prince is the first to set foot on the summit of St. Elias. I will not attempt to describe our sensations. Difficulty of breathing, throbbing at the temples, exhaus- tion—all disappeared simultaneously in the excitement of that moment. It was now a quarter to twelve. In another minute the Italian flag fluttered on an ice-axe, and we crowded round our chief to join with all our might in his cheer for Italy and the King. Many of those men, who for thirty-seven days had struggled to stand the trying ordeal, sobbed like children.” The height of the mountain was found by observation of the mercurial barometer to be eighteen thousand and ninety-two feet. Mount Logan, away to the east, was discovered to be even higher than Mount St. Elias; and three great snowy groups, perhaps one hundred miles away, are said to be not less lofty. The Italians almost looked down upon the Klondike district, unaware of the excitement which it was causing. The fountain-head of the treasure which is col- lected there will doubtless be found in some of the ranges which they saw in the distance.* The coast was reached again on August 11th, the schooner was found in waiting, and on the * For a fuller account of the climb the reader is referred to ‘The Ascent of Mount St. Elias” (A, Constable and Co., Westminster), * from which work our three photographs of the’ mountain are reproduced by the publishers’ permission,

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THE EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE OF THE ABRUZZI. morning of the 12th embarkation was finished. They sailed on the 13th, and, travelling with the greatest celerity, arrived in London just one month from the time of leaving the Malaspina Glacier, having carried out this prolonged journey without a single casualty or hitch of any description. The spirit which impelled this young Prince to travel fifteen thousand miles to carry out his enterprise, the perseverance and tenacity with which he stuck to his work, and the thorough mastery that he exhibited over every detail render most memorable the first ascent of Mount St. Elias. ~ Attainment of the North Pole has, for a long - time, been an object of ambition to gallant spirits, and many have sacrificed fortunes and their lives to get near the spindle of the universe. When they suppose they have reached it, what will they find, and how will they determine their position? How will they be able to con- vince the world that they have been there? For 327 thirteen pounds was inadequate. His Royal Highness lost portions of his finger through frost-bite and was unable in consequence to accompany his valiant aide-de-camp upon his push for the Pole; but the aide-de-camp suc- ceeded in getting a few miles farther North than his predecessors, and three lives were lost upon the adventure. Leaving Rome on May 7th, 1899, His Royal Highness went to Norway to join his ship, a whaler which was being fitted out there, and had been rechristened the Polar Star.* It started from Christiania on June 12th, arrived at Archangel on the 3oth, to ship the dogs which were to complete the crew and serve as provisions, and sailed again on July 13th. The dogs played an important part in the expedition, and run all through the story. There were one hundred and twenty-one of them, and they are put down in the bill at seven hundred and eight pounds, or five pounds seventeen shillings From a) an idea of the difficulties of the undertaking, if people have not the time to read the whole of the literature upon the subject, which would occupy several years, we would recommend a careful study of the Duke’s account of his adven- tures during his North Pole expedition in the ship Polar Star. The net result from an expendi- ture of thirty-eight thousand four hundred and The return joarney—Descending the slopes of the Seward Glacier. { Photograph. apiece. The Polar Star was headed for the most northern accessible land, and got ashore on the western side of the northernmost island of the Franz-Josef Archipelago, in a bay which was named Teplitz (81° 47° 26” N. Lat.) upon soe east Polar Sige in ne Payer Cae 0. lon), from which work our photographs are re- produced by the publishers’ permission.

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328 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) The “ Polar Star" August roth. This was not altogether intentional. The situation, it is admitted, was not a good one, though it was thought to be sufficiently safe. The contrary was shown in the night of Septem- ber 7th, when the ship was embedded in ice. “T was disturbed two or three times during the night,” says His Royal Highness, “by slight creaking noises, but towards half-past six loud reports coming from all sides, and sudden move- ments of the ship, which first heeled over to the left and then twenty degrees to the right, roused me completely. Before they ceased I rushed out on deck, half-dressed, to see what was happening. vin the ¢rip of the ice. [Photog ragh. “The ice-field in the bay, driven by the ice- pack, had risen all around over that which lay along the coast and had reached up to the kennels, against the doors of which some large floes had been piled up, thus preventing egress. When the dogs gave the alarm the crew ran to extricate them by breaking the inner par- titions and letting them out on the side of the land. A pressure-ridge had been formed along the coast with hummocks fifteen to eighteen feet high. Under the strong pressure of the ice against the bow the ship had backed about ninety feet and had risen at the same time on the ice, where she remained, with her bow out

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THE EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE OF THE ABRUZZI. 329 of water, heeling over about twenty degrees to the left. Great slabs of ice had been raised against her sides and stern while she was making her way through them. At the bow all the rigging of the foremast had broken loose, and on the right side of the ship, which was exposed from the middle to the bow when she heeled over, the outer planks of green-heart were seen to have been driven in to a depth of two and a half to three and a quarter inches for a length of eighteen or twenty feet, so much so that a hand could be passed between them.” For a time it seemed that the ship would have to be abandoned, and most of the stores were brought ashore. Tents and huts for shelter were erected, and preparations | made for pass- | ing the winter | somehow. They kept up their spirits, and all | seemed to have pulled together admirably, The expedition this time consisted partly of Italians and partly of Norwegians — | twenty in all, | First and fore- most there was Captain Cagni (aide-de-camp), who had been upon the pre- vious journey, and the guide Petigax (who also went up Mount St. | | Elias), with his | comrades Fen- oillet, Savoie, | and Ollier—all | from the valley of Aosta. The captain and fess: crew were Nor- wegian, and the From aj following —ex- planation is given for the admixture of nation- alities :-— . “One who only knew the ice of the Polar Sea by having read about it in books, and who would have wished to man his ship with a crew com- posed entirely of sailors with little experience of the region of ice, would have endangered the Vol, xxiii —42. Christmas dinner in the tent. expedition from its very beginning through his false pride. I, therefore, gave up the idea of having a crew composed entirely of Italians. I preferred to choose a safe and capable Norwegian commander, to whom I might trust the guidance of the ship through the ice, and a crew of the same nationality, associating with them some Italian sailors and guides who were specially intended to take part in the expeditions with sledges. I was firmly convinced Trom the outset that if the men were equally well treated by their chief the good understanding between them would not be disturbed.” Temporarily the ship was abandoned. Nearly all the stores were taken out of her, and everyone lived on shore ; but when oppor- tunities occur- red they set to work patching her up, with a view to return- ing home next year. Water had to be pumped out to discover the leaks, more particularly in order to protect the engines; and the work was effected so successfully that little remained to be done when the ship was afloat again. It is said, however, that she never regained her original shape. The propeller shaft was bent and the stern- post moved out of its position. Two strong steel cables were carried to the | shore from the main and fore tops to prevent the ship being thrown right over on her beam end. This work, and fitting up the huts on shore, lasted until the middle of November. On the 4th bad weather came on, and a snow-storm raged so that they could hardly hear each other speak. ‘Considering that this entertainment lasted without interruption for eight days, it is [ Photograph.

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330 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. easy to imagine how we rejoiced when we saw by the rising of the barometer that the end of the tempest was approaching.” Life at first was not unpleasant, and they had their sports, amongst others that of slaying Polar bears. Thirty-four were killed in the neighbour- hood of the encampment. H.R.H. says :— “ Bear-hunting is very easy. A bear sees and smells a camp long before man is aware of his presence, and hunger generally compels him to approach. It is not, therefore, necessary to look for him. Our dogs, which were so many, - and wandered about freely all day, pursued every bear they saw. ‘The larger he-bears were able to escape if they had only eight or ten dogs at their heels, but if they were attacked by a pack of thirty or forty they were obliged to stop and I | ‘From a) climb up on a hummock, or to range themselves against a block of ice by way of defence. We thus had time to come up and shoot them from a distance of a few feet. None could escape us. The dogs were sometimes wounded in the hunt, almost always by the he-bears. ‘They were so nimble in avoiding the bears’ blows that their wounds were never serious, and the doctor’s assistance was only required three or four times to sew them up. We had very often bears’ flesh to eat ; the best parts were the heart, the kidneys, and the tongue.” In December sledges were fitted up, and on the 23rd several were taken out towards the bottom of the bay to exercise the dogs. At starting the temperature was 29° F. and a light wind was blowing from the north-west. Mist atta 2 fabedth One of the sledge expeditions getting ready for the dash towards the Pole. came on, the wind rose, and the temperature fell to — 4° F., or 36° below freezing-point. All turned for the ship, speedily lost their way, and some, including His Royal Highness, fell over an ice-cliff twenty-three feet high. When home was reached it was found that the Prince and his aide-de-camp (Cagni) had got severely frost- bitten fingers. This did not prevent the cele- bration of Christmas “with as much splendour as possible,” nor festivities on New Year’s Eve, when salutes were fired at midnight, and “ the sailors lit fountains of fire and sent off rockets, while piles of wood steeped in petroleum were burned round the tent.” They did not remain long outside, for the temperature was 56°F. below freezing-point that night. Even the dogs could not wag their frozen tails. — ~" (Photograph. The object in passing a winter in the Arctic region, of course, was to enable a start to be made in the spring, as early as possible, from an already high northern latitude; and the business upon which all were engaged in the early part of 1900 was the equipment and arrangement of the sledge-parties that were to make for the Pole. For the labour and care bestowed on these preparations see chapter nine of the book. It was settled that there should be three divisions, the first of which was to be the strongest and the one which was to go farthest, supported by two others. Division number three was to turn back after having been out for a few days, and number two was to continue farther on, at the judgment of the commander of the first division. (To be concluded.)

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/) () The Rival Rain- A COMEDY OF THE YUKON. By C. H. E. AskwitH, or Ottawa, CANADA. The prosperity of the Yukon is closely bound up with an abundant rainfall, and in order to ensure this the services of a “rain-making expert’ were enlisted by the Government and a committee of mine-owners, He failed, whereupon Silas, hereditary chief of the Moosehide Indians, staked his reputation that his tribal medicine-man could do more wonders than all the paleface's science. Nature, through a remarkable coincidence, came to his assistance—with the unlooked-for results that the Yukon got all the rain it wanted, and that the entire tribe of Moosehides went back to the faith of their savage forefathers. * The facts are strictly as I relate them,” writes the author. “Twas at the time editor of the ‘Yukon Daily World,’ and: took a small part in the affair.” ELDOM, if ever, has a great Imperial dependency been placed wail in such an absurd position as re- 4} sulted from the farcical outcome of the rain-making experiments con- ducted under the auspices of the Government of the Yukon Territory of Canada four years ago. The remarkable series of coincidences whereby the medicine-man of the tribe of the Moosehide Indians was enabled to accomplish what had baffled all the resources of modern science, and the consequent turning of the tribe from the teachings of Christianity to the gods of their savage fathers, is a dénouement worthy of the boisterous taste of Aristophanes. When the unexpected farce-comedy was developing in Dawson, the Yukon capital, a portion of the tale reached the outside world. But the tale, as a whole, was too ridiculous to place upon the telegraph-wire, and it is only now that the story is related in full detail for the first time, although some inquiries were made two sessions ago in the Canadian Parliament concerning the fate of Yukon’s rain-making experiments. However, at that time all the facts were not in the possession of the Govern- ment, and in consequence the story was not told. The Yukon Territory is entirely given over to the production of placer gold. Now, those not familiar with a placer gold country cannot understand how much the entire prosperity of the district depends upon a plentiful rainfall during the summer months. With sufficient water the largest piles of “dirt” may be washed out in the sluices and the imprisoned gold obtained ; with a scarcity of rain the streams dry up, the mines, with their costly plants, lie idle, and the country’s prosperity is arrested. Mr. J. T. Lithgow, Controller of Yukon, after several years of continuous work, left for a holiday ‘‘on the outside,” as Yukoners call the rest of the world beyond the bounds of their territory. This was in the winter of 1905. On his return, some months later, Mr. Lithgow described in the columns of the Yukon Daily World, of which the writer was then editor-in- chief, the rain-making experiments of a man named Hatfield, which he (the Controller) had witnessed while in Southern California. These experiments were apparently successful, for Hatfield’s employers, being satisfied that the rainfall in that region during the course of his experiments had been heavier than for years before, paid him the sum that it had been agreed he was to get in the event of a demon- strated success. When Mr. Lithgow’s remarks were read

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332 THE WIDE throughout the length of the Yukon there was an immediate demand for the services of the rain-maker. Next day the World published letters from several prominent miners individu- ally offering sums, all the way up to a thousand dollars, towards a subscription to bring the rain- maker north. As one man wrote, “ An addition of a couple of inches of rainfall during July and August would mean an additional output of a hundred thousand dollars to my claims alone, and an addition of many millions to the country’s annual gold-crop.’ The long public discussion that followed, and the views expressed by prominent men on both sides of the rain-making controversy, can be imagined. Finally, public opinion swung to the conclusion thet WORLD MAGAZINE. Hatfield came—he saw—and the rest is history. On the dome from which all Klon- dike’s gold-bearing streams take their rise, he set up his machinery on a high scaffolding. His Jove-controlling apparatus consisted of a large box set on high and open to the sky. In it, he said, were the chemicals which induced moisture to come from hundreds of miles dis- tant and precipitate itself at the place agreed upon. No one was permitted to view the interior of the box of mystery. In a tent beside the elevated box in which his chemicals were placed Hatfield took his station, and during the month of July, in the course of which he was to add two inches to the country’s rainfall, he never permitted anyone to ten thousand dollars was not a large sum for so rich a country, and that, if there were any chance whatever of the experiments being successful, the country had _ better employ Mr. Hatfield and his element-con- trolling machinery. The Yukon council, then in session, voted five thousand dollars towards the experi- ment, while the wealthier mining operators raised five thousand dollars more by private sub- scription. The agreement was made in legal form. Hatfield was to come and conduct his ex- periments during the month of July that summer. He was to produce at least two inches more rainfall that month than had occurred during July approach it. Not far from the dome on which Hat- field was at work dwelt the tribe of the Moosehides. Among the tribal villages were many old and middle- aged men who re- membered the palmy days of Alaska before the white men had set foot in the land. ‘Their old chief, Silas, often spoke of the times, not so long past, when the tribe went forth a thousand strong to battle— when the wigwams swarmed with children and the women were tall and beautiful. But all had changed. The firewater of the pale- face, the corruption of gold, of soft living, the insidious influence of the presence of thousands of white men, had caused the of the previous year, the year 1904 having produced a good average rainfall. A committee of the prominent miners who had contributed was to decide whether the experimenter had fulfilled his agreement to the letter. If the decision were in his favour, he was to receive ten thousand dollars. In any case he was to receive his expenses, fixed arbitrarily, but generously, at two thousand dollars. The Author, Mr. C. H. E. Askwith, of Ottawa, Canada. From a lhoto. by Lincoln & Salvatore. glory of the tribe to depart for ever. In- stead of following the great herds of moose and caribou through the long summer days, or under the glory of the aurora borealis, the braves now worked in the mines or on the river steamers, and—oh ! what a fall was there —bought their meat. from a Dawson City butcher. All the misfortunes of the tribe Silas, the

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THE RIVAL. RAIN- MAKERS. 333 ~ Silent, solitary, and apart, each wrapped in his blanket, the braves would stand hour after hour watching the box on the hill-top, hereditary chief, attributed to the adoption of Christianity by the tribe. Silas and Noonan, the gloomy medicine-man of former days, alone stood firm in their belief in the gods of their fathers. The old chief and his mysterious- looking satellite were of the old dispensation— Telics of the tribe’s heroic age. The rain-making preparations aroused the interest of the entire tribe as nothing had done for a generation. It was something they could understand, for did not Noonan assist the former medicine-man to sacrifice gifts in the still remembered summer over fifty years ago— long before the white man’s day—when no rain fell for months, and the grass withered in the valleys and the streams were still; when the moose and caribou died by the dried-up springs, and the mighty Yukon itself was but a trickle ? Night and day the members of the tribe tinged the hill on whose top the scaffolding of Hatfield’s creation might be seen. — Silent, solitary, and apart, each wrapped in his blanket, the braves would stand hour after hour watch- ing the box on the hill-top. The only sound to be heard was an occasional guttural grunt. It was apparent from the intermittent remarks of the Indians that they regarded the attempt as religious rather than scientific ; they thought the white men were appealing to their gods to bring rain. No explanation could shake them from this belief. On the aceon re ays Is Go OTe upon which

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334 THE WIDE WORLD Hatfield’s experiment was to begin, a stately little procession might have been seen wending its way along the streets of the northern capital. Silas, hereditary chief of the Moosebides, led the way, while close behind him stalked Noonan, tribal medicine-man and high priest of the old religion. Behind him again came. Isaac, a couple of the younger chiefs, and one or two of the principal hunters of the village. Arrayed in their best blankets, their hair carefully greased with bear-fat and adorned with por- cupine quills, as in the days of old when they went forth to war, a “potlatch,” or a great religious observance, the little procession had a rude dignity all its own. Before the office of the Ford they stopped, and, while the bodyguard remained outside, Silas and Noonan entered and proceeded directly to the office of the editor. Without preamble or introduction Silas spoke as follows :— “Paleface rain- bringing medicine-man no good. Paleface no understand rain-bringing. Indian medicine-man bring rain for many thousand moons. Next moon, when paleface medicine-man stop try bringing rain, Silas’s medicine-man bring rain—bring floods of rain. Silas knows. ‘Thousands sleeps ago, before white man come to Al-ie-as-ka (Alaska: vast land), Moosehides have plenty rain. Tell all palefaces in black - and - white talk (news- paper) what Silas will do. Enough; I have spoken.” Then, not without dignity, he threw his blanket across his shoulder and, motioning to his still silent attendant, stalked out of the little office with the air of a Cesar. Next day Yukoners read the announcement of Silas and laughed. There were not a great many subjects of conversation in Yukon in those days, and the promise of the Indian chief was remembered. In the meantime Hatfield was having mighty hard luck. On July 2nd he had a shower, and people began to say that there “might be something in this rain-making idea after all.” But then the sky cleared up, and it seemed as if there was not another drop of moisture left in all the heavens. Day after day passed without even the sign of a cloud as large as a man’s hand, and, from a semi-belief in the rain-maker, people passed to open scoffing. And so the month passed—the driest in the history of the white man’s occupation of the Yukon. The unfortunate Hatfield did not wait for the end. Packing his plant and collecting his expense money, he folded his tent like the Arabs and silently stole away. ‘The affair was a nine days’ talk, and was then passing to the forgotten stage, when news reached Dawson that great MAGAZINE. events were afoot in the chief village of the Moosehides. For several nights there had been a sound of singing and chanting from under the mighty palisades of the Yukon, where the tribal villages had stood from time immemorial. A couple of white puppies had been sacrificed and the medicine-man had gone into trances nightly, and was now so mysterious that no one could understand or approach him. Not for a genera- tion had such things happened among the quiet Moosehides. On the evening before August 1st the same little Indian procession made its appearance on the streets of Dawson. Silas and his medicine- man again announced through the papers that a great rain was about to commence, the work of the spirits of their tribe. Like Elisha and Ahab, Silas warned everyone to get under cover. There was not much news going just then, and the writer made quite a feature of the old chief’s picturesque promises. In the working out of Nature’s law of averages and compensation, some queer results are occasionally produced. No rain had fallen for a month, an unusual thing in that country, so it was not very extraordinary that on the afternoon of August rst heavy clouds should gather and burst, causing one of the heaviest rainstorms of the decade. ‘But this was not all. The rains descended continuously and the floods came. Day after day the sun was obscured by showers, down- pours, drizzling mists, and fogs. For the first time for weeks the miners had enough water with which to sluice out their gold. Every- one in the Yukon was happy, and prosperity descended upon the entire camp. But the old chief and the gloomy, saturnine Noonan were happiest of all, for had they not brought the rain and the prosperity? And would not the young braves of the tribe, who had so long run after the strange religion of the palefaces, come back to.a belief in the ancient tribal faith ? ; By way of a joke Tom Fitzpatrick, one of the old “sourdoughs” (early comers) of the Yukon started a movement to reward Silas. As Hatfield had failed to bring rain and earn his ten thousand dollars, and as Silas, chief of the Moosehides, had succeeded, he said the Yukon Government ought to give the ten thousand dollars’ bonus to Silas and Noonan. This, to the tribe, was the last thing necessary to their complete triumph. It was the acknowledgment by the paleface himself that the Indian magic was more powerful than his own, the hallmark upon the tribal efforts to bring rain. Of course, the Indians were not given the money; but that, to the uncom-

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Bae i” ji THE RIVAL RAIN-MAKERS. 335 = sae: He pleaded with them to come to the mission, but his words fell on deaf ears. mercial red men, was a minor consideration. They had got the glory, which was what they sought. Two Sundays later the Rev. Adam MacLaren, a Scotch missionary who had been labouring among the tribal villages, but who had been away fora couple of months visiting another district, returned, and proceeded to the village to hold the regular semi-monthly services in the little mission hall that stood near the wigwam of the chief. He waited till long past the hour of the service, but no one appeared. Then, from the other end of the village, he heard sounds to which the place had long been a stranger—the old sacrificial chant that had been abandoned when the tribe accepted the Christian religion a dozen years before. Frowning, he walked in the‘direction of the noise, which grew ever louder and clearer. As he turned one of the hill corners he came upon the entire tribe assembled in a great circle, in the middle of which stood a weird, gesticulating figure arrayed in skins and paint. It was Noonan, the high priest of the old religion, dancing before the resurrected tribal stone of sacrifice, which the missionary thought had been thrown into the Yukon a dozen years ago. He pleaded with them to come to the mission, but his words fell on deaf ears. For bubbling in a pot over the fire was the body of a white puppy, and presently, when the incantation was finished, they would all squat about in a great circle, each chewing a bone of the sacrifice. For this was one of the most sacred observations of the old-time faith, giving courage, long life, and luck to the tribe. The missionary walked slowly back to Dawson. To him it was a tragedy—the upsetting of the results of years of patient work. But in the village of the Moosehides all was happiness and contentment, and many presents littered the wigwam of the high priest, who had now three assistants, and was building a larger wigwam to harmonize with his new importance. For a miracle had been performed. Indian magic had proved greater than the white man’s, and to the last man, woman, and child the tribe had returned to the gods. of their fathers.

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EES OUT THE EMPIRE. , CoLtonet G. F. Frova The expedition crossing a river An account of the work of the Yola A. WHITLOCK. vA te Cross River Boundary Commission in West Africa, showing how the borders of British territory are fixed, and . how some sixteen hundred square miles of hitherto unmapped country was charted. three white officers and a white non-commissioned officer, so as to prevent any chance of attack on it by the natives along the boundary line in those parts of the country which were unknown and where no white man had pre- viously travelled. The natives along that portion of the boun- dary already traversed, how- ever, have been exceptionally friendly, and it is pleasant to be able to record that up to the present the services of the escort have not been requisitioned, and their chief employment has been keep- ing order in the various camps, and thus preventing the carriers, who are by nature thieves, from making raids into the adjacent villages and stealing fowls, mS 7N the march to Nassarawa a large G river called the Mai’ini had to be crossed, and the photograph shows one of the parties fording it, with the Union Jack in f in front and the carriers, with their loads on their heads, following in the rear. To the Commission was attached an escort of one hundred black soldiers Southern Nigerian Regiment, West African Frontier Force, and a Maxim gun, with accompanying II. the “The long and the short of it." From a Photograph. goats, etc.* In a great measure the friend- liness of the natives is to be attributed to the fact that their property was respected, and that all cases of stealing by the carriers brought before the Commissioners were at once severely dealt with and com- pensation paid to the aggrieved parties. In order to get into touch with the known parts of the country and to facilitate the collection and bringing in of food to the camps, a Political Officer was attached to the Commission. The photograph here reproduced shows the native policeman who acted as orderly to the Political Officer and his black boy servant. As the former is exceptionally tall, while the latter is almost a dwarf, the picture might not inaptly be described as “the long and the short of it.” After leaving Givaro, the * country in the neighbourhood of the boundary for a distance *Since this was written the troops accompanying the expedition have been hotly engaged on several occasions with hostile natives, the British and German soldiers fighting side by side in repelling severe attacks,

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PEGGING OUT THE EMPIRE. 337 of thirty miles along the line is flat and covered with dense bush. Roads are non-existent, and it is intersected by narrow native tracks only, which are so overgrown in parts that riding along them becomes extremely tedious, owing to the necessity of avoiding overhanging branches. At the south end of this plain isolated hills are met with on both sides of the boundary line, which here runs in a valley where flows a river called the Bulo. As one proceeds in a south-westerly direction the hills get closer and closer until they form a huge mass of mountains running practically at right angles to the direction of the boundary and tising to a height of four thousand feet above sea-level. In these mountains the River Bulo has its source, afterwards flowing to the north- east and joining the River Benue. It was necessary for the Commission to cross this range, and they were fortunate enough to find a native track connecting two villages on opposite sides ; but, although the distance between them, as the crow Le flies, is only ten miles, so tortuous is the mountain track that nearly thirty miles had to be traversed, while, owing to the rough nature of the path and the steep ascent and descent, Progress was very slow, the carriers finding great diffi- culty in getting along with their loads. Riding was quite out of the question, the horses having to be assisted over some parts of the track; while in making the descent it was always necessary to have a native hanging on to their tails to prevent them from falling headlong down the precipice which for the greater part of the way flanked the track. On the highest part of this mountainous path there is a cairn of stones, and in the above photograph the Union Jack is shown planted on it, while around it stand some of the carriers, resting after the climb. This cairn also marks the boundary between the Yola and Muri Provinces. In the background can be seen the top of a hill called Dakka, on which was placed a beacon. The Shebshi Mountains, as the range is called, extend far to the north and south, and as it was not feasible to take the bullocks and sheep— which accompanied the Commission as a reserve of food—across the mountain track, they were sent round the foot of the range, so as to meet the Commission in the next valley. It was eventually found that the distance they had Vol. xxiii, —43. to traverse was considerably more than one bundred and forty miles, which, with such a slow-moving caravan, occupied practically a fortnight. On descending from these mountains into the Kam Valley it is quite refreshing to find the shade of trees once again and flowing water. The River Kam has perfectly clear water all the year round, and is quite an exception to the ordinary rivers of Nigeria, which, as a rule, dry up a couple of months after the rainy season is over. Along this valley the boundary, which is at present a straight line, runs for some distance, and as one proceeds down it the mountains open out and isolated hills are once more met with. In fact, this is typical of the nature of the country that is found in this part of Nigeria. After pro- ceeding along the boundary line for a distance of about a hundred and twenty miles, crossing Brecting a boundary cairn on the highest point of the Shebshi Mountains. From a Photograph. another plain, a huge mass of mountains is again met with, but in this case there are no tracks across them, as there are no villages on the top, while water is but seldom found. To traverse them with carriers was therefore out of the question, and beyond penetrating them from various points so as to survey them they were left alone, and the various parties moved round them by a track which was eighty miles long, although the distance covered in a straight line was only forty. In January and February, 1908, the work of the Commission was very considerably delayed by what is known locally as “harmattan.” This is a thick mist which envelops the hills and thus makes it impossible, sometimes for as long as a week, for any surveying work: to be carried out. This ‘“harmattan” is supposed to be caused by the north wind bringing very fine

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338 ' THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. particles of sand from the Sahara Desert, but at this time of year it is also usual for the natives to burn down all the tall grass, which has become thoroughly dried, so as to clear a space for the sowing of their crops for the coming season ; and as it was repeatedly noticed that the “harmattan” was as thick on absolutely still days as it was when a north wind was blowing, it would appear quite probable that the suspended smoke from the bush fires has a good deal to do with the phenomenon. In the neighbourhood of Yola the natives are Fulanis, but as one approaches the hills pagans only are met with. Of the Fulanis the pagan had—and still has, to a certain extent—a very great fear, and in order to protect themselves the better they built their vil- lages on the hills and mountains, where the Fulanis, who fight on horse- back, were un able to attack them. Now that this fear is Passing away— thanks to the open- ing up of the coun- try by the British, who have practi- cally puta stop to tribal wars—the pagans have commenced to build their villages in the plains and cultivate the bush country round them ; and although there are still a large number of their villages on the tops of the hills, perched up in places which are very difficult of access, one now meets an equal number in the plains. The Fulani men dress in flowing robes, while their women wrap themselves up in highly- coloured clothes. In the hills the pagan men wear but a waist-cloth, while the women have only a row of beads round their waists, with bunches of leaves in front and at the back ; in the plains, however, they are becoming more civilized and are beginning to clothe themselves. As can well be imagined, the pagans are most superstitious,-and they looked upon the work of the Commission as that of the Evil One, and when, as was often the case, it was necessary to use a heliograph to show the position of the From a Photograph. beacons on distant hills, the sight of it at work caused great consternation among them. ‘To guard themselves against harm they go in for what they call “laros” or “ju-jus”; these take various forms. The next photograph reproduced shows one of their “ ju-ju” houses, which is straw- covered and contains the models of two elephants ridden by a man and a woman. ‘These models are made of mud, studded over with stall pieces of white stone. All round the house can be seen stones of various shapes, placed there by design and representing some sort of a talisman. It is said that the pagans, every new moon, sit in circles drinking native-brewed beer and sacrificing goats, so that their gods, having been propitiated, may keep them free from the attacks of the dreaded Fulanis. Rec- tangular de- signs, traced with stones, were continu- ally met with on the tracks through the bush ; it was at these spots, our native guides told us, that these mys- terious rites took place. A large num- ber of ju-jus are worn by the natives, the most common being a portion of the Koran written on wood or vellum and covered with leather. This is regarded as a safeguard against almost every ill—such as wounds from knives and arrows and fever—and also as a talisman against any harm that may be wished them by their enemies. The natives believe that if the wood or vellum with the portion of the Koran written on it be washed and the water drunk they are then secure from death; should a man die after performing this rite they consider that Allah has sent the illness which killed him as a punish- ment. The Fulanis place ju-jus round their horses’ necks as a safeguard against sickness. The Chamba pagans nearly all wear some portion of an animal—a leopard’s claws, teeth, and whiskers; the claws, tails, and teeth of monkeys ; and the tails of bush cows. They claim that by so doing they will never be killed

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PEGGING OUT THE EMPIRE. 339 by these animals, for they say that as the animal, a portion of which they are wearing, has been over- come, so in the future they will again be able to master any of its kind. An empty cartridge-case is a very great ju-ju among the natives, especially the carriers, as they believe that if they have one they will never be killed by a bullet. Several earthen- ware pots, containing arrow and spear heads, were met with buried in the ground. ‘The relics were supposed to be part of the arms of neigh- bouring tribes, and were kept to guard the natives against further attack by these people. The natives believe in worshipping at the tombs of their dead chiefs, and when a king dies his head is severed frog his body and placed apart in the ground in an earthenware pot. To this the natives from time to time make pilgrimage to obtain guidance. We also saw a large number of idols in wood and clay, and in the cornfields several clay ones were found. They were not intended as scarecrows, but were put there for the purpose of keeping thieves away ! On one of the hills, called Lamja, leopards are numerous, and although at intervals they carry off children and goats from the neigh- - bouring villages, the pagan inhabitants will The doctor attending to the sick in one of the standing camps. From a Photograph. never kill any of them, as they consider it would bring them bad luck. At Wukari there is a large pond, which supplies the town with water in the dry season and contains a large number of alligators. These are held to be sacred, and are well looked after, as the natives have a superstition that if one should die or be stolen the King. of Wukari would die also. As can well be understood, with a caravan of nearly five hundred souls, the services of the doctor were requisitioned daily, and the above picture shows our surgeon attending to the sick in one of the standing camps. Taken as a whole, however, the natives are very healthy, their chief complaints being colds, cut feet, and guinea- worm. The latter is a very peculiar ailment, as the natives swallow the bacillus when drinking — Owing to the terrific heat it was found necessary to protect the tents from the burning rays of the sua, by From a) means of « roof of thatch. (P,

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340 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. generally from the oe muddy pools by the roadside. It then seems to burrow and work its way down the leg for a space of nine months, when it reaches maturity and makes its appearance on the leg, ankle, er foot, causing much pain and making walking practically an impossibility. It has now reached a length of perhaps sixteen inches, and has to be carefully drawn out so that it is not broken in the process As soon as it has been removed the place heals in a very short time. About the end of December the heat began to increase, and the sun’s rays got so powerful that it was found From a} How the women carry their bables—In spite of being much sbsken about they appear to eleep as peacefully as if in « cot. From a Photograph. The cattle of the Commission crossing a stream. They were taken along in case of any shortage in necessary to augment the double covering of the tents with a roof of grass. The photograph at the bottom of the previous page shows the natives making these shelters. !hey are very skilful at this . work, all that they require being the axes where- with to cut down the trees which form the uprights, etc., while they make the neces- sary rope from grass or the bark of the trees. A great quantity of food was required daily to keep the carriers well fed, and thus do away with any desire {Photegraph, ON their part to pillage the neighbouring villages. Their chief food is called gavr, which is ground guinea-corn and resembles oat- meal, and at least half a ton of it was used daily for rations. At the start it was rather a difficult matter to get such a large quantity every day, as in October the new harvest had not yet been gathered, while the old crops were almost all consumed ; for this reason it was deemed advisable to take with the Commission a supply of bullocks and sheep. ‘These are very plentiful in the Fulani country, as they are great breeders of cattle. By having this herd the carriers were always certain of getting a ration of meat should gavi not be forthcoming, and it also made a very welcome change in their diet, although they are not able to exist for any length of time on meat as their staple food. The foregoing photograph shows the herd of bullocks that accompanied the Commission fording a river near one of the camps, at a village called Beli, on their return from feeding in the neighbouring country during the day. Game, both large and small, is very plentiful along the boundary line, large herds of kob and hartebeeste being con- tinually met with, while there is an abundance of guinea-fowl and bush-fowl. the food supply.

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PEGGING OUT THE EMPIRE, A large quantity of guinea-corn is grown in this part of Nigeria, the whole of the hoeing and tilling of the land being done by the native women while the men sit and smoke under a neighbouring tree. The women always take their babies with them when they go to work, carrying them tied to their backs in the manner shown in the previous photograph, where, in spite of being much shaken about, they appear to sleep as peacefully as if they were in a cot. The way in which the natives cut their faces and ears as well as tattoo themselves is very curious, while the women spend a good deal of time in arranging their hair in most fantastic fashions. The accompanying picture is the portrait of a Mumye pagan, showing how his ears have been cut round the edges so as to form a ring when hanging down, while the next photograph gives a very good representation of the fashion the Jukum women adopt in doing 341 was now near a village called Kwossa, being very close to ironstone hills. The rain having swelled the rivers and converted the smaller streams into torrents, progress across them was both difficult and dangerous, so that the British and German Commissioners finally agreed that it was useless to endeavour to continue the work under such conditions. Having obtained per- mission from their respective Governments, they proceeded to London and Berlin until the end of August, when they once more proceeded to the point where the work was suspended. It is hoped to complete during the coming season the survey of the remaining portion of the boundary line, so that the Commissioners may be then in a position to choose, if possible, some * natural boundary, such as a river or a water- shed, to take the place of the imaginary straight line which now represents it. The British Commission returned through A Mumye pagan, with ear-lobes cut in the prevailing fashion. Jukum hair-dressing — The hair is plastered down on @ frame, and is only done up afresh once a month. From Photographs. their hair. The arrangement of the hair is a most elaborate process, and at the different villages a native hairdresser is generally to be found. The hair is first fixed on a sort of frame in the shape of a roll, and, when it is properly coiled, is well plastered down with grease and oil so that it may keep in position. It is said that this hairdressing is only done once a month. Amongst the carriers were several who boasted® of different peculiarities, while there was one who was minus both ears, it being said that they had been cut off some years ago by order of a native chief, because the man had been caught stealing. Towards the latter end of March, 1908, the tornadoes again made their appearance, the thunder and lightning being exceptionally severe owing to the camp of the Commission, which Ibi, which is about ninety miles, or four good marches, from Kwossa, where the work was sus- pended, and proceeded down the River Benue to Lokoja. The river was then at its lowest, and steel barges had to be used. Still, in spite of daily tornadoes, the journey of two hundred and fifty miles was made in ten days. After a stay at Lokoja of a couple of days the party went by steamer to Burutu, where, on May 1ith, they caught a steamer leaving for England, which was reached on May 28th. During the nine and a half months’ absence of the Commissioners they completed the larger part of their work, having traversed almost ten thousand miles by sea, river, and land, and at the same timesurveyed approximately sixteen hundred square miles of country hitherto unmapped.

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The Clue of the Marked Bamboo. By LIEUTENANT-COLONEL DonaLD MACKENZIE. Being another story concerning Ning Wo, the astute Chinaman who, while nominally acting as the author's “boy,” was in reality a detective. The narrative shows how, at no little personal risk, he finally ran to earth a mysterious gang of robbers known as “Those Who Work Inside.” F that is all the clue you have to work on I wouldn’t give much for your chance of unravelling the crime,” said Arthur, the District - Officer, throwing a piece of bamboo on the table in front of him. “That may be so, old fellow,” I replied ; “and yet crimes have been detected through things just as simple.” “You policemen are all alike,” he retorted. “Given a crime, any little thing your eye ~ happens to light on in the vicinity becomes an important piece of evidence, and you go on worrying at it like a terrier. I'l bet that in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred you are wrong.” “T have not asserted that this mystical bit of bamboo #s going to furnish the means of finding out the robbery,” I replied. “1 merely said it might.” “I know you didn’t say so, but all the same you think it,” said Arthur. “Boil the whole thing down, and what does it amount to? You find a piece of stick on the door of a China- man’s house, where a robbery has been com- mitted, and just because the beggar says he knows nothing about it you jump to the con- clusion that there is a connection between it and the robber. I admit that there is a sort of mysterious hieroglyphic on it; but that may mean anything or nothing, and I am convinced it means nothing.” “You will admit,” I replied, “that a China- man can usually explain the meaning of all the bits of printed and written matter which he or his friends stick on his door? And it would seem strange to you if he were to tell you he could not explain any particular one, wouldn’t it. “Great Scot! If that’s what you are work- ing on, I give it up. ‘De gustibus non disputandum’; remember what that means? I believe that in about a weck’s time you will charge some unfortunate beggar before me with committing this robbery, and all your evidence will be based on the finding of this piece of bamboo on a Chinaman’s door, said Chinaman, being a fool or a blackguard, not being able to account for its being there.” , “Steady, old man,” I said, for this was a bit too much. ‘J have brought a good many cases before you and the other District Officers, but I don’t think I have ever asked any of you to believe evidence which was contrary to common sense, or such as you could not accept; but as the bamboo seems to be sticking in your gizzard I will take up the position that it // assist me to detect the thief, and I’ll bet you five dollars it does.” : “Right!” cried Arthur, eagerly. “As five Mexican dollars weigh about half a pound, you may as well relieve yourself of the burden of carrying them, and hand over at once.” Arthur and I had been discussing a robbery which had taken place in his district the previous night. It was the ordinary sort of thing : a man’s house broken into and about fifty dollars stolen. So far no clue had been discovered as to who had done it. A piece of bamboo, however, had been found fastened to the door of the house, and on this was painted, in red ink, a circle, in the centre of which were four lines,making a combination something like the Union Jack, the arms radiating from a common‘centre. Every Chinaman's door is more or less covered with pieces of red paper with inscrip- tions on them, particularly at his New Year ; these are complimentary wishes from his friends, or legends calling down blessings on his dwell- ing. This particular piece of bamboo, however, was a mystery to the man who had been tobbed ; he had never seen it before, he said, and could not understand why it should be on his door. I .had brought Detective-Sergeant Cassim with me when I came over to investigate the matter, and though he tried to look wise I was aware that he knew no more than I did. Then came Arthur’s strictures on policemen and their methods. I left the matter in the hands of one of the Chinese detectives and the Malay sergeant in charge of the district detachment, and Sergeant Cassim and I returned to head-quarters. Two days later I received a report from the corporal in charge of a station about six miles away, saying that a robbery had taken place the night before at a Chinaman's house. When-

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THE CLUE OF THE ever possible I always preferred to make personal inquiries on the spot, so, sending for Sergeant Cassim, we drove to the station. Accompanied by the corporal, we walked about half a mile through — the jungle to a small tin mine, whose ‘Tow- kay’s or owner’s house had been robbed. The Towkay lived in a small house by himself; his coolies, to the number of seven or eight, occupying another a short dis- tance away. The man could tell us nothing be- yond the fact that when he woke in the morning he found his door open, and on searching he dis- covered that a box containing his money and some clothes had mysteriously disap- _ peared. We searched in and round the house without coming across anything which could help us, when suddenly I heard Sergeant Cassim exclaim, “ Look, Tuan!” He was standing in front of the house, with his mouth open and his finger pointing at the door. Fastened to the top of it was a piece of bamboo, bearing the self-same sign in red ink which we had found on the house where the first robbery had taken place ! I took it down and examined it. the moment being able to compare them, I could swear-they were identical. “ Towkay,” I said, “do you know what this is ?” “T never saw it before,” he replied. “I do not know what it means or how it came to be on my door.” “Look here, Cassim,” I continued. ‘Tuan Arthur laughed at me the other day for saying that perhaps the bamboo we found had some- thing to do with the robbery, and I bet him five dollars it had—not that I myself believed it at the time, but he made me angry. Now I am certain of it, and that the same man committed both crimes. What do you think?” Without at ° MARKED BAMBOO. 343 He was standing in front of the house, with his mouth open and his finger pointing at the door. “T think it must be so, Tuan,” he replied. “But why does he put up this sign? Is it a signal for others of his gang? He can’t do it to frighten people, for in that case he would only warn them. And how did he get in each time without waking the man in the house?” “Tf I could answer those questions I should be pretty sure of being able to put you on his track,” I replied ; “but I know nothing, so let us see what sort of detectives you and your men are. You may be certain of one thing: it isa Chinaman, and so far he has got the laugh of us.” “May his soul suffer in Hades,” growled Cassim, savagely, for he hated being beaten by a despised Chinaman. I determined I would submit the case to my personal and private detective, Ning Wo, whom the reader has already met,* and who to the world at large was my boy. On returning home that afternoon I told him the story of the two robberies. “There is one curious thing about them,” I said. “In each case we found one of these * See May issue—Ep.

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344 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. pieces of bamboo stuck on the door of the house.” I handed him the bamboos, and as his eye fell on them he gave a slight start, but recovered himself immediately. A Chinaman seldom gives himself away, but I had noticed his momentary emotion. “Now will you be good enough to tell me what you know about those bamboos,” [ said, “and what they may happen to mean?” “Did the Tuan ever know me to place an incomplete case in his hands ?” he asked. “No, that’s true.” “T think I know something about this, but I am not certain; I must have time to work. Will the Tuan give me leave for a few days?” “ How long?” I asked. “How can I say, Tuan?” he replied. I return.” “Allright,” I said, “but mind you bring me some real evidence to go on.” He was leaving the room, when he turned and added :— ~ “Tf I am found dead, I want the Tuan to know that it was in consequence of my trying to find out this matter.” “Look here,” I said, “I don’t want you to go and put your life in danger over it, and if you think this is likely to do so I will refuse you leave,” “A man must take his chance every day he lives,” he replied. ‘The Tuan has been very good to me, and I am going to see if I cannot help him. Besides, I do not think anything will happen.” 1 knew it was no good trying to stop him, for he was a determined fellow, and I was certain he would take French leave if I refused to let him go. All the same, I would not for the world have had anything happen to him. For a week or ten days nothing particular happened in my little police circle, when one morning I found on my office table with my other papers a letter addressed to me in Chinese. I knew sufficient Chinese characters to read my own official designation on the envelope. Usually I handed all such letters—and I used to get dozens of them—to my Chinese inter- preter to open and translate, but for some inexplicable reason, probably thoughtlessness, I opened this one myself, though I knew I could not read a word of the contents. Good heavens! At the top of the letter was the sign of the bamboos in red ink! Under- neath were some dozen or so of Chinese characters. What on earth could it mean? Was some- one giving the show away? My mind turned “Till instantly to Ning Wo. But if the letter was from him, it behoved me to be careful as to who translated it, for obvious reasons. My Chinese interpreter could read it, but would it be wise to let bim? For ten dollars he might give the thing away himself. “ Becdin !” I shouted. The faithful Beedin, my orderly, promptly appeared. , “Tell the sergeant-major and Sergeant Cassim I want them,” I said. ‘They came in a few minutes. “Shut the door, sergeant-major,” I said, ‘and tell Beedin not to let anyone come in.” I took out of a drawer the bamboos I had acquired at the two robberies, and, putting them on the table in front of Sergeant-Major Etot and Cassim, placed the letter alongside them. “T have just received this letter, or, rather, it was on my table when I came to the office,” I went on. “Now, what would you two make of it?” “Has the Tuan had it translated?” asked Etot. “That is just the difficulty,” I replied. “I don’t want anybody I can’t trust to read it. How do I know whom the interpreter’s friends may be and what use he may make of the information —that is, if it is worth anything ?” “Why not send for Hussein, Tuan?” sug- gested Cassim. ‘The very man, and I had never thought of him! Hussein was the jailer, a half-caste, his father having been a Malay and his mother a Chinawoman, and he could not only read Chinese, but spoke about a dozen dialects of it. “Yes, of course. Go and bring him here,” I said. “Look here, Hussein,” said I, as soon as he arrived, “I want you to translate something for me, but you must promise that no one knows anything about it but us four.” “ Certainly, Tuan.” He took the paper and translated as follows :— “The third day of the fifth month at Towkay Ah Yok’s, near Rambau village, at eleven o’clock at night.” “Now, what may that mean?” I said. “I have my own idea, but I would like to hear yours first, sergeant-major.” “I can only think someone is giving secret information about a robbery to be committed by this particular gang,” he replied; “but why ? Perhaps there has been a quarrel amongst them over the stolen property, and one of them is doing it out of revenge. A Chinaman would certainly do this.” “And you, Cassim ?” I asked. “ Perhaps they are having a joke, Tuan; they

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THE CLUE OF THE think it would be gieat fun to make us stay up all night watching for a robbery which they do not intend to be committed.” Now I had inclined to the sergeant-major’s idea, for I could not get rid of the notion that it was Ning Wo who was giving the thing away ; but Cassim’s suggestion was like a douche of cold water. “Each of your ideas may be the right one,” I said, “and I don’t know what to decide. If we go and watch the place and no robbery takes place we shall look a lot of fools to have been taken in so easily ; whereas if we take it as a joke and don’t go, and a robbery does take place, we shall feel worse than fouls, and we can say good-bye to ever being helped again like this.” “Better look a fool than feel a fool, Tuan,” said Cassim, sagely. : It was a sentence worthy of La Roche- foucauld, though Cassim little knew it, and it decided the question for me. “You are quite right, Cassim, and we will watch the house. If there is any laughing to be done to-night we may laugh last in the end. When is the third day of the moon?” “To-day, Tuan,” said Hussein. “They haven't given us too long notice,” I remarked. “ By the way, Cassim, do you know Ah Yok’s place? Perhaps there isn’t such a man, and in that case it is a mighty poor joke.” “T can easily find that out, ‘Tuan,” he said. “What, go and telephone? Why, Corporal Ali would go making inquiries all over the place if he doesn’t know the man, and everyone would be talking.” “ Does the Tuan remember once telling me I was a fool, and I had to prove I was not?” he asked. “I can go to Ramoan and back in four hours and no one be any the wiser.” “For the second time I beg your pardon, Cassim. Yes, go and find out, and then we will make arrangements.” Cassim returned within the specified time and reported that Ah Yok -was a market-gardener and had a house, standing by itself, a little way from the village. He was reputed to be rather wealthy. That night a party consisting of Sergeant- Major Etot, Cassim, Beedin, three Malay con- stables, and myself started for the place. We did not know how many the gang might consist of, so we thought we had better make a bit of a show. Cassim guided us through the jungle, so as to avoid the village, and we spent the whole night watching a house wherein the owner slumbered peacefully, guarded by seven police- men. But nothing happened. As the first light of day a red I rose from Sa ae a ah . us this time. MARKED BAMBOO. 345 the ground shivering, for it can be cold at early dawn in the Malay Peninsula. “It's no go, sergeant-major,” said I, dis- gustedly. ‘The beggars have had the laugh of You can again consign them to Hades if you like, Cassim. Take the men back to barracks, Beedin, and tell the sergeant at the charge-room that they are excused duty till to-morrow. I will drive you and Cassim home, sergeant-major.” I had sent my dog-cart to the police-station overnight, with orders to the syce to put up there till I came. When we arrived at the station a quarter of an hour later we found an old Chinese gentle- man there in great distress, informing Corporal Ali that when he had woke up half an hour pre- viously he had found that his house had been burgled and a box containing all his valuables stolen. Etot, Cassim, and I looked at one another without saying a word, for the same horrible idea had occurred to each of us. “Come on, Towkay,” I said to the China- man, “ we will go and examine your house.” Meanwhile Corporal Ali was staring at us as if we had risen from the grave. What on earth were we doing at his station at that time in the morning ? We went to the Chinaman’s house, and the first glance was enough. There was the bamboo over the door, with that all-too-familiar sign on it. The robber or robbers had had the scream- ing audacity to give me a bogus warning, and, while we were watching one house, had calmly robbed another within five hundred yards of us! “Tuan,” said Cassim, “if I do not catch these men within a week, strike me off the strength of the force.” I had never before seen him in such a towering rage, and I would have been sorry for the robber if at that moment he had been within striking distance of Cassim’s kris. “You are no more a fool than I am,” I said. “All we can do is to trust to luck.” Neverthe- less, all three of us returned home not only looking fools but feeling fools. The detectives, spite of their utmost efforts, could discover nothing, and I was beginning to despair about the matter when, walking to the office one morning a few days later, I overtook a Chinese coolie carrying two baskets of vegetables on the end of a pole. “Do not speak, Tuan,” he said, as I passed him. “Iam Ning Wo.” I was so startled that I half stopped and looked at him ; true enough, it was Ning Wo, but, oh! such a disreputable-looking Ning Wo! “Don’t stop, Tuan,” he repeated. ‘“ Walk on, and I will follow close to you.”

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346 THE WIDE “Do not speak, Tuan,” be said, as 1 passed him. ‘1 am Ning Wo.” We had a good two hundred yards to go before we came to the nearest house, and there was not a soul on the road but our two selves. “Listen, Tuan,” he murmured over my shoulder as we strode along. “The last information you got was false ; I did not send it. To-morrow night, between eleven and twelve, the gang is going to rob a house belong- ing to a man called Nee Kah, near Bukit Nanas. He is a pepper-planter. Take the sergeant- major, Cassim, and Beedin, and hide in the lalang (high grass) near the house. Do not try to catch the men till they have all come out and shut the door. All of you must be dressed as Malays, and each must carry his revolver. Also, bring some handcuffs. Do not drive to the police-station.” He forged ahead, but a few seconds later slackened his pace till I overtook him. “The Malays must wear boots,” he said, and with that he lengthened his stride and took his departure. “Thank Heaven! I’ve got them at last,’ I exclaimed, for I had implicit faith in Ning Wo. When I got to the office I called a conference WORLD MAGAZINE. consisting of Sergeant - Major Etot, Cassim, and Beedin. “To-morrow night we are going to capture this bamboo gang,” I said, oracularly. There is nothing like a bit of acting for fetching a Malay. The sergeant-major smiled, as if to say, “Of course, I knew we would get them sooner or later ; they can’t escape the police.” Cassim glared like a tiger, while Beedin, with his usual lordly contempt for all the yellow race, remarked aloud, “All Chinamen are fools.” “Listen,” I went on. ‘ Before I tell you anything you must each swear on the Koran that you will keep one particular thing a secret.” I took up the Koran, which was always on my office table, for I had more than once found it convenient, and each man put it to his forehead. “You all know my boy, Ning Wo. You, Cassim, have often asked me who the hantu_, (ghost) was who gave me in- formation. It was Ning Wo. If either you or the sergeant- major had ever taken the trouble to look, you would have seen he was the man who was sent to jail eighteen months ago for being on enclosed premises at night. When he came out of jail he had a talk with me. He showed me how foolish our detective system was, because every- one knew them, and he asked me to take him on as my private detective; he said I could pretend he was my boy. I did so, and you have seen some of the results, Cassim. This is what I made you swear not to say anything about.” C “We have sworn, Tuan,” said the sergeant- major, and I knew I could trust them. “T am bound to tell you this,” I said, “in order that you may fully understand what is to follow. As I was coming to the office just now I overtook a coolie carrying two baskets of vegetables. As I passed him he told me he was Ning Wo. He said I was to walk on and he would keep just behind me. Ididso. He told me that the last information I got was false, but that he did not send it; that to-morrow night, between eleven and twelve, the gang was going to rob a house near Bukit Nanas belonging to a pepper-planter named Nee Kah.”

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THE CLUE OF THE MARKED BAMBOO. 347 “T know him, ‘Tuan,” said the sergeant-major. “Everyone says he has plenty of money.” “Ning Wo says we four are to go there, hide near the house, and wait for the gang, and that we are not to try to arrest them till they come out of the house.” “Ning Wo is quite right, Tuan,” said Beedin ; “he has much sense for a Chinaman. Let them commit the robbery, or we may have no evidence.” When explaining any plan I always let my men, to whom I was telling it, comment thereon. Many a useful hint have I received in this way. “He says we are not to be in uniform, but are all to be in Malay dress, and that we are to take revolvers, likewise handcuffs. He evidently thinks they are a slippery lot. Finally, he told me not to drive to the police-station, and that you are all to wear boots.” “ Did anyone but a fool ever go looking for gang-robbers and not wear boots?” said Cassim. “You must lend me a sarong and head- kerchief, sergeant-major,” I said, “and we will walk to Bukit Nanas at about nine o'clock to-morrow night.” “T have a better plan than that, Tuan,” he replied. “This gang is evidently very pandi (clever), and it is quite likely they will have spies watching us. We must not take any risks. I will make my brother-in-law, Mat, bring his bullock-cart and we will go in it. I will tell him to go about a mile along the Rantai road and there ‘pick up Cassim and me. We will then come round by the Jelebu road, and the Tuan and Beedin can join us where it goes through the jungle above the bridge. The Tuan must say ‘Che mat’ to the driver, and if he replies * Bagoos’ (all right) the Tuan will know it is the right cart.” It was as good a plan as any of us could think of, and the next night we put it into operation. The sergeant-major, Cassim, and I carried our revolvers, but Beedin said he would not take one; that it was an unholy weapon which he never could manage, and that he was afraid if he had one it might go off sideways and kill one of us. He was therefore armed with his kris and a particularly useful-looking stick. Before we got to Bukit Nanas the bullock- cart turned into a jungle-road, and when we had proceeded along this for about a quarter of a mile we got out, and, guided by the sergeant- major, arrived at a large clearing, at the edge of which stood two Chinese houses about fifty yards from each other. The sergeant-major in a whisper told me that the nearer one to us was that occupied by Nee Kah. It was then about ten o’clock, and, as silently as we could, we made our way towards the building, occasionally barking our shins against fallen trees, and lay down in the long grass about fifteen yards from the house. The moon was nearly full, and we could see everything distinctly. It seemed to me that we had been waiting the whole night, though in reality it could not have been two hours, when a figure silently stole out of the jungle, passed within a dozen yards of us, and went to the back of the house. In a few minutes he reappeared at the front and began a series of stooping movements as if he were planting seeds. Sergeant # Cassim whispered “ Boots !” I saw Ning Wo's reason then for saying the Malays were to wear boots; it had occurred to him that they might wish to be unheard and so would go barefooted. It was an old gang- robbers’ dodge to stick pieces of sharpened bamboo in the ground round a house they were going torob. Anyone who tried to follow them would tread on these, and an inch of bamboo in the sole of one’s foot is not conducive to successful pursuit. Our bamboo-planting friend had scarcely completed his operations when three more figures emerged from the jungle and joined him. A few minutes later the door of the house opened. ‘They did not break into it; it opened to them. A man came out, bringing a box, which he placed on the ground, and then re-entered the house. A moment later he again appeared, bringing another box. As soon as he had put this down he turned, closed the door, and, taking something from his pocket, fastened it to the top. Ning Wo had said we were to take no action till the men had come out of the house and shut the door. This was evidently the right moment, then. “Ready!” I said, under my breath. Etot, Cassim, and I drew our revolvers, and, rising simultaneously, we rushed at the house. In less than five seconds we were in front of the men. “Stand, or we shoot!” I shouted. How I blessed the moon, which enabled us to see, for as I spoke the man who was at the door tutned and, quick as lightning, drew a pistol. Beedin was too quick for him, however, and before the fellow had time to fire he smote him deftly on the forearm with his stick. ‘The pistol dropped to the ground and Beedin snatched it up. - At that moment the door of the house was opened and an old Chinaman appeared. “That is Nee Kah,” said Etot. “Shut the door, you fool,” I said, “and stay inside till I call you.” He bolted in like a rabbit, . touched my arm and

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348 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Hold up your hands, every man of you,” I ordered. Our three revolvers were evidently enough for the thieves, for they obeyed at once. “Give Beedin the handcuffs,” I said. Etot and Cassim each threw him two pairs. “Stand, or we shoot!" I shouted. “ Handcuff them together, Beedin,” I ordered. When he had done this we searched the men, and found that each of them had a loaded revolver ; evidently our quickness alone had saved us from a stiff fight. We annexed the arms, and by way of a joke I told Beedin to carry them. He took each one in turn, care- fully unloaded it, threw the cartridges away, and returned the revolvers to the pouches of the original owners! They were harmless now, and he did not see why he should carry any super- fluous weight. Going to the door of the house I hammered on it and called for Nee Kah. When he appeared, which he seemed rather reluctant to do, I ex- plained the situation to him, told him who we were, and restored his property to him, at the same time telling him he was to attend at court the next day, or rather that day, to give evidence. As I turned to go I suddenly thought of the door, and, looking at it, saw sticking there the bamboo with its red sign. right gang at last ! We had caught the “ What a joke to send the token to Arthur !” I thought, as I pocketed the stick. We marched the men to Bukit Nanas Police- Station, for I had no intention that they should be honoured by having the superintendent of police, the sergeant-major, the detective-sergeant, and a man of so many gifts as Constable Beedin as an escort to head-quarters. We could get gharries and drive home, and I would send a | Sikh escort for them. When we arrived at the station we had a look at the men. A sweet-looking lot of cut-throats they were—and there was Ning Wo comfortably handcuffed between two of them. As soon as our eyes met he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and then looked down. I saw what he meant; I was

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THE CLUE OF THE not to recognise him. TI prayed that neither Etot, nor Cassim, nor Beedin would do so, and if they did that they would make no sign. They did not. © Call the corporal, Beedin,” I said. In a couple of minutes he arrived, and I gave him a brief account of what had happened. “Ts the cell empty?” I asked. “Yes, Tuan,” he replied. The cells at our country stations, by the way, were made to accommodate about ten prisoners. “ Lock these men up, handcuffed as they are, and place an armed constable over the door. I will send for a Sikh escort to take them to the jail. Then fetch two gharries.” I rang up the charge-room at head-quarters and ordered the sergeant on duty to tell the Sikh native officer to send out at once a lance- corporal and three Sikhs to take five prisoners to the jail. Then, having seen our prisoners safely under lock and key, we four went out of the station to wait for the gharries. “Of course, the Tuan recognised Ning Wo,” said Cassim. ‘ He did the whole business very cleverly, but he took a lot of risks. Supposing the man who had tried to shoot had done so, and the others had joined in, it would have been very serious. I am certain Ning Wo was the man I was covering with my revolver, and I think I can hit a man at five paces.” e “We have a proverb in England, Cassim, which says, ‘All’s well that ends well,’” I told him. ‘Thank goodness there was no shooting.” Beedin came back with me in one of the gharries. For a mile he said not a word, and then he broke the silence. “Ning Wo is not only a clever man, Tuan,” he said, ‘‘ but he is also a brave one. He is too good to be a Chinaman; I must talk to him and see if I cannot persuade him to become a Mohammedan.” Early that morning, for we did not get home till nearly two, I went down to the jail. The first person I met as I entered by the wicket which the Sikh sentry opened for me was Hussein, the jailer. “Does the Tuan know that one of the five prisoners brought from Bukit Nanas this morn- ing was in prison last year?” * “Yes, I know he was,” I replied, “and I have come down to speak to him. Take me to his cell.” I entered it, telling Hussein to lock me in with the prisoner; I would ring the cell bell when I wanted the door opened. Hussein stared—he could not understand why I did not have the man brought to the office ; but I was not going to have any listeners. “Thank you, Ning Wo,” I said, when we MARKED BAMBOO. 349 were alone. ‘You did the whole thing very cleverly, but I would like you to tell me how you managed it.” “It was not very easy, Tuan,” he answered, “and for some days I did not think I should succeed. When the Tuan showed me the bamboo I recognised the sign on it at once. The Tuan knows my early life, so I may as well tell him that every band of robbers in China has a secret sign, which is known to every other band, so that they do not interfere with each other.” “*Hawks do not pick out hawks’ eyes,’” I thought. Apparently all our best sayings are cribbed from the Chinese. “This particular one I knew well,” he con- tinued ; “it is the sign of ‘Those Who Work Inside.’ ” “ And what might that mean?” I asked. “The Tuan shall hear presently. Besides the signs, every band has its own pass-words. One word or half a sentence must be replied to by the other word or half sentence. I knew from seeing the bainboo that two or three of the band must be working together here, and it was my luck to have once belonged to it. I visited half the opium shops within ten miles round and must have given half one or other of the pass-words to more than a dozen men, but I never received a reply till one night, when I was smoking, a man came in and lay down on the next bed to me. I was tired of giving the pass- words, but I thought I would try him, and he replied with the other half. After that it was very easy. We went out of the shop shortly afterwards into the jungle, where he proved me. Telling’ me to stay where I was, he returned in about half an hour with three other men, one of whom, Tee Ah, I had known of for years. He is one of the most noted robbers in China, and if the Tuan were to send him to Canton the Viceroy would send him a thousand dollars, for Tee Ah has committed many murders.” “ He looked as if he were accustomed to the game,” I observed, “from the way he drew his revolver last night.” “Tt is too long a story to tell the Tuan all that took place. I told them I had been looking for work and could not get any, and that I had been in jail for trying to commit a robbery. This was enough for them, and they admitted me into the gang. But the thing was how to betray them and not get killed myself.” “That was what you feared when you spoke to me?” I said. “Yes, Tuan, and they would have done so if they had had the slightest suspicion. One day I was talking to Tee Ah about the Tuan,

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450 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and I said we must be very careful, as he was a clever man. ‘Pooh!’ he said, ‘all the red- headed devils are fools and sons of fools, and not one of them will ever catch me. See here. I will write to him and put the sign on the paper, and say we are going to rob Ah Yok at Ramban. He will go there with about twenty fools of policemen and stay all night, and while he is doing that we will commit the other robbery we have planned close by.’” “Of course, you know we did go,” I said. “Sergeant Cassim said he thought it was a trick, but I dared not risk that.” “Of course you could not, Tuan. I then thought of the plan of pretending to go to the town and trying to hear news; the detectives were sure to have talked about our robberies, and we were always curious to hear what was being said. It is a useful thing to know. The Tuan knows all the rest.” “Between your friends’ knives and our Tevolvers you seem to have been acting the part of a living sandwich for a week or two,” I said. “It strikes me they took a good deal on trust, for, if they had chosen, they could easily have found out how you were employed in this country. But why is the gang called ‘Those Who Work Within’ ?” “Did not the Tuan notice that Nee Kah’s house was not broken into? One member of the gang always hides himself inside the house to be robbed, and opens the door to the others. Breaking doors open makes so much noise and alarms the neighbours.” “Not a bad idea that,” I remarked. “But what is going to happen "about you now? Of course, you can’t appear and give evidence.” “Of course not, Tuan. Let me be tried and sentenced with the rest, and afterwards the Tuan can get me released.” “One word more,” I said. stolen property ?” “That is the one thing I cannot tell the Tuan,” he replied. And this was the one part of the whole business I felt certain I would never know, for I saw that for once Ning Wo dared not speak. The men were all tried ; the evidence was too strong for any defence, for they had been caught red-handed in an armed gang-robbery, and one at least had attempted to fire on the police. They were sentenced to fifteen years’ imprisonment each. Arthur paid up his five dollars like a sportsman. Immediately after the trial I went to the Resident and told him the whole story, which the sergeant-major, Cassim, and Beedin cor- “Where is all the roborated, and Ning Wo was released. Inci- dentally, I had to let the jailers into the secret of who he was. Some six months later cholera broke out in the jail, Thanks to the doctors prompt and drastic measures it was soon stamped out, but not before some eight or nine prisoners had died of it, and of these two belonged to the gang. A month later a third died of fever. Not long afterwards Tee Ah, with four other convicts, was sent in charge of three Sikh warders to cut firewood. Suddenly Tee Ah managed to slip the handcuff which bound him to the chain and made a bolt for the jungle. He had not gone ten yards when one of the Sikhs fired at him and dropped him dead in his tracks. “They are all gone, Ning Wo,” said I, when I got home that day, and I told him about ‘Tee Ah. “Will the Tuan drive me to ‘Tassek to-day ?” he asked, quietly. “What for?” “Twill tell the Tuan when I get there,” was his terse reply. I sent for my dog-cart. Ning Wo appeared with a hoe, which he had annexed from the gardener, and we drove out to Tassek. On the way I tried to make him talk, but for once he was as tight-lipped as an oyster. We senee at the police-station and got down. “Will the Tuan follow me?” said Ning Wo. We walked about half a mile through the jungle till we came to a clearing, in the middle of which was an old, worked-out surface tin-mine. Close by was a ruined 4ongs house—the building in which the coolies employed at the mine used to live. Going in at what had once been the doorway, Ning Wo commenced digging up the ground on one side with his hoe, and in about ten minutes brought to light two boxes. We pulled them out; he forced them open with the hoe, and I saw that they were full of jewellery and silk clothing. “These are the proceeds of the robberies Tee Ah’s gang committed,” he said. “The Tuan must see that while the men lived I could never say where the things were. Sooner or later they would all have come out of prison, and they would at once search for the property. If they found it gone, they would know I had either taken it or betrayed them, and my life would never’ have been safe, either in this country or in China.” I could not blame him for his silence, for I knew that, though Chinese vengeance is sometimes slow, it is always terribly sure.

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Earthquakes from a Japanese Point of View. By Lapy Lawson. The Japanese, with their usual energy and thoroughness, have made elaborate investigations into the science of seismology, and their experts have discovered not a few remarkable facts relating to the laws governing earthquakes. In this interesting article Lady Lawson describes some of the work accomplished by Professor Omori, the leading seismologist of the Island Empire. APAN is pre-eminently a land of earthquakes, nearly fourteen hundred of these nerve-trying phenomena being recorded annually throughout the whole of the empire. In Tokio alone there are on an average fifty earthquakes that can be felt during the year, or about one a week. Earthquakes, as everyone knows, occur in all regions adjacent to active volcanoes, as in the neighbourhood of Teneriffe, Vesuvius, Etna, and Stromboli, which are simply the safety-valves of a single earthquake district. So also Japan, Sumatra, Java, and the islands of the East Indian Archipelago are liable to fearful earth- quakes ; and geologists say that much of Japan would never have existed but for the seismic and volcanic agency which has elevated whole tracts above the ocean by means of repeated eruptions. There is, however, one region of the earth in which subterranean shocks occur which cannot be referred to the neighbourhood of volcanics vents. Upper India and parts of Western India are periodically visited by extensive and violent seismic disturbances, of which the two greatest in modern times have been the Assam and Bengal earthquake of June 12th, 1897, and the more recent catastrophe in North-West India on April 4th, 1905, and un- doubtedly we may trace these seismic phenomena to the great mountain chains which traverse this part of Asia. The subterranean forces which upheaved the great Himalayan range, for instance, may be assumed to he still existent, though now for a while dormant, or “perhaps,” says Sir John Herschel, “expended in maintaining the Himalayas at their present eleva- tion.” The earth’s crust. is under continual stress, and when the strain thereby produced reaches a certain limit the stress must be relieved, generally by some sud- den convulsion, thus causing earth- quakes. If one studies a map of the world it will be seen that the configuration of earthquake centres, as seen in India, Japan, Java, and Sumatra, is that of an arc, and that in each case the earthquake region lies on the outer or convex side of the arc, where the deformation of the earth’s crust seen in the curvilinear form of the arc shows that the strain is greatest. Thus, in the Himalayas, severe earthquakes take place on the outer or steep side, rather than on the concave or Tibetan side; and in the case of the Japan arc great seismic disturbances occur almost always on the outer or Pacific side, where the Pacific Ocean forms the greatest area of depression in the world, and only small local shocks originate on the inner or Japan Sea side of the arc. After the great catastrophe in North-West India on April 4th, 1905, the Japanese Govern- ment, ever eager to study earthquake phenomena at first hand, sent their leading seismic expert, Dr. I. Omori, Professor of Seismology at the Imperial University, Tokio, to investigate and report on the nature of the disaster. During several months’ stay in Tokio I was honoured by the friendship of this eminent Professor Omori, the leading seismologist of Japan, with his family. From a Photograph,

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352 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Fissures caused by a disastrous earthquake. scientist, and I spent many delightful hours in his lecture-rooms at the University, and also with his charming family in their picturesque home. Professor Omori points out that, owing to the conformationof thegreat ranges of the Himalayas, earthquakes must be recurring calamities in Northern India, although the same spot may not be affected a second time for many years ; yet, although this is so, much may be done to minimize their effects by building houses solidly, and, if possible, with some degree of elasticity. The appalling loss of life in Dharmsala and the Kangra Valley. was due entirely to faulty construction, the houses being built of stones roughly piled together without any good cement- ing material, surmounted by a heavy roof. The exact spot where the earthquake occurred was not a central point but a zone of some hun- dred and fifty miles in extent, and Mussoorie being closer to the belt of upheaval suffered more than Simla, although the seismic force which split the hills asunder origi- nated at a distance under- ground of probably as much as twenty miles. In construction, the first point is to make the foun- dation solid and as large as possible, because, if weak, cracks will be pro- duced ; and in this con- nection the old Biblical injunction to “build thy house upon a rock” is fully borne out by seismo- logists. In Calcutta the Pro- fessor was consulted by some engineers with regard to the proposed overhead water-tanks, and he found that their theory was that the soft soil of Calcutta acted as an elastic cushion, and by absorbing the earthquake motion pre- vented it from being com- municated to structures standing upon it. Now this is quite an erroneous idea, earthquake «~. motion being invariably felt more in soft than in hard ground ; and even within the confines of the city of Tokio a shock varies considerably, one in the upper part being one-half less in intensity than it is in the lower and softer parts. In all Indian hill-stations, as in Dharmsala, houses are built on spurs, on soft ground, and on steep slopes; or, in Anglo- Indian phraseology, “on the edge of the KAud”—the worst possible position from an earthquake point of view, on account of the ease with which cracks are formed. In proof of this it was found at Dharmsala that houses along the cart road, where the slope was not so steep, suffered little, while at the small temple of Bagusnath, which stands on rocky ground, there was no damage at all. Speaking generally, the most important prin- ciple in construction is to make the structure a single body, simple and compact, avoiding the

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L 3 : f uy EARTHQUAKES FROM A JAPANESE POINT OF VIEW. 353 of Japan — The walls are of parabolic Nagoya Castle, one of the sections to give stability against earthquakes. Froma Photograph. possibility of different parts assuming different movements or vibrations. For example, chimneys are dangerous, because a chimney vibrates differently from the main building, and in the event of earthquake it will be found that a chimney is always broken at its junction with the roof; so that, as the fracture of a brick column occurs at a joint, its seismic stability ought to be increased by using a good mortar, until the strength of the joint becomes equal to that of the bricks themselves. In 1894 a serious earthquake occurred in Tokio, during which several chimneys were knocked down in barracks, factories, and schools, killing many soldiers and others. To obviate this danger the Japanese now make the part above the roof of light material, such as sheet iron, or, better still, of earthenware. If a structure be complex, each part works - against the other; and here again we are reminded of the old Scriptural adage, “A house divided against itself cannot stand”! This principle applies to different materials employed in construction, and even to the same material with a different proportion of strength. Verandas are also a source of danger in earthquakes, and are generally the first part of a house to be thrown down ; while water- pipes suffer so much that in many parts of India the authorities are considering the advisability of providing overhead tanks of iron and steel. In Japan it is interesting to note that Vol. ‘xxiii. —45. ancient castle walls, built several hun- dreds of years ago, have forms approxi- mately equal to the curve theoretically giving the greatest stability against earthquake, known geometrically as the “parabolic curve.” A straight wall, or wall of uniform section, with no “ batter,” or thickening, towards the bottom, is weakest at the base, and so, in the case of the Kangra Fort, all the photographs taken by Pro- fessor Omori after the earthquake show “marginal vibration,” the result of the outer walls being built along the edge of a steep slope with no outer support. In Japan the walls of all old castles are made of parabolic section, thicker at the base, in the form which mathe- matically gives uniform strength throughout the height and prevents the formation of cracks; and, as a matter of fact, all these castles have withstood terrific shocks of earth- quake, of much greater intensity than any in India. The following photograph represents an earthquake-proof structure erected in the grounds of the Imperial University, Tokio, which has been built according to mathematical calculation on a solid concrete foundation, and is intended for use as a seismological observatory and as a standard with which to compare the effects of a shock on ordinary brick buildings. In it most interesting investigations into the stability of various structures against earthquake shocks are carried on, artificial earthquake motion being © produced by means of a “shaking table,” which can be made to move with independent The carthquake-proof buildings erected in the University grounds. From a Photograph.

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THE WIDE pow eA ee Sie a Ss The “ shaking table" From a) of structures. used for testing the strength (Photograph. horizontal and vertical motions by the use of steam-engines. Another remarkable fact in Japan is that pagodas built hundreds of years ago embody the principle of the modern seismograph, which is to minimize the effect of earthquake motion by the combination of an inverted pendulum with an ordinary pendulum; or, in other words, by the union of a stable and an unstable structure to produce a neutral stability which renders the whole building least sensible to earthquake shock. In the hollow well of every five-storeyed pagoda a heavy mass of timber is suspended freely, like an exaggerated tongue, from the top right to the ground, but not in contact Another view of the are pulled apart to test the strength of the mortar, WORLD MAGAZINE. with it, and at the shock of an earthquake this large pendulum slowly swings, the structure ways, and then settles back safely upon its base. This is also the principle fol- lowed in the construction of all bell - towers throughout Japan, where the bell acts as pendulum, and the roof, supported by posts, forms an inverted pendulum, as in the seismograph. When an earthquake occurs, a pagoda or a bell-tower may be rotated or displaced, but it cannot be overturned as a whole. In Simla the motion of the ground on April 4th, 1905, was about two inches, and it would require a motion of several feet to overturn a_ big body. During the great earthquake in India, railway bridges of European design suffered severely, because they were built to resist wind pressure only, whereas in an earth- quake the destructive force is equal to the mass of the given structure (Ze. the bridge) multiplied by the intensity of the earthquake motion. Consequently, although to the out-. ward . vision these bridges were handsome enough, to the trained shaking table," showing the special bricks wmea From a Photograph,

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EARTHQUAKES FROM A JAPANESE POINT OF VIEW. eye of a seismologist they were unsatisfactory and in- artistic. In two-storeyed buildings the upper storey suffers more than the lower one, because the vibration is greater at a height than at the base. A structure may be very heavy, but if built of bad material it can have no resist- ing power, and it will simply “smash down,” for good material and good construc- tion are more important than thickness of walls. In the Punjab the houses were built solidly enough, the walls being two feet thick, but they were filled up with rubble and small stones, and were therefore bad from an earthquake point of view. Professor Omori speaks very decidedly with regard to the responsibility of the Govern- ment in the erection of jails and barracks, and he used a stronger expression than I ever before heard on the lips of a Japanese in criticising Occidental methods, when he said in conclusion: “It is almost criminal on the part of the Government to build bad structures for public purposes, such as schools, jails, and barracks, and my advice to the Indian Government would be to build more substantially, especially in the case of public build- ings.” Although seismologists have not yet succeeded in finding out any means of definitely predicting the occurrence of an earth- quake, they are very hope- ful of finally arriving at this desired goal; and already they can discern danger by the pulsations which are always gently agitating the surface of the earth. A sudden cessa- tion of these heart-beats is a danger-signal, extreme stillness invariably pre- ceding an earthquake, whereas constant tremors are a good sign. A great A typical Japanese pagoda—It is a remarkable fact that these pagodas, built hundreds of years ago, embody the principles of the modern From a) seismograph. (Photograph. A Japanese bell-tower, wherein the suspended bell acts as a safeguard against carthquakes. From a Photograph. 355 earthquake is almost always followed by weaker ones, and when it is violent and de- structive the number of minor shocks following it may amount to hundreds or even thou- sands, and continue for several months or years. The occurrence of after- shocks is quite natural and necessary for the settling down into stable equilibrium of the disturbed tract at the origin of disturbance, each of these shocks removing an unstable or weak point underneath Further, as a very great shock would remove a correspond- ingly great underground 1n- stability, it is probable that such a shock would not, for a long time, be followed by another of a magnitude com- parable to its own in the same or a neighbouring district. When, however, the initial shock is not very great, it may be followed by another like it, but even in this case the position of the origin of the second shock would usually be quite distinct from that of the first. Now that improved seismographs show that earthquake waves are propagated to distant parts of the world, sometimes even more than once round the world, in- ternational co-operation has become desirable, and an International Seismo- logical Association has been organized. The study of seis- mology is a fascinating one, and it is of practical importance not only to people living in an earth- quake - shaken land like Japan, but also to the world in general ; for the work in connection with investigation, such as the determination of the vibrations of — railway- bridge piers, railway and electric cars, and of ships, will be of interest and use to engineers and scientific men in all parts of the world.

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The Robbery at Goldsmith’s. By THE Rev. Ernest J. CHAPPELL. The author writes: “This story wag related to me, with much feeling, by the chief sufferer. The only alterations I have made are for the purpose of disguising the identity of persons and places.” N the best business street of B ’ and in the very best position in that street, stood the premises of Gold- smith and Co. The windows were placed about six feet back from the street frontage, the centre one being in the form ofa bay. On either side other windows, more like show-cases, ran at an acute angle from the shop doors until they touched the street, and when the electric lights were on there was as dazzling a show as could be seen anywhere in England, the Metropolis included. It was no uncommon thing to see in the centre of the bay window a necklace ticketed at the modest figure of a thousand pounds, and keeping it company all the other kinds of jewellery, mostly high-priced, with which we poor featherless bipeds make up for our paucity of plumage. It was just as common to see several carriages and motors standing outside the shop ; and more than one duchess or celebrated actress has added to her jewel-case from Goldsmith and Co’s magnificent selection. Outside the window, and running in a line with the frontage of the other shops, was a won- derful steel shutter, the very latest thing in burglary-prevention. Out of sight during the daytime, it rose up at closing-time, worked by hydraulic machinery in the basement, like a great steel armour-plate, two inches thick, closing in the shop-front completely with the exception of an “eye-hole,” through which the policeman might peer as he passed on his beat. The inside of the shop itself—floor, sides, ceiling, and end —was lined with quarter-inch steel plates, and when the day’s business was over Goldsmith and his partners never lost a moment’s sleep in dreaming of burglaries ; they deemed such things utterly impossible. At the social or business gatherings of the. jewellers of the town Goldsmith was rather fond of calling attention to his improvements ; every burglary which the newspapers reported gave him another opportunity for a pompous utterance on armour-plate shutters. Seeing that there is about one such burglary per day, the members of the club got a little bit wearied of it. Gold- smith would remind them, with pardonable pride, that since his invention had been in- stalled—some six years—his firm had never missed a farthing’s worth of stuff—a record few jewellery houses could boast of. And their system of espionage inside, he added, was as perfect as their hydraulic shutter was strong. Under the circumstances the reader can imagine the sensation caused at the club when it gradually leaked out that Goldsmith’s had lost a three-hundred-pound diamond ring. When Vernstein twitted Goldsmith about it, the latter made no attempt at denial, and Vernstein was quick to seize the opportunity to moralize on the imperfection of the very best arrangements, for when he himself had been “cleaned out ” rather badly by thieves Gold- smith had preached to him on the old-fashioned nature of his premises. After he had rubbed it well in Vernstein prepared to ccmmiserate. “ How did it happen ?” he asked. “That will never be known. The thing is an utter mystery,” replied Goldsmith. His tone implied that if he could not account for the theft no one else could, and his manner distinctly forbade pursuit of the subject. The robbery, as a matter of fact, had happened as follows. It was the height of the season. Lords and ladies were in residence in the town, and B was busier than ever, for Royal personages were to grace it witha visit. It was a harvest-time for everyone who in any way ministered to human vanity, and Goldsmith’s reaped a daily ingathering of shekels. One glorious afternoon, however, the firm were quieter than usual, for the gay crowd had taken itself. to one of the various functions upon which the great ones were beaming. Presently there entered the shop a beautiful, tall, well- dressed lady. With his best bow Berners, the manager, asked madam what they could have the pleasure of showing her, and conducted her, with all the ceremony of which he was capable, to the counter where rings were sold. There he was almost sorry to deliver her up to the assistant, Johnson, for her brilliant eyes and her well-bred, melodious voice were good things to be in company with. “T want to purchase a ring for a gentleman,” said the lady to Johnson; “I have the size with me.” And madam produced from her bag a cardboard circle and something else which Johnson did not see. Now, usually, though an Englishman, Johnson was as cute as anybody, but for once the eyes,

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THE ROBBERY Al GOLDSMITH’S. . 357 the teeth, the smile bamboozled him, and without asking madam what priced ring or what kind she wanted he took tt for granted that a glorious woman like that would have pecks of money; so he straightway lifted from its resting-place under the glass a velvet tray of their costliest diamond rings, worth twenty pounds, thirty pounds, and upwards to three figures. At sight of them the lady burst into the merriest of little laughs and exclaniations of delight. ‘Oh, how lovely ! how sweet ! What a_ beautiful selection!’’ she cned. ‘But I only want a plain signet- ting, and one very much cheaper than these. Oh! see how it ghitters!” she continued, pointing to a particular ring. “Do let me look at that one again.” She examined it, with more exclama- tions, and finally replaced the ring in its little nest of velvet with a sigh. That sigh, and the look in the glorious eyes, further capti- vated the suscep- tible Johnson, and the thought of sharp practice was as far from his thoughts as the North Pole. ‘That is more the thing I want,” said madam, suddenly, and pointed to another tray. Now, ordinarily Johnson would not have turned his back on the first tray for even a fraction of a second, but just this once, as he reached for ihe second tray, he lost sight of the first. The lady carefully selected a good gold ring and asked for the initials “J. A. S.” to be engraved upon it; “and if you can get it done by this evening,” she added, “the gentleman himself will call for it.” Madain had paid in two good notes and was nearly at the door when to his unspeakable horror Johnson discovered that one of the ring spaces in the more costly tray was empty, and that three hundred pounds’ worth of gold and gems had vanished! He at once passed the She examined it, with more exclamations. understood signal to the commissionaire who acted as doorkeeper, and hurried off to Berners with his story. When madam reached the door the burly form of the ex-lifeguardsman barred her passage. “TI think, madam, that our manager, Mr. Berners, wishes to speak to you,” he said. The lady stopped, looking annoyed and indignant. A moment later Berners himself bustled forward.

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358 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “What is it, sir?” she asked him, in icy tones. “Tam very sorry, madam, but my assistant has missed a costly ring from the tray which you were examin- ing amoment ago.” “And do you wish to in- sult me by connecting me with the disappearance of your ring?” inquired the lady, haughtily. “T am very sorry, madam,” repeated the manager, “but the ring was there a moment ago, and you were looking at it.” Then there was a scene. For a moment the lady threatened to become hysterical; next, recovering herself, she began to wither poor Johnson with stinging words and haughty looks, ‘I am very sorry, madam, but my assistant has missed a costly ring from the tray which you were examining a moment ago." and to make Berners wonder why he had made so ghastly a blunder. Still, he had his duty to do, and he was determined to do it. “If madam would only consent to be searched by their lady manager,” he said, “it would avoid the unpleasant necessity of calling in the police.” At this the lady stormed, saying she preferred the police and publicity—the very thing Berners

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THE ROBBERY AT’ GOLDSMITH’. 359 dreaded on such slender evidence. Finally, how- ever, yielding to his pleadings, she consented to be searched. Nothing was found upon her. In high dudgeon she returned to the shop, demanding the return of her notes and the cancelling of her order, until, softening again, she said she realized that accidents would happen and that they were bound to protect themselves She would forgive them for their awkward mistake, and allow her order to stand When she finally departed Berners still halted between two opinions, and the “ wigging” poor Johnson received can be imagined. During the season Goldsmith’s did not close until eight o'clock in the evening, and about seven that same day a faultlessly-dressed man of about thirty, with all the appearance of a gentle- man, entered the shop. As he passed the commissionaire he inquired for the ring counter, and, without waiting for any shopwalker's directions, stepped across the shop-floor and faced the dejected Johnson Then, without any preliminary skirmishing, he opened fire. “Are you the young man who served a friend of mine with a gentleman's signet ring this afternoon ?” he asked, sternly. “1am, sir,” said Johnson. “And are you the same young man who accused the lady of stealing ?” But Johnson was not a worm, and he had heard quite enough about that ring for one day. “No,” he replied, “I am not; I am the man who reported to my manager that a ring was missing, and that finishes the subject so far as I am concerned. The manager is there if you wish to speak with him.” “T will first have the signet-ring that was paid for; then I shall have something to say,” said the stranger. Johnson neatly boxed and parcelled the ring, and, directing him to Berners, was glad to get rid of him so easily. For five minutes thereafter the stranger's language, while perfectly well-bred, suggested fireworks, and plainly hinted that but for the feelings of Goldsmith's and the other customers in the shop it would have been much more sulphurous. “And,” he finished, heatedly, “ if the lady had not particularly requested me, I would on no account have taken the ring she ordered, or any. other article from your con- founded establishment !” Poor Berners tried to pour oil on the troubled waters, but all to no purpose, and the well- dressed stranger left, his whole appearance indicating that he would have dearly liked to have had the manager and his staff outside for a few minutes. Even then Berners felt there was something “fishy” about the whole business, and he remarked sullenly to Bunsen, his second in command, “For two pins I would clap the woman in jail and risk it.” On reflection, he finally decided to report the matter to the authorities. The police superintendent mildly hinted that Berners did not trouble them often, but now that he 4ad come it was with no small order. To find a kady with a picture hat, tall, good-looking, with fine eyes and teeth, and a beautiful httle sigh, against whom there were only suspicions, was something to be going on with, but they would do their best. Their best accomplished nothing, and the episode of the missing ring gradually passed into oblivion. The following spring Goldsmith’s began to get ready for another good season, and the painters and polishers came in and went over the premises thoroughly. One day a polisher was doing the framework of the cases which formed the front of the mng counter. The flat top of the counter projected over the uprights, forming a ledge about two or three inches wide. As he dusted with his brush the polisher came across something adhering to the under side of the ledge. Berners was standing close by, and the man, turnimg to him, asked, “Is this here for any purpose ?” “What is it?” asked Berners. At the request of the workman Berners got down on his knee and looked up under the counter ledge. What he saw was a piece of red wax, about the size of a two-shilling-piece, and on it the imprint of a ring, even to the marks of the jewels. In a flash the affair of the previous summer came tohim, and he saw through the trick. After “madam” had ogled Berners, and whilst she was captivating Johnson, she had taken from her bag, at the same time as she produced the cardboard ring-size, a piece of red wax. This she had swiftly and deftly pressed on to the under side of the counter ledge. ‘Then, during the three or four seconds that Johnson’s back was turned as he reached for the tray of cheaper rings, she had picked up the diamond ring and just as swiftly pressed it into the wax. As the ring was there and not on her person she could afford, after she had been sufficiently indignant, to allow herself to be searched. When her confederate entered the shop the same evening he had walked straight to the place and, whilst preparing to pour forth the vials of his wrath on the head of the unfortunate assistant, had quietly removed the ring from the wax to his own pocket. Vernstein and Goldsmith are not at present on speaking terms, because the former hinted that Goldsmith’s armoured shutter was precious little use—anyone with a bit of wax had the whole shop at his mercy.

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Mr, Norman H. Crowell, who here relates his experiences as a deputy-postmaster. From a Photograph JO the uninformed observer the life of a United States deputy postmaster is one of monotonous drudgery. A more humdrum existence, apparently, could not be imagined than the never-ending pounding of letters, the emptying, filling, and sealing of sacks and pouches, and the wearisome calculations, invoices, and ac- countings demanded by the Government. Outsiders get this idea principally by reason of the remarkable reticence that characterizes postal clerks. ‘They are close-mouthed indivi- duals, and not given to descanting at length on the happenings that come under their notice. A garrulous postal clerk is about as useless in a well-kept post-office as a ferret in a rabbit-hutch. When engaged in the specially private business of handling the public’s correspondence the wise clerk soon learns that “mum's the word,” and conducts himself accordingly. There are, therefore, many things in a clerk’s daily life that escape general knowledge, but which are, nevertheless, bizarre and often startling. At the ‘age of seventeen, through the kind offices of a friend, 1 was appointed deputy- postmaster in the thriving little town of Storm Lake, in the State of Iowa. The town is a county seat, with a population of about two thousand four hundred people. The Storm Lake post-office received several mails daily from East and West, and the citizens seemed to consider it a duty to answer all correspondence immediately upon arrival. As a consequence I, being a green hand, was kept on the jump from daybreak until late at night. I began in February, 1891, and the ensuing three months will long be remembered by me as marking the high-water mark of a day’s work accomplished by the writer. My troubles were made more burdensome because I was a member of the graduating class of the Storm Lake High School, The Experiences of a Deputy-Postmaster. By Norman H. CRroweELL. Postal clerks are, rightly enough, uncommunicative people, and the general public probably thinks they never meet with any out- of-the-ordinary adventures. formerly a U.S. deputy-postmaster—abundantly proves. only located at a small and unimportant office, he was instru- mental in preventing a daring bank robbery and an attempt upon That this is not so the author— Though the post-office itself. and expected to get my diploma in June. Not only did I fulfil my routine duties at the post- office, but I kept up a particularly arduous line of studies in preparation for the grand examina- tion at the finals. How I did it I cannot say, but I came through with flying colours and graduated with my class. Having overcome this unusual burden I grew rapidly proficient at the post-office, and it soon became the custom of the postmaster, who was also the owner of a weekly newspaper in the town, to delegate a great deal of his work at the post-office to me. As I was young and active I did not mind this ; in fact, I felt rather flattered by this mark of his confidence in my ability, and I worked even harder to dispatch the business in as creditable a manner as before. The mails, however, were occasionally very large, and I had a custom of summoning aid in its distribution from the employés of the printing-shop owned by the postmaster. To facilitate this I had a small private telephone rigged up between the two places. It was simply a wire stretched tightly between two sounding-boxes, but readily served the purpose for which we intended it. My favourite assistant on such occasions was a young Swede named Anderson, who was of much help to me. As time went on I faced all manner of small annoyances met by postal clerks, such as mislaid registered letters and packages, misdirected pouches, unlockable locks, and so forth. One night I found a pocket-book containing one thousand and forty dollars currency (about two hundred and fifty pounds). It was among the rubbish as I was sweeping out at night. An hour later the owner of the book was handed the small fortune, and had the good grace to offer me a magnificent, soul-satisfying drink of soda-water. I had presence of mind enough, however, to decline this thrilling offer. I had not been many months in the office

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THE EXPERIENCES OF A DEPUTY-POSTMASTER. 361 before I began to expect practical jokes at the hands of the railway postal clerks—the men who handled the mails on the trains—and I found in the pouches nearly everything (besides mail) from mice to horseshoes. I recall one horseshoe that had over a hundred tags tied to it, and which had travelled through every State in the Union. It would have been a valuable souvenir to keep, but, after a close inspection, I passed it on its journey. The first disturbing episode that I remember happened on receipt of the evening mail from In this picture the corner building (now use: From a) the West one night. hurry to get home. 1 seized it by the bottom strap and hurriedly dumped its contents on the long distributing table. Two large and very angry cats tumbled out and scurried boisterously about the office, finally climbing the boxes and perching on the shelf above near the ceiling. It was only by the exercise of unusual persuasion that Ander- son and I succeeded in dislodging our feline visitors before closing up for the night. -I used caution in emptying pouches from that time onward, and believe that by so doing I averted a distressing accident some weeks later. T had just emptied the Eastern mail one morn- ing, and was sorting it on the table, when I discovered several small brass affairs which I at first thought were ferrules for canes or umbrellas. Anderson, however, instantly recog- nised the things as dynamite caps or detonators —very treacherous things to be lying loose in so promiscuous a place as Uncle Sam’s mail. To make matters worse, a further search revealed a Tt was late, and I was ina torn package which contained three full-sized. sticks of dynamite! The caps had fallen out of the packet. It is needless to say that the firm Vol, xxiii.—48. where the Author served as deputy-postmaster. After unlocking the pouch, * of well-borers to whom the parcel was addressed found it inconvenient thereafter to receive explosives by mail. My experiences, however, were not all of a light or immaterial character. There are some that make me shiver even now as I recall them. My first serious adventure, although it gave me the worst ten minutes of my life, ended rather ludicrously. Beneath the post-office floor was a deep basement or cellar, into which we swept the débris of the office through a square hole cut in the floor at one end of the distributing ake Post Office, (Photograph. table. One wintry evening, when I was momen- tarily unoccupied, 1 sat down on the table to snatch a glimpse of the evening paper. 1 had been there but a short time when I seemed to feel a strange presentiment of danger and glanced apprehensively about the room. I saw nothing suspicious, and was about to resume my paper when, through a small knothole in the table near my right limb, I saw an ugly face peering up through the hole in the floor. ‘The hole was some fourteen inches square, and a man could get through it readily. My feelings at this point may be imagined. From the expression on the man’s face I knew he was watching my legs, but obviously he did not know I was looking at him. Just then the front door of the office opened and a belated customer entered. I seized the opportunity to drop off the table and walk noisily to the wicket. As I did so I formed a plan. On the shelf below the wicket stood a large, round, and well-seasoned potato, which saw daily use as a pen-preserver. I placed my right hand on it casually, and, encouraged by the presence of the man outside, wheeled suddenly and threw the potato unerringly at the hole.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “I wheeled suddenly and threw the potato unerringly at the hole.” A dull “plunk” sounded through the office. T had hit the ugly face squarely! It disappeared instantly, and a heavy bump from below told me that the man had fallen. A minute later the startled citizen and myself were in the basement surveying the unconscious form of—the care- taker! In his hand he still held a stout cord, which tethered three large and lively rats. He had merely been preparing a little joke for my benefit, but I had been too quick for him. He carried his jaw in a sling for several days, and it was not until he had completely recovered that I told him the truth. Up till then he believed that he had been seized by a sudden stroke of apoplexy and had injured himself in falling. Upon another occasion my natural suspicious- “ness contributed to the confusion of the plans of a daring gang of “‘yeggmen”—migratory bank-

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THE EXPERIENCES OF robbers. It is not compulsory on a postal clerk to read all postal cards going through his hands; in fact, the higher officials discourage the habit as far as possible. But postal clerks become as expert in “sensing” the strangeness of certain missives as a bank cashier does in discovering counterfeit notes or coin. He notices the un- usual peculiarities of cards almost instinctively, and a second glance often leads to a third. One day a card was received addressed to “James Ropell.” The name was an entirely new one to me, and was written in a peculiar, scrawling hand. I glanced at it, hesitated, and then studied it again. Next, unconsciously, I stole a peep at the wording on the reverse side. It ran thus :— “DeEaR JimM,— Have bought seven cows, twenty-one sheep, and ninety-four chickens. Clear at six-fifteen. Ship at six-forty.—ArRTy.” It was rather puzzling, but was undoubtedly clear to the sender ; and, moreover, it was none of my business. I filed it in its proper box and went on with the distribution. Several times during the day the odd message occurred to me, and I pondered over it. ‘The ludicrousness of a shipment of cows, sheep, and chickens appealed to me, and I put “ Arty” down as a mighty poor stock-buyer, whoever he was. But the next mail solved the thing—so far as I was concerned. A small key, of the ordinary night-latch variety, arrived attached to a tag addressed to “ James Ropel.” The handwriting was the same, but two things aroused my. curiosity. The address on the card was to “James Ropell” and that on the tag to “ James Ropel.” A difference of an “1” seemed quite important to me. Moreover, the key was not a factory production—it was hand-made, showing the file marks quite plainly. It required but a moment’s cogitation to convince me that I was facing the handiwork of a gang of shrewd bank-robbers. I got to work immediately, and visited’ the cashier of the First National Bank. He was a sedate, elderly man, and looked at me in surprise as I abruptly inquired :— “Mr. Waite, is the combination of your safe three numbers—seven, twenty-one, ninety-four ?” “Really, young man,” he began, reddening deeply. “And does your side door open by a small key with three.sharp teeth in it?” I went on. Mr. Waite placed his hand on my shoulder in a fatherly manner and, dropping his voice to a whisper, said: “You are right both times, but how on earth did you discover it? And why are you asking me such queer questions?” I then related my suspicions, and was gratified to note that he was deeply interested. A DEPU'TY-POSTMASTER. 363 “There will be no danger until ‘ Ropell’ arrives and gets the key and the card,” he said. “Then we must be prepared for him. I think we.can catch the rascal red handed. I thank you for warning me of this, and assure you that you will not lose anything if the developments prove to be what I now anticipate.” I fully agreed with Mr, Waite, and spent three days in eager anxiety to see James Ropell. He came at last. With an heroic attempt to appear calm and unconcerned [ handed over the card and the key. He gave me a quick, keen glance as I did so, but I appeared not to notice it. A few moments later I had notified Mr. Waite. and he at once began his preparations fir receiving his unwelcome guest. Three strong and fearless men were during the day unob trusively hidden away in the directors’ room, adjoining the little alcove in which stood the huge safe. Their vigil was a long and arduous one, for it was not until 5 a.m. that Ropell made his appearance. He entered the side door so noiselessly that the drowsy watchers almost failed to note his presence. And then, at the crucial moment, a most unfortunate thiny occurred. One of the watchers, whose arm had become benumbed by long reclining on_ it, dropped his revolver as he drew it. It clattered to the floor, and in an instant the robber had bounded through the door and sped off throvgh the night. He got clear away. Though exceedingly chagrined, Mr. Waite insisted upon rewarding me handsomely, and the combination of the big safe was immediately changed to new numbers, thereby obviating danger of robbery at the hands of “James Ropell” for some time to come. My most serious experience centred in the single occasion wherein was enacted a bold and well-planned scheme to rob the post-office of its funds and stamps. 1 was alone at the time, and the severe snowstorm that was raging had caused the streets to be entirely aera It lacked but a few minutes to closing-up time, and I had already placed the cash and other valuables in the safe preparatory to ending the day’s business, but had not yet locked it. Suddenly the rear door (opening on an alley) opened and a tall, powerful-looking stranger entered. “Evening, son!” he began. we're having.” I remained silent, staring at him in surprise. Very few persons were allowed in the apartment where I was, and I wondered at the man’s audacity in thus unceremoniously foisting his presence upon me. Meanwhile he shook the snow from his coat and held his hands out to the warmth of the stove. “Heavy storm

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364 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “By George! I dislike this job,” he said, “but I’m pressed for time, and must do it to-night.” “What job is that?” I inquired. He glanced at me condescendingly. “Inspecting the office,” he returned “IT forgot to tell you who I was. Want to see my credentials ?’ “Yes, sir,” said I, with but slight deference, for I had never known of an inspection at that hour of the might With that the stranger produced a typewritten statement to the effect that he was a special examiner for the State of Iowa, and advising all postmasters and their deputies to render him all necessary aid and information in checking up the accounts of their offices. The document bore a large red seal, hanging from some blue ribbon, and a huge signature in purple ink that no human being could hope to decipher. 1 handed it back without comment, but I was doing a prodigious amount of thinking. I had seen a goodly number of inspectors’ credentials before, but none of them had the appearance of this one. My suspicions, if I may call them such, grew more definite, and I began to realize that the man was an impostor. With this thought came a chiling remembrance of my situation—alone, in a comparatively out-of-the- way location, with a howling storm going on outside. I was pondering the matter strenuously when my strained ear suddenly caught a most welcome sound. A very faint tapping from the little telephone-box was momentarily audible, and 1 knew at once that one of the employés of the printing office across the street was in. The signal that I always gave for “ Big mail—hurry up !” was three distinct taps. Could I call help over the wire at this time of night? I made up my mind to try. As nonchalantly as possible, I strolled over to the vicmity of the box and picked up a small tack - hammer that happened to be handy. Under the pretext of driving a nail for a calendar, I gave the sounding-box three urgent taps, and I knew that if Anderson was in the print-shop it must surely attract his attention. Then I walked back to the stove and yawned lazily. “Well, get the money out, son,” urged the stranger, impatiently ; ‘we'll count that up first.” My visitor kept his heavy coat on, damp as it was, and that fact overruled whatever doubt I may still have had as to his rightful identity. “T have an engagement to-night,” said I. “You couldn’t postpone the inspection until morning, I suppose?” The man coughed and glanced sourly at me. “No; couldn't think of it. Business is business, and I am rushed. Got big terntory to cover. Where is the money?” I was at my wits’ end, but before I had time to think of further parley something fine happened Heavy stamping on the back step sounded and the door suddenly opened, admit- ting Anderson and another young fellow, whose name I cannot now recall. My visitor sur- veyed the pair surlily, and finally said :— “You can’t come in here. We will not have interference while mspection is going on.” But I caught Anderson’s eye at the proper moment and gave him an imperative sign to remain. “I work here,” replied Anderson. going to stay.” ‘This reply seemed to nonplus the stranger for a moment, and he glowered into the fire. Then he laughed quietly and turned toward Anderson. “Well, boys, I think you can stay,” he con- tinued, “though it is mot customary. You would oblige me, however, if you would go down to the nearest restaurant and order a hot supper for me to be served at ten o’clock. I have missed my supper, and shall be hungry by that time.” He said this in so matter-of-fact a tone that Anderson seemed to waver. Obviously he was trying to understand the situation. It must certainly have puzzled him, with this stranger endeavouring to get rid of him and me signalling him tostay. Anderson was shrewd, however, and apparently he solved the puzzle to his own satis- faction, for he slowly began buttoning up his coat. I presume my face exhibited the consterna- tion I felt, and I was cogitating the advisability of exploding my suspicions on the spot when Anderson acted. A long wire poker stood near the stove, and quick as a flash Anderson had seized it and swung it down in a vicious sweep full upon the crown of the man’s head. He staggered and cursed, thrust his hand into his deep coat-pocket, and withdrew it, clutching a revolver of large calibre. Before he could use it, however, my friend brought the poker down with cat-like swiftness on the fellow’s wrist, and the weapon went clattering to the floor. With a snarl of mingled pain and rage the stranger leaped upon Anderson and bore him to the floor. Beside my hand, was a heavy dating-stamp, and I grasped it quickly and sprang on the rascal’s back. I never applied a dating-stamp with so much energy as I did at that moment. The hard metal face of the die proved too much for the man, and with a yell of pain he rose, shook me off, and disappeared headlong through the door. He left behind “rm

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THE EXPERIENCES OF A DEPUTY-POSTMASTER. 7 365 bim a revolver, a hat, and—last, but not least —- one finely-typéwritten “ inspector’s credential.” A week later he was captured in Nebraska while attempting a similar game, and the marks of my dating-stamp were plainly visible on his head and neck. Even the date could be faintly distinguished at one point where I had landed a particularly fine blow! As I look back I can recall several other “I never applied a dating-stamp with so much energy as I did at that moment,” curious incidents that took place during my five years as a deputy-postmaster, but none that caused unusual trouble or danger to myself. My conclusion is that a postal clerk’s life, hum- drum as it appears, is no more immune from excitement than that of any other man, although the non-communicative habit of the men them- selves tends to mislead the general public in this regard. ; :

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From a} A sea-lion basking on the beach. [ Photograph. SOME ADVENTURES WITH SEA-LIONS. By BonnycastLeE DALE, OF MILNE’s LanpINnc, BRITISH COlUMBIA. Mr. Bonnycastle Dale is a well-known naturalist-photographer, and here narrates some stories of exciting meetings with the Pacific sea-lion—* conqueror of all he meets save man.” Photographs coast Indian in the stern, in the jargon of the coast called Chinook, and he clacked it out with his tongue as only a coast Indian can. The cause of all the excitement was the fact that we had endeavoured to steal silently past a rock on which an old male sea- lion was sleep- ing. One un- lucky rattle of the paddles, and he might half slip, half jump into the sea, and if he struck our canoe, big cedar war- craft though it was, his twelve hundred pounds of hurtling HOOK out!” yelled the lad Fritz, in the bow. “Take care; jump!” clacked the A rear view of a sea-lion, showing the rudimentary tail just sbove the From a) (Photograph. by the author. bone and flesh and fat would upset us in a flash and kill the man he hit. We had spied the sleep- powerful hind-Aippers. ing brute too late, and the paddlers had instantly adopted the silent stroke. Alas! the ever-present cough of these “ white plague” afflicted tribes must needs burst from Mam- look’s mouth. Instantly the big yellowish beast raised its blunt head, and stared at us for an instant with its big brown eyes, while its coat and skin seemed rising in a surge of anger as a wind ripples the sea. We saw the big black fore- flippers paddle on the rock ; the long, sharp nails in the back ones scraped as he half-turned ; then he slid straight down towards us,

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SOME ADVENTURES WITH SEA-LIONS. He was fifteen feet above the boat and above the falling tide —sliding swiftly straight down at us. As he reached the edge of the great block of red syenite we all involuntarily ducked, and the snarling monster cleared the canoe by his own length, passing over us like some fabled monster of Japanese pottery, and dropping into the water amidst flying sheets of spray. Need- less to say, we paddled away with all speed, drenched, but thankful for our escape. ~ It is a common sight to see the otary, or sea lion, sleeping on the rocks along the coast of the Pacific, especially from Grey’s Harbour northward to Cape Flattery. All along the Straits of Juan de Fuca you may see them swimming, leaping, and rolling like the seals in the pursuit of their mutual prey, the salmon. For hours we have watched one of these beasts rending and biting the fish, It seems to do it from pure savagery, for no creature could eat a dozen big dog-salmon in ten minutes and then finish off with a dessert of twenty in the next half-hour. They simply take a clean bite out of a passing fish. Usually the schools of these shore-migrating, spawn-filled coarse salmon are so thick that the beast has no trouble about catching them at all. He takes just this mouthful ; then, with a backward toss, flings the fish from him. The mutilated body floats away, and the big, savage beast disappears in a circle . of foam and blood. Thave met many halibut-fisher- men who asked us to kill as many of the roaring brutes as we could. They tell me that when anchored off the banks, halibut-fishing, these big, desperate fish-eaters often wrest the fish almost out of their very hands, tearing them off the hooks right beside the boat, and simply staring audaciously at the protesting men. I know well of the fierce anger of a trapped sea-lion. Once, when the lad and I were paddling past a salmon-trap, we heard heavy flapping noises. Thinking it was a blackfish or a small whale that had become imprisoned, we climbed up on to the coping. Down below us in the “heart” swam a big male sea-lion. He was right in the last trap, the “spiller.” Shut in with him were fully five thousand salmon. In his blind fury he was indiscriminately tearing and biting every fish that came in his path. Up in a gurgle of spouting fish he would emerge, The mouth is an eight-inch studded with two rows of great sharp teeth. } savage prow. 367 roaring like a great bull; then he would plunge under again, snapping and snarling. : The watchmen on the shore saw our signal and rowed out. Now, it is well known that a sea-lion will not damage the nets of a trap if he is not molested. The men passed their boat into the “spiller,” drawing the net up under them until only a mass of splashing salmon and a big, dark plunging body could be seen. They were, however, not sufficiently powerful to close the net high enough ‘to render the sea-lion powerless, but they belaboured the poor beast unmercifully with long poles. Just then we half-circle, From a Photograph. heard the whistle of the tug approaching to lift the net, and the watchmen desisted, waiting for reinforcements. No sooner was the tug tied up than a squad of trapmen poled a small scow in over the “spiller,” drew the net up so high that the body of the lion was entirely exposed, and then rained blows upon it that should have killed the beast instantly. Instead, it simply added fuel to his fury. He reared up on his fore-flipper, squashing his way amid heaps of glittering, splashing fish, facing the danger, roar- ing like the monster he was, and biting a salmon clean in two when an extra heavy blow from a pike forced his head down into the mass. Roaring, biting, splashing, he gradually went down before the hail of blows rained on him. The head, at close quarters, is a blunt, rough, It is-well armed for battle, the

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368 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mouth being an eight-inch half-circle, studded with two rows of great sharp teeth. The body is heavily coated with seal-brown hair, sun- bleached to light yellow on the back and sides. The immensely long hind-flippers have big strong claws embedded in the flat upper surface, several inches from the ends of the flipper., The fore flippers have the openings for these nails or claws, but in the particular female I dissected they were lacking. The transparent wiry feelers about the jaw are much esteemed by the Chinese as tooth- picks. About two dozen of these sensitive guards pro- ject from the upper lip. The ears are very small, not as large asacommion cat’s, and much depressed. ‘The eyes are a deep soft brown, but they can sparkle like flame in anger. When the dissecting knife laid the skin back we encountered a heavy layer of fat—rich, oily, and fish-smelling. The heart was very large, fully as big as a cow’s, and the beast also owned four huge livers a foot and a half long. ‘The meat is very red, and, although eaten by the coast tribes, is too coarse and redolent of fish-oil for any save a starving white. In fact, the whole beast has a most repulsive odour when in the sun. Freshly drawn from the water, this is not noticeable. The young are bundles of contented fat. Born on the desolate, surf-guarded reefs and islands that fringe and dot the dread Arctic shores, they are safe from molestation. Little greyish creatures they are, that soon after birth learn the eternal law of the natural world—eat A sea-lion’s head at close quarters—The wiry feelers are much esteemed by the Chinese as toothpicks. From a Photograph. or be eaten—and thereafter shift for themselves, conquerors of all they meet save man. To see a big male sea-lion dip leisurely through surf that is wrecking huge timbers on the rocks, appearing like a dark shadow in the blue of a high-erected comber and falling out of it as falls the down from off the cotton-plant, is to gain a striking insight into their strength and agility in their natural element. They have a most uncanny appearance in the water at times. Once, when I was paddling alone up a little fog-hung cove on the Sound—when all was still, the very tide running seaward with an oily sweep—a great male sea-lion suddenly emerged from the water close beside me, erecting his big head until the long hair hung trailing on the surface. He regarded me intently, evi- dently wondering what new kind of animal this was. He sniffed and spluttered for a moment, and then opened his big-toothed mouth and bellowed like a bull. The fog threw the echoes back at me from all sides from out the weather- torn cliffs, and I wondered just when and how my end would come. Then suddenly the big head and wet mane plunged beneath the sur- face; the big black hind-flippers rose in the air and struck the water a resounding smack, and I was left alone—safe, but breathless, the only damage being a wet canoe-cushion.

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Under the Star and Crescent. By “ BeyzapeE.” This extremely topical article gives some striking reminiscences of twenty-five years’ residence in Constantinople, throwing a lurid light upon the espionage, corruption, and intrigue prevalent in Government circles—an appalling state of affairs which, it is hoped, the new régime will put an end to. The author is a high official, but for obvious reasons prefers to remain anonymous. HE attempted poisoning and subse- quent death of Monseigneur Nercés } Varjabétian, the Armenian Patriarch and Archbishop of Constantinople, was a revolting illustration of the inhuman and barbarous tactics of the Yildiz Kiosk “Camarilla.". Monseigneur Nercés Var- jabétian was not only one of the most pro- minent prelates of the Armenian Church, but was also a fearless patriot —a distinguished linguist, an eloquent preacher, and a thorough gentleman in every sense of the word. When peace was concluded between Turkey and Russia, and _pre- parations were being made for the Berlin Con- gress, 11 was he who, in spite of the feared fanati- cal uprising of the Turks, threw pru- dence to the winds and took a step that will long be remembered in the annals of Armenian history. At the first meeting of the Berlin Congress the Turkish dele- gates were thun- derstruck to learn from official sources that an Armenian delega- tion had arrived from Constanti- nople, sent by Monseigneur Nercés, the Patri- arch, their object being to request the signatory Powers of the Berlin Treaty to From a) Vol, xxiii, 47. force a guarantee from the Turkish Government to make certain important improvements in Armenia. Abdul Hamid and his advisers were furious at this affront, and Monseigneur Nercts was sum- moned to the Palace. It is said that when he received the summons he simply smiled and asked one of his curates to read the Burial Service to him, as he did not expect to return alive. How- ever, he went. No one has ever heard what passed between the Sultan and himself at the inter- view ; suffice it to say that he immediately sum- moned the Armenian General Assembly and tendered his _re- signation. This was not accepted by the Assembly, and, amidst en- thusiastic cheers, he was carried back to his apart- ments at the Patriarchate. Meanwhile a peremptory order teached him, signed by the Sultan, to recall the Armenian delegation from Berlin. This Mon- seigneur Varjabé- tian point-blank refused to do, and retired to his private residence at Haskeuy, a village on the Golden Horn. The success of the delegation, however, did not come up to his expectations. The Armenians, Monseigneur Neroés Varjabétian, the Archbishop of Constantinople, who came by his death in tragic fashion. as it happened, [Photograph, could not be

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370 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. heard, but they were so far success- ful as to have an article inserted in the treaty. The Sultan and his advisers never forgave the Patri- arch this, though they could not openly do any thing to him on account of his enormous popu- larity. ‘Time passed on, and to all appearance — the incident was for- gotten, but it was not so. One sum- mer afternoon a most cordial invitation was sent by a very high dignitary of the Palace, requesting the Archbishop to dine with him informally. An invitation — of this kind could not very well be refused, so the Arch- bishop, ac- companied only by a body - servant named Vartan, repaired to the Pasha’s house. The Pasha received him at the door and_ escorted the visitor with much ceremony and extreme courtesy to a private apartment of the salamlik of his house (the men’s quarters), where dinner was served. The geniality displayed by his host dispelled any fears that the Archbishop might have had as to his personal safety. After dinner, as usual, coffee was served. Now, this serving of the coffee is rather a cere- monial according to high Turkish etiquette, and it is not unusual for guests to bring their own tchooboukdar (the servant who carries his master’s pipe and pouch and also superintends the making of his coffee). The Archbishop was presented with a “tchoobouk” (pipe) filled and lighted for smoking, and a servant followed with He cried, with s voice trembling with emotion, “ Monseigneur, | did not brew the coffee!" coffee. The Archbishop accepted both with due compliments to his host, and took a sip at his coffee. Just at that moment the heavy curtains over the doorway were thrown apart, revealing the ghastly pale face of his servant Vartan, who cried in Armenian, in a voice trembling with emotion, “ Monseigneur, I did not brew the coffee!” This was enough for the Archbishop; he pretended to be-startled and spilt the coffee, but, alas! he had already drunk a small quantity of it. Meanwhile a scuffle was going on behind the portiere, where his poor servant Vartan was paying the penalty of his devotion to his master. Concerning Vartan’s whereabouts or his ultimate end nothing was ever made public—the poor

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UNDER THE STAR AND CRESCENT. 371 fellowsimply vanished. Monseigneur Varjabétian, after a short interval, thanked the Pasha for his generous and kind hospitality and took his departure. On the way home he was taken violently ill and a doctor was hastily sum- moned. The Patriarch took to his bed, and lost all his hair through the effects of the poison. Then, one morning, when a servant took his breakfast upstairs he found, to his horror, that both the bedroom door and the window were wide open and his beloved master lay dead in his bed, which was covered with blood! There are no such things as coroners and juries in Turkey to ascertain the causes of mysterious deaths of this kind, but the news that the Patriarch was dead spread like wildfire through Constantinople. The Sultan himself thought it advisable to show some concern in the matter, and aides-de-camp from the Palace were sent to the Patriarchate to learn the full details of this “sad catastrophe,” as they termed it. The official statement was that the Archbishop died of dysentery. Only a very few knew how the Archbishop had died, and they wisely kept their mouths shut. I was told the details of this story by a high official of the Armenian Patriarchate. It seems that as the poison did not act as quickly as the Patriarch’s enemies had anticipated, owing to his having been cautioned in the nick of time, they “had to resort to other means”! The funeral was the largest ever witnessed in Constantinople, with an escort of Turkish cavalry sent specially by the Sultan, and repre sentatives of all the religious denominations and the Diplomatic Corps. I was myself present, representing a foreign Government. One fine summer evening in 188- L was taking a quiet dinner at Jany’s Restaurant in Pera, when I saw my friend T- » an attaché at the Embassy, enter with a stranger. Noticing me, he came straight across, and we shook hands. “Sit down,” I said, ‘and have dinner with me.” “No, thanks,” he said, in a whisper. ‘The position of your table is too exposed ; I must look for a more secluded corner.” “Ts there something on?” I inquired. He did not reply, but his eyes said “ Yes.” “T can move to that corner if you wish,” said I, pointing to a well-screened and isolated table. “Please do!” he replied. Turning away abruptly, accompanied by his rather mysterious- looking friend, he walked to the table I had indicated, I following suit. I could see that he was in a very nervous and perturbed state of mind indeed, and watched everybody who came in and out of the restaurant ; he was, moreover, very silent. As to his friend, he was a short, spare, middle-aged person, with sandy whiskers. His clothes, although brand-new and well made, did not seem to fit him well, and I noticed that he appeared rather awkward. He took off his hat very gingerly, as though he did not know what to do with it. My friend pointed out the hat-stand, some little distance from our table, and as he rose to hang it up I asked in a hurried whisper :— “Who is that ?” “Hush!” breathed my friend. “I will explain everything presently. He is deaf and dumb,” As our silent dinner progressed I learnt that, whatever affliction he might be suffering from, the stranger was not deaf, for he turned sharply when a waiter accidentally let a plate fall. My friend saw my smile, but merely shook his head as much as tosay, “ Don’t take any notice of it.” This incident aroused my curiosity, and I began to watch the stranger. I noticed that he used his knife and fork very awkwardly, as though unused to such things, and I came to the con- clusion that he was a Turk who had for some reason disguised himself as a European—a very dangerous thing to do in Constantinople. How- ever, the dinner came to an end without further incident. When they were taking their departure, T—— whispered to me, “Will you come and see me to-morrow night?” I replied in the affirmative, and, soon after they had left, quitted the restaurant myself. I was making my way to the public garden called Jardins des Petits Champs, when I noticed that I was being followed by at least two detectives. Taking a seat at a table, I ordered coffee. The two individuals who had been shadowing me sat down near me, and began to carry on an animated conversation in whispers. Presently one of them stood up, and, approach- ing my table, salaamed profoundly and requested a moment’s conversation. Although I was very much annoyed at their unwarranted attention to me, I motioned him to a vacant chair and politely asked him his business. He seemed rather confused, and, after hesitating for a few seconds, addressed me as follows :— “You will excuse me, effendi, I am sure, if I ask you a few plain questions.” “First of all,” I replied, “‘you must tell me who you are, and must also show me by what right you assume the privilege of asking me questions. Do you know who I am?” “Oh, certainly, effendi,” he replied. ‘ We know who you are; hence our reluctance to put you to unnecessary trouble. We are Palace detectives.” With that he showed me a certain

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372 THE paper, a well-known document in the hands of the Secret Service officials at the Palace. “Well, then,” I asked, “what do you wish to know? You understand, of course, that, being a foreign subject, I am not bound to acknow- ledge your authority to question me?” “We know that well, effendi,” he replied. “T wish to ask you some questions. You can answer them or not, as you wish.” Then there followed a short conversation, somewhat as follows :— “You dined at Jany’s Restaurant this evening?” “Yes, I did.” “Were you not accompanied by two friends ?” “ After 1 had taken my seat 1 saw a friend of mine enter, and I invited him to my table.” “Was your friend alone ?” “No; he was not. He was in company with a stranger whom I did not know.” “What nationality was he?” ie: CaS Ses A ae a ee WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ing me I shall go straight to my. Ambassador and inform him of the insults and annoyance that you are subjecting me to.” ‘He apologized rather lamely at this, mumbling something about obeying orders. He then withdrew ; but about twenty minutes after, from the window of my apartments, I beheld another fellow posted just in front of the house. How- ever, I thought it might be advisable at the particular moment for me to keep my own counsel and say nothing about it. Next morning the reader can imagine my sur- prise when my chief informed me that my friend T——, of the Embassy, had left Con- stantinople—on an important mission, it was surmised —the very same morning. Shortly after these events I myself quitted Constantinople. One day, while staying in Paris, I came face to face with my friend T—— just at the corner of the Café de la Paix, in the Place de l'Opéra. After greeting each other =a The Dolma Bahdje Palace, where ex-Sultan Murad was kept # prisoner. et See. From a Photograph. “T could not say, for he was deaf and dumb.” “Deaf and dumb?” “Yes, quite so.” : With that he left my table and went over to his colleague and held a few minutes’ conversa- tion with him. On his rejoining me he looked at me in rather a sullen manner and then said abruptly, “lo you know, effendi, where they have gone to?” I was getting annoyed by this time. “No, I don’t know where they went to,” I said, “and I will thank you to leave me alone. Any further conversation will be quite useless.” He withdrew protestingly, and after a short time I left the garden. While walking towards my apartments I saw, to my disgust, that one of the detectives was following me. At this I lost all patience, and walking straight up to him said, “Look here, my friend, if you don’t stop follow. and expressing our surprise at meeting one another so unexpectedly, we adjourned to the café for luncheon. “Well,” I said at last, “you don’t seem inclined to say anything about your deaf and dumb friend and your hasty departure from Constantinople. By the way, that fellow was no more deaf and dumb than you or I.” T. laughed heartily. I suspected you were not taken in, he said ; however, here goes for the story, as you are so anxious to know. My friend was not deaf and dumb. He was Captain Ferid Bey, of the Ottoman Navy, and was in command of the coast defence gunboat which used to be at anchor off Kouroutchesmé, in the Bosphorus, in close proximity to the Dolma Bahdje Palace, where ex-Sultan Murad was kept a_ prisoner. My friend Ferid Bey disappeared the very night

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UNDER THE STAR AND CRESCENT. 373 you saw us together, and I have reasons to believe that he was done to death, but that is only a conjecture For a long time a plot was being carefully prepared by some very prominent men to effect the escape of the ex-Sultan Murad to Europe. The idea was, after accom- plishing this feat, to dethrone the present Sultan Hamid, and to bring Sultan Murad back in triumph and replace him on the throne. They were afraid that if the “Camarilla” at Yildiz Kiosk had the slightest suspicion such a thing was being contemplated they might murder the ex-Sultan out of hand. and to my relief I ‘saw a naval officer come smartly on deck. He announced himself rather loudly as Commander Feyzi, aide-de-camp to Admiral X. Pasha, and after the customary formalities handed me a sealed envelope, remark- ing at the same time that he would like to speak to me in my cabin. Once we were alone there, he told me that he was not a naval officer, but had been sent by x Pasha with certain instructions ; at the same time he whispered to me the password, “Sélamet.” The instructions were as follows. I was to make an ap- A very large sum of money and some valu- able jewels were suc- cessfully transferred to a European bank ; this was the first step. The next was to find the means to get the ex- Sultan out of the place. This was not easy, as he was guarded day and night. However, it so happened that Ferid Bey’s sister had the entry to Sultan Murad’s harem and was a great friend of the ex-Sultan’s favourite odalisque, a Circassian girl of surpassing beauty. Ferid Bey was ap- proached by his sister, who, after making him take a solemn oath on plication to the officer in command and obtain leave to bring my ship for repairs to the “tershané ” (dockyard) in the Golden Horn. I told him that could not be done, as my vessel had been in dock only two months previously. At this Feyzi laughed, inform- ing me that the afore- said officer in command was one of us, and that on hearing from me he would immediately grant me_ permission. “ But,” he continued, “you are not really going to the ‘tershané’ at all.” “T don’t understand you,” I said. “Listen to me, my the Koran not to reveal to a living soul what she was about to tell him, explained the plot and asked him if it would be possible to get the ex-Sultan on board his ship and steam off to the Dardanelles. She informed him that if he consented to do this he would get precise instructions from a person in authority, plus a large sum of money. Ferid Bey, after thinking it over, consented, and it was arranged that any messenger sent to him would give him the password, “Sélamet.” To use Ferid Bey’s own words as nearly as possible, this is what followed :— From a) One afternoon I was walking up and down on deck, when the watch informed me that a boat was coming alongside. This rather annoyed me, for I vaguely suspected it had something to do with the plot, and I thought it risky for them to send to me in broad daylight. The boat arrived, Ex-Sultan Murad, whose abduction and described. friend,” he continued. “You will make that application this very day—Monday—and you will receive the reply on Wednesday. That same evening your wife and sister, with a eunuch, will come on board. They will bring provisions, etc., with them, and jou must prepare a special cabin for them.” “My wife and sister?” I saw at once who was meant. “But,” I interposed, “that is against the regulations, and will certainly create suspicion amongst the crew, and——” “Hold on,” said Feyzi. ‘Please listen to me patiently. You can make your objections when I have finished. You must prepare a special cabin, the largest possible. Naturally you have not much material on board wherewith to furnish it. Well, in two hours’ time a mavouna (large boat) will come alongside with some furni- ture ; it will be pretty dark then, and the craft will not attract much notice. You will take the pture sre here [ Photograph.

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374 THE furniture on board and place it in the cabin. By Wednesday you must have everything in Teadiness to receive your ‘wife and sister,’ for the minute they are on board you must weigh anchor and start at full speed for the Galata Bridge, where you will be stopped by a naval launch showing three lights—white, green, and red. An officer will come on board and inform you that you cannot get into the docks until early next morning, and, as you cannot anchor and block the passage of other traffic, you must cruise about in the Sea of Marmora until day- light. After the departure of this officer you will get out of the harbour and make for the Dardanelles. There is one difficulty, however, at the Dardanelles—you must manage to pass the forts without communicating with them.” “ But that is impossible,” I said. “Signal anything you like,” he went on, “and pass out. Soon you will meet a large, white- painted foreign yacht flying a flag on the main- mast. You must tranship your passengers and their belongings on board the yacht. Having done this, a boat from the vessel will bring you an invitation for luncheon, which you will accept. Once you are on board, the yacht will immediately start at a speed of twenty knots an hour. Of course, I need hardly tell you that the position of the foreign yacht will be such that she will be quite safe from any molestation from the forts. ‘Ihat’s all; and, as far as that sealed envelope is concerned”—he pointed to the letter which I had laid on the table—“it contains nothing; I only brought it to satisfy And now, have you anything to “Indeed I have,” I replied. ‘ Although the scheme sounds feasible enough, yet at the same time there are one or two insurmountable diffi- culties which you, not being a naval officer, can- not possibly understand. For instance, if I am once stopped at the Dardanelles 1 am done for, and——” “Oh,” he said, with a gesture of impatience, “we know all that. You must pass the forts whether you are challenged or not.” “But if I am challenged and do not stop,” T said, “the next thing they will do is to fire on me and sink me. What then?” “My dear captain,” he rejoined, “that’s out of the question ; the exalted person—er—I mean your wife, cannot be put into much danger. However, once there you will do what you think best.” I began to feel the terrible responsibility laid on my shoulders, but realized that it was too late to decline to take any part in the affair, as I knew very well that if I refused my life would not be worth a straw. WIDE WORI.D MAGAZINE. “Am I to take any of my officers into my confidence ?” I asked. “Certainly not,” he replied. “But——” “Oh, no buts, please. I have something here,” he said, tapping a small parcel which he carried in his hand. “That will make them the most loyal and obedient crew any commander . could wish to have. I can’t stay any longer. Please invite all the ship’s company on deck ; I have something to tell them.” When this was done and the crew assembled Feyzi delivered a short speech praising them for their smartness, etc., and thereupon announced that three years’ arrears of pay would be given to them. With that he handed me his parcel, which contained a bag of Turkish liras. At this unexpected good news the crew shouted them- selves hoarse. ‘Padishahim tchok yasha!” (Long live our Padishah) they yelled. After this Feyzi took his departure. In the seclusion of my cabin I began to con- sider the situation, and the more I thought it over the more I realized the hopelessness of the scheme. However, as I had no alternative but to obey, I gave orders to have certain cabins ready for occupation, stating at the same time that my wife and sister were coming on board with a eunuch, and that I was expecting some furniture that very day. 1 did not mind the crew ; they were now flush with money and did not care what was done, but my second officer cyed me rather suspiciously. “Excuse me, Captain Bey,” he said, “but does it not occur to you that the presence of women aboard is strictly against the regulations 2?” “Oh,” I replied, carelessly, “that’s all right ; IT have Admiral } Pasha’s authority ; here it is” I showed him the sealed envelope. “Further,” I continued, “all shore leave is sus- pended for officers and men alike, as I have received special instructions.” At dusk a mavouna came alongside with fur- niture, as arranged. There were too many things, but 1 declined to take them all, and selected some of the most necessary articles, telling the man in charge of the boat to take the rest back where he got them. After this had been done I wrote to the officer in command, requesting him to dock my ship for urgent repairs. This letter 1 gave to the boatman, with strict instructions to deliver it immediately on landing. Then I did my rounds as usual, and found, to my intense satisfaction, that both officers and crew were in excellent spirits. On Tuesday morning I summoned my chief engineer, Ali Effendi, and informed him that I was making arrangements to go into dock again,

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UNDER THE STAR AND CRESCENT. 375 and ordered him to have steam up for Wednes- day evening. ‘This done, and the furniture arranged in the cabins, I had nothing to do but to wait. We had no ammunition on board save a couple of boxes of cartridges for small arms, as our guns were quite useless. I mention this specially to show that I had no chance whatever of fighting my way out of the Dardanelles if I was stopped there. ‘Tuesday passed, and on Wednesday morning I received a letter from the officer in comniand stating that my application had been granted, and I was ordered to be in the proximity of Leander’s Tower about midnight, when the Galata and = Ounkapan bridges would be open to admit me, and that I was to anchor in- side of Ounkapan Bridge to await my turn to. get into dock. I need hardly describe my ex- citement when the time drew near for my perilous — under- taking. Wednes- day was a bright day—1n fact, too bright for my liking, but that, of course, could not be helped. Just about sunset my chief engineer reported ‘‘All ready.” I.asked him, in a casual manner, if it would be pos- sible in a case of emergency to get twelve knots out of the ship. His teply was that it was quite impos- sible; he could not venture more than eight knots an hour, as he was afraid of a breakdown. As a breakdown with our antiquated engines, under the circumstances, would have beeh fatal, I said nothing more about it. . The houts dragged on, and about eleven "o'clock the watch reported that a boat was coming alongside. “Ah,” I said to my lieutenant, assuming a careless manner, “that must be my wife and my sister.” I gave him the necessary orders to cast off as soon as they were on board, and hastened to the gangway to help them up. The eunuch—a tall, lanky fellow—came up first and whispered the word, “Sélamet.” ‘Then followed two veiled figures. I hastened to escort them ‘Then followed two veiled figures.

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376 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) to the cabin prepared for them, when one of the figures half turned round and said, in a feeble voice, “ Memnoun kaldim” (I thank you), at which I salaamed profoundly, and then I left them. Having ascertained that everything was in readiness, I gave the order, “ Full speed ahead!” After about half an hour’s run we were abreast of Leander’s Tower, nearly opposite the Galata Bridge. : Once at the appointed rendezvous I had nothing to do but stop and wait for the naval launch. I had nearly given the order, “Stop her!” when I saw a launch showing three lights, white, green, and red, shoot out from the Stam- boul side of the bridge and come towards us at a high speed. She came quickly alongside, a naval officer stepped on board, and practically repeated word for word the order for me to cruise about in the Sea of Marmora until day- light. Then he hastily took his departure. cruise about the Sea of Marmora. “at Leander's Tower, where the gun-boat with ex-Sultan Murad on board was boarded by « naval officer and ordered to (Photograph. So far so good, but I could not help thinking that it was at this juncture that I was entering upon the most perilous part of my adventure. My lieutenant suggested that we should anchor somewhere near Scutari until daylight. “I would rather not,” I said; ‘besides, I wish to test our engines, so please inform the chief that he is to keep full pressure in the boilers.” When he had gone I gave the course for the Dardanelles to the quartermaster, and started, and once outside the harbour I steamed at full speed for our destination. Ali Effendi, I could see, was doing his best. So there was nothing for me but to keep a sharp look-out and await events. Meanwhile I casually remarked to my lieutenant that, as we had plenty of time, I should go as far as possible towards the Dardanelles. It was a calm, beautiful night. Hitherto I had given no thought to my passengers, so now

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UNDER THE STAR AND CRESCENT. 377 I decided to goand inquire if they were all right. Descending to the cabin I found the eunuch huddled up in a corner, grinning like an ape. On seeing me enter he stood up and said :— * The exalted personage wishes to know if all is well?” I answered 1n the affirmative, adding, “So far.” 1 wanted to keep my mind occupred, for I dared not think of the consequences 1f the under taking proved a fiasco; so I did my rounds, finding everything in good order. At about daybreak the second lieutenant, Hussein Agha, who was on the watch, directed my attention to the thick smoke of a steamer on the horizon astern. I did not pay much attention to it, as I concluded it must be a cargo-boat ; but some short time after the same officer came aft to where I was quietly smoking a cigarette and informed me that the steamer sighted was rapidly approach- ing and that she looked hike a torpedo-boat. Acchill crept over me. If it was a torpedo boat, sent after us, I for one was done for! Rushing to the bridge, I examined her with the aid of a telescope. She was unmistakably a torpedo-boat, and doing eighteen knots to our eight. By this time it was quite daylight, and we were still a long distance from the Dardanelles. “Tt is Kismet,” I thought; “I can do’ nothing against it.” I did not as yet inform the exalted personage of my fears, as I did not wish to unduly alarm him. Within another half an hour our pursuer was within signalling distance, and, as I had anticipated, I saw a line of flags shoot up her halyards—the signal to heave to. I replied, “Have orders to proceed to Dardanelles. Cannot stop.” Meanwhile I sent down word to the eunuch to come up to me. He suspected that there was something wrong, and he trembled from head to foot when I briefly explained the Matter to him. Dhirectly I had finished he rushed down the ladder, half running and half stumbling, to bear the news to his august master. The next signal from the torpedo-boat read, “ Heave to, orI shall fire!” I had no ammuni- tion, as I have already said, to fight my way out with, but the thought struck me that I might try to ram my pursuer. There were difficulties even there, however, for the hull of my vessel was very old, and if I succeeded in ramming the torpedo-boat, it meant sinking ourselves as well; moreover, my ship was too slow to turn. I saw plainly, moreover, that I could no longer trust my crew. Everywhere I turned my eyes I met scowling faces. Suddenly the torpedo-boat fired a shot across Vol xxiii.- 48. our bows, and I was compelled to give the order to stop. ‘The crew were now in a frenzy of excitement, shouting and cursing. Some of them shook their fists at me. ‘hey had come to the conclusion that I had done something wrong. Fearing that they might use violence towards the passengers, as the cause of their troubles, I signalled to the torpedo boat to send on board an armed force. I found soon after that there was no occasion for my signal, for immediately after we had hoisted it three boats put out, each crammed with soldiers. As I stood there watching their approach I could not help thinking that everything in this world has an end, and that the end of my career—perhaps of my life—had arrived. Spite of these sad thoughts, I could not help smiling when I looked at the torpedo-boat; they had cleared for action, although they ought to have known that I had not a single shell on board. The boats came alongside and two officers stepped on board, one of them a very close friend of mine, and it struck me forcibly that he was averting his eyes. ‘The senior officer— F— Pasha, a high dignitary at thé Palace and a prime favourite with the Sultan—- handed me a document sealed with the Sultan’s own private seal, informing me that I must consider myself, my Officers, and crew under arrest, and that I was to immediately surrender my three pas- sengers and submit to any orders that I might receive from F Pasha. Meanwhile the soldiers came on board and massed on either side of the deck with fixed baydnets. F Pasha next demanded my sword, which I handed to him, while my friend received the swords of my officers. This done, F Pasha asked me to conduct him to the cabin where the passengers were. While doing so I noticed that four non-commissioned officers with fixed bayonets were following us. When we reached the cabin-door they were posted two at each side. The Pasha knocked at the door and, without waiting for a reply, entered, shutting the door behind him, leaving me with my friend and the four non-coms. My friend was a naval captain attached to the Headquarters Staff of the Ottoman Admiralty, and an aide-de- camp to the Minister. He motioned me to one side, at the same time giving me aslight wink. Somehow or other I felt reassured, but said nothing. After some time F—— Pasha came out of the cabin, evidently labouring under great emotion. He then gave some whispered orders to my friend and left the room. I was now escorted to another part of the ship and locked in my cabin. After some short time I could tell by the thumping of the screw that we were under way. I sat on my bunk and began

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378 THE thinking. I knew it would be quite dark on our arrival at the harbour, and an idea flashed through my mind that at least I might make an attempt to save myself. It so happened that the portholes of my cabin were large enough for me to squeeze my spare body through, and, as I am an expert swimmer, after long deliberation I decided to drop myself quietly into the water at the entrance of the harbour and trust to luck to get ashore and away. A couple of hours later my friend entered my cabin, and taking from the hands of a soldier some bread and cheese handed them to me without a word, but again I imagined I saw a peculiar look in his eyes. I could not under- stand what he meant, but I felt certain that in spite of my misfortune he was still my friend. I was feeling tired and hungry, so I began to partake of my frugal repast. While I was cutting the bread I saw an incision about three inches long in the crust, and thrusting my finger in I found a small note bearing these significant words: ‘Try to save yourself.” The message, although it proved my friend’s affection, made me very sad, for it showed pretty conclusively that if I did not save myself I should be put out of the way by one or other of the sure but mysterious methods known to the Palace Officials. I tried to sleep, but could not. At last, however, I saw it was getting dark, and knew that we must be near the harbour. I peeped out of my porthole, but could see nothing, and the only sound that came to my = PRSES PE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ears was the lapping of the water alongside. A couple of hours more went by, and then my heart suddenly gave a jump. We were slowing down ! I took off my boots and coat and waited. After a short time we stopped, and, looking out of my porthole, I noticed that although in harbour we were being evidently towed some- where. After watching for some time I saw by the lights that our destination was the Golden Horn, and so it was. Presently our way was stopped, and I heard the rattle of the anchor chain. I had not a moment to lose. I wormed my way out of the porthole, dropped quietly into the water, swam to Ounkapan, and thence, making my way by unfrequented streets, reached your place. And here I am. “Yes,” continued my friend T , “and there he was, sure enough—an awful sight, begging me to smuggle him on board a foreign ship and to get him out of Constantinople. I had known him for some time, and he had done me a good turn once, so that I had not the heart to abandon him to his fate. I kept him for over a month at my lodgings, and got him everything he wanted. The very day that you saw us he was to board the Moorhen, a cargo- boat, bound for Antwerp. But, alas for Ferid Bey, it was not to be! The moment we left the restaurant we were followed by detectives, so I left him at my diggings and went out again to make arrangements to engage a boat at The Golden Horn, where Captain Ferid Bey jumped overboard and swam ashore. From a Protograph.

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UNDER THE STAR AND CRESCENT. 379 “| wormed my way out of the porthole.” Karakeny to take us out to the Moorhen. On my return home, however, I could not find a trace of Ferid Bey. The rooms were empty, though there were signs of a severe struggle having taken place.” “But why did you leave Constantinople imme- diately afterwards on an important mission ?” I asked. : “Well,” replied my friend, “the important mission was all bunkum. I simply had to scoot, or else, perhaps, my own life would not have been safe.” THE ENb.

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Through the Rocky Mountains on a Raft. By FRANK VRooman, | -R.G.S The stirring record of a notable achievement in the far northern wilderness of British Columbia. With winter and its dread ally, starvation, hard upon their heels, the author and the men of his Prospecting expedition essayed a feat that had never before been accomplished—they built a raft and set out to drift down the Finlay and Peace Rivers to the borders of civilization. Terrible rapids barred the road, but there was no other alternative; they must either risk this voyage into the unknown or share the miserable fate of so many other daring pioneers in the Northland. This narrative tells the story of their manifold adventures. II. OMETIMES we contrived to get three such logs cut down and ee, . “ » a(y) trimmed and “snaked ” through the Ya) WO to the water’s edge in the <4 1) od dge in th course of the day; more often only two. And this was only the first stage .of our shipbuilding. When we had got them there, we had to bore holes in the logs by hand with our auger. We cut out live birch-pins with which to rivet all together. Day after day, from sunrise to sundown, we hewed and hauled for more than a week, on rations which were being speedily reduced to their least common denominator, with the bogey of famine looming larger every day. Famine? We were on famine rations already, and each man doing the work of three. To be precise, we left Fort Grahame with eight days’ provisions, and we had been out two weeks already. We had provisions as follows: twenty-five pounds of flour, a few beans, about two pounds of bacon, no sugar, no baking-powder, a few crystallized eggs, and some slight stock of tinned soup—not forgetting the six cayuses and one mule. But there is little gastric satisfaction to be had from a mule or a cayuse that has starved to death. There had been scarcely any pasture, and the valley below promised none. But the raft was finished at length—I think no one quite knew how—and we were con- gratulating ourselves on being able to push on, when the half-breed, Flemand, mutinied, and flatly refused to guide us any farther. He had been eating our grub for over ten days, but now he suddenly discovered that the water was too low, and that we could not possibly get through with the raft. I pointed out to him that this was our business, and that we were determined to try it—had to go on now, anyway ; and I did my best by threats and persuasion to induce him to fulfil his contract. But he was evidently in a bad state of funk, and closed the discussion definitely by clearing out, leaving us to worry along as best we could without him. This was serious, for no single soul amongst us had the least acquaintance with the river. Charlie, the paltry wretch who had persuaded me to undertake the expedition, with himself as guide-in-general—and, incidentally, to get his debts paid thereby and himself and his wife and family kept in affluence for eight months— had already been proven as irresponsible and

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THROUGH THE ROCKY expansive a liar as ever turned his face toward an unpleasant future. As I watched him serenely fishing on the bank down stream, I realized the wide difference between equity in the abstract and the law which does not countenance summary capital punishment for such as he and Flemand. 3 I could not force Flemand to stay, of course, but I could—and did—hold fast to the few provisions I had, although, recreant and truant as he was, he pressed me sorely to divide with him. There was an Indian camp twenty miles up stream, I told him, to which he could go and get food —if the pro- MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT. 381 him to tell us where to land, and where we could best make that same portage. He considered for some time, and then told us that, in order to keep to the ways of comparative safety, we must keep a sharp look-out for two landmarks—an old shack on the starboard bow and a long red cut bank on the port bow. When we sighted these we must steer with all speed to the north shore, and make a portage of our effects to a safe place of re-embarkation—if we must continue this J¢/se—below the rapids. And so he went, and we saw no more of Flemand. He carried with him a letter from me to Billy Fox at Fort Gra- prietors had any. Before he left he condescended to warn us against the rapids with the sugges- tive French name, Parle- Pas. In reasonably high water, I believe a canoe can negotiate them with safety, having no draught and steering to perfec- tion, answering instantly to the lightest twist or twirl of the paddle. But even for a canoe there is only one practicable passage, a channel near the left bank, and this is none too easy, for the way is a sufficiently =| hame, wherein I showed up the “breed’s” treachery and cowardice, but which, I warrant, Billy Fox never saw— not that Flemand could read, but that he would guess the contents of the missive. He had left us in the lurch at the most critical point in the whole journey, but at least we now had one mouth less to feed. Food we must save, for our provisions were nearly gone. One needs to have faced starvation at close quarters to under- narrow one, and it has From al first to be found. But a raft! A flat-bottomed, right-angled, bluff: nosed monstrosity, as large as a coasting steamer and not so wieldy by many decimal fractions; a craft all angles and edges, kept under nominal control by two bucking, thirty- foot sweeps! Bah! The thing was absurd! While her port side —if one may call her northern frontier thus—might be sailing serenely in two fathoms of clear water her starboard bow might be climbing rocks. Shooting the Parle- Pas with such a craft was not to be spoken or even thought of. So Flemand opined, at some length, but without heat. C'était pas d’ son affaire a lui, as he maintained, with many gestures to support his argument. He had done his best—shrug—and now he washed his hands (with a wealth of further gesticulation) of the whole business. It was the least attractive suicide, he added, at which he had ever assisted. If we must push on, let us at least make a portage before we came to the rapids, and not attempt to shoot them on the raft. He, Flemand, warned us that this was simple suicide. We agreed with him unanimously, and invited Camping ashore at night. (Photograph stand such a_ position in all its ubiquitous and all-encompassing annoyance. A_week’s delay at this time of the year might well prove a matter of life and death to us. It was nearly time for the river to freeze, and if we froze in it there was no way out. Our horses would soon starve to death, and then we should last just so long as we could find a scrap of meat on their bones ; finally, the crows would pick ours. It was a very simple proposition, but our complete realization of its terms did not add noticeably to our cheerfulness. During the building of the second raft I tried my rod and line now and then below the rapids, and my thoughts flew back anon to less strenuous times. There was a charming little stream just below camp, too small to fish, and with too much water for our camp’s tea. With a bunch of tackle I explored its rugged trail to the Peace, climbed around a foot-hill on a ledge about six inches wide, hugging closely the side of a mountain, which stood erect—a goodly portion of it—sheer and steep beside me, and worked my way with much difficulty to a little patch of green waters, such as trout love. There

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382 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a great boulder had rolled inconsequentially into the stream, leaving standing room on the bank. I confess boldly that my sportsman’s instincts are alloyed with baser motives when a sordid animal hunger is one of the ingredients of the spurious compound. When I have had but about three square meals in about four months ; when I am wrecked in unknown waters, with less than a week’s provisions, twelve hundred miles from the nearest railway station, frankly, gentle reader, I have not disdained the steel rod and the use of bait. I had whipped the streams for a thousand miles with the anemic Southland fly, but the fetching flies of this dynamic country were not in my book. Seldom will a northern fish take a southern fly. Next time I will bring the Silver Medicine Man, the Parmachene Moose, the Royal Beaver, and the Sicanee Belle. On my way over from camp I found a grasshopper. I put him on my hook as gently as I could, dropped him into the stream above the big boulder, and let him float down and outside and around it. Gently in this half- eddy the swirling current carried him. Three journeys around that boulder, past near - sighted, pampered fish, he made ; then came a halt in the proceed- ings. I thought for a second that the boulder had toppled over on to him! Next there was an elastic and _ electric tug and swish, and boiling water, and a ripping of line and a sizzling of reel. I had got a bite! Away toward Finlay Rapids he went, and then, under persuasion, he made a change of direction in his irresponsible trail—out stream, down stream. How we played see-saw, that gallant fish and I! I dragged him out at last upon the bank, and he fell off the hook, flopping within two inches of “1 dragged him out at last.” T pounced on him with my fingers in his gills. With exultation I held him up—a ten-pound salmon trout. He was the largest fish taken by any of my party, except in Lesser Slave Lake. Inasmuch as I had no more bait but bacon (and mighty little of that), I killed him and strung him to my belt, as there was no place to lay him. Then I cut out a small piece of his lower fin and put it on the hook, feeling that, the water’s edge. under the circumstances, another grasshopper - would be no burden. Down around the same boulder this fin floated, again and again. Another tug and pull! This time it was a two- poundgrayling. What a fight he made! I will almost say he offered as strong and gallant battle as the ten-pound trout. I caught several more grayling here, from one to two pounds each, before it was time to think of lunch, or rather to prepare- for lunch, and then went back to camp to gladden the hungry eyes of the men. Jim always used to put the heads in a kettle and boil them, say- ing they were the best part of the fish. We were glad he + thought. so. At length batter- ing-ram number two was finished and lay in the water, loaded, ready for the cruise, one of its passengers, at least, not insen- sible to the extra- ordinary geogra- phical situation con- fronting us and the romance enveloping us, for this is no ordinary country, no everyday journey. Before us lay the cloven back of the American Hemisphere, with the Continental Divide wrenched asunder. Gaping wide lay the Rocky Mountains, and through this gap was a shining trail, and on this trail was our primitive craft— this elementary, primeval, enchanting make- shift. Strange scenes and strange experiences

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THROUGH THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT. 383 awaited us on the “River that Goes into the Mountain.” ‘There was a pile of sand on board on which we used to build a fire, and sit around in the true good-fellowship of the wilderness, and bout tea and drink it fine and white man and Indian, since Alexander Mackenzie’s day, but no one has ever “rafted the Rockies” before. About noon of the first day out I saw the Wicked River, pouring into the Peace on the left bank, and nearly oppo hot when tea-time came The horses seemed bewi!- dered in their little pen amidships, but I dare say they preferred their lazy life on board to the burden of the pack. The raft was heavy, and while its progress was slow its momentum was great. This meant that, notwith- standing our imposing show of sweeps fore and aft, we were always in imminent danger of running aground beyond any sharp turn in the river. And even this was less serious than the danger involved in the re curring rapids, created by the excessively low water, and whereof we had no guide to warn us. In. deed, the water was most dangerously low; all the rain seemed to have fallen east of the Rockies that summer, an 1 I believe the year of our adventure will be remembered, for that reason alone, as the year of the flood. But in the mountains there had been no rain until recently, and less melting snow than usual. However, there was trom aj A good catch. site Mount Selwyn. Romance itself seemed enshrined at the mouth of this stream, and I deter. mined to camp there for dinner, sorry enough that I could not stay a week. Steering my ocean grey- hound towards the left limit I saw this beautiful sight at close quarters. Out of a deep canyon well back in the mountains it came, this well-named Wicked River, in a mighty hurdle race, leaping over every obstacle, pell-mell, in a splendid series of cascades, water- falls, and rapids, into boul- dered, crystal pools. The whole stream seemed to be alive with grayling, and I have never seen anything quite so fascinating as this madly-dashing river, tumbling down to the Nir- vana of the profound and majestic Peace, and these swarms of beautiful fish going up, leaping in the transparent pools like porpoises in a summer sea. While Jim was cooking I got out a steel rod, a book of flies, and a piece of pork, and (Photograph, one boon at least for which we were devoutly thankful—the flies were gone. And, even with- out provisions, there was everything to stimulate our interest, so that, for the most part, we often forgot the unpleasant side of our situation and the vision of the creeping famine that haunted us. I, for one, found a certain waded into the Wicked River without waste of time. I made my way towards the middle of the stream, walking on exposed boulders, cast- ing here, there, and everywhere, while gray- ling flashed below the water and grayling leapt above it. I tried every fly I had. Then I tried pork, but even weird fascination in the monotony of our advance in the slow and sombre progress of the raft. And there is, after all, a vast thrill in the doing of a thing for the first time. I should like to canoe this river some day. Other men have done that, Our second raft ready to start. From a Photograph. fat would not tempted a grayling that day. It was tantalization, it was aggravation, it was desolation and despair to leave so many lovely fish! I could hardly make up my mind to it. pork failed to attract. I am sure that even a grasshopper have

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384 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) Mount Selwyn. But we had a long drive to make before night, and, after swallowing a cup of Jim’s hot black tea, we were off again. I had not got a single bite, but I swallowed my chagrin with the tea and we continued on our way. It was very cold work, especially falling into the water while trying to get our raft off some intrusive gravel-bar. Another day, and we see white caps ahead ; and there is a note of menace in those angry, hissing waters. Will they consummate the vengeance of the North Spirit by engulfing us and passing over our heads? Or will they hold us here while his minister, the frost, builds an impenetrable wall a thousand miles thick between our raft and home? But the practical side of our expedition kept us far too busy for idle speculation. Rafting has aspects, also, that appeal strongly to the sense of humour—in the mind of the onlooker ! Thus, on one of the many occasions when the raft climbed on to a shoal or sand-bar, I tried to push her off with a pole in the water. The pole slipped on the gravel bottom, and I fell heavily on the edge of the raft, and thence bounced plump into the water. The men fished for me dutifully, and hauled me on board with miraculous solemnity of countenance. I got to work once more, and my end of the raft moved and hit the pole which I held braced in my hand against the bottom of the river, and again IT was jerked head-first into the water. I wonder now that this sort of thing did not happen more frequently, especially at the unwieldy sweeps. My own post was at the after- sweep, for I had arrogated to myself the all - important function of steers- man, since I had more weight and greater pulling strength than any of the men. In this capacity I was mainly re- sponsible, I sup- pose, for our next achievement. It happened — about noon. The water was low, as I have said, and we were keeping a sharp look-out for shoals and other hazards of the water-course, but this time we saw it too late—an ugly rock, a few inches below the water. Then we held our breath and waited for the crash. It could not have been better placed for the raft to fall over; and we hit it fair and square, and slid up on it, with a jerk that sent the poor cayuses lurching against the fencing of their pen. The raft shivered mightily, turned round at right angles, and hung there broadside in the current. Here we were once more “ bunkered,” held up in the very midst of a swift current which was going our way. We tried to shove . her off down stream, with the current to help us; we tried poles and pries and strenuous language, but alt in vain. We could not move her an inch. Then we tried to push our flat boat away from the upper side, so that we could get ashore, after cursing this ridiculous situation the whole afternoon, but the strong current gripped the little boat in the twinkling of an eye, and ground it into kindling-wood beneath the raft in about three seconds. Everything in it, including our best axe, went to the bottom, of course. Here was another serious check for the North Spirit’s quarry! It seemed almost as though he were making us the butt of a series of exceedingly ill-timed practical jokes. He had already tried marooning us on the shore without means of reaching our raft, and this time he practised a variation of the original idea by leaving us anchored in a very swift current, which nevertheless we could hardly call a rapid, unable to get ashore. The water_washed all over us, and we had to

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THROUGH THE ROCKY lash everything down. Of course, we could not sleep in this, so at the close of day I decided to cut it short. The raft lay at right angles with the current, and the rock on which it was now caught and held fast was, as I located it, close under the middle of the raft. I led the horses out of the pen and to the edge, and pushed them one by one into the water, twisting the tail of even the mule—cowering and trembling and forgetting to use his heels. Fortunately they all reached the shore in safety. Then I cut the middle girder, and next a yard of the large log by which I judged the raft was hanging. My judgment was justified. The raft slipped down a little, and the next logs, being small, slipped over the tock and I saved three logs’ width thereby. Then I set two of the men to work with axes to chop the other two girders which held the raft together below the line of the rock that held us, after piling every- thing we had left on the lower half. Watching closely, I timed it so that two blows from their axes at the same moment parted the two ends. simul- taneously ; and quietly, and with- out any fuss, the lower half, where we all stood, and where we had previously heaped all our belongings, drifted swiftly down the stream, leaving the half- raft above. We guided our crippled beast of burden ashore as quickly as we could, and then made camp. There were no fish here, and our grub was getting Vol, xxiii—49. MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT. 385 beautifully less each day. We could not hope to add a new half to the raft, and continue our flight from famine, in less than three days. There were days when we did not eat as much all told as we had sometimes sent out untasted on our plates at home. Yet the last night we fell to wishing which, out of all the material comforts of civilization, we would choose first if we were spared to get back to the world of men. Everyone else wanted a square meal; I chose a Turkish bath. But we talked little in those days, for there is not much to promote con- versation in the building or navigation of rafts, especially when the spectre of starvation is close upon one’s heels. The lower half, where we all stood, drifted swiftly down the stream. (To be concluded.)

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LOST IN AN UNDERGROUND MAZE. By CHARLES J. BRANDRETH. The terrible experience which befell a village innkeeper of Naours, in France, while on his way to join a wedding-party. Monsieur Roussel’s eighteen-hour ordeal would have left many men insane. From a} Sea ALK-WAY between Amiens and Doullens, in the North of France, the National road, which is also an } ancient Roman highway, passes through the large village of Talma. From Talma a branch road stretches across the plain, and at a distance of three miles descends in a steep incline to a place called Naours. The little borough of Naours, which has a population of about twelve hundred people, is situated in a deep ravine, and the stray visitor to this deserted part of the country is scarcely aware of the existence of the place until he is right upon it, so completely is the locality shut in by the hills, which on three sides descend almost in preci- pices to the streets of the village. The subsoil of these hills is of chalk, and at an average distance of a hundred feet below the surface, in a stratum of tertiary formation, the chalk is honeycombed with one of the most remarkable labyrinths of subterranean passages in the world. A view in the underground city at Naours. (Photograph. These passages or caves were burrowed out by the hand of man at a remote period, as a place of refuge in troublous times for the in- habitants of Naours and their cattle. The caverns form an underground city with numerous avenues and cross-roads, in which there have been scooped out, on either side, hundreds: of chambers. It is very curious to note that the doorways of these chambers—the ancient rusty hinges of which are still to be seen in many parts-—are so placed as not to be directly oppo- site each other, lest the people, in bringing out their cattle into the passages, should get in each other’s way. Several shafts, bored for a hundred feet through the chalk to the fields above, enabled the refugees to light fires and cook food for themselves and their cattle. The soot in these shafts is still visible, and the exits from the chimneys are so ingeniously constructed as to make it very difficult, not to say impossible, for an enemy

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LOST IN AN UNDERGROUND MAZE. 387 above to detect their existence. One of these shafts corre- sponds with the chimney of an old mill on the crown of the hill. _ Another was arti- ficially hidden in a small wood, a third appeared to be an abandoned well. The smoke issued in such a way that, even if seen by day, it was impossible to tell whence it came. This remark- able under- ground city, the existence of which is as yet little known, except to geolo- gists, scientists, numerous wars and architects, which devastated who come long —Froma Photo. by} ‘The entrance to the cave city. (G. Monnier, Paris. the Province of distances to visit Picardy during it, extends, so far as the excavation work has the Middle Ages, down to the beginning of the been completed, over a superficial area of not eighteenth century. less than two English miles. The city includes With the advent of quieter times the caves a curious subter- ranean chapel with two aisles, and a large cen- tral “rotunda,” to which most of the passages con verge. The numerous dis- coveries of ancient articles of husbandry, coins, arms, and inscriptions in the chalk prove beyond a doubt that the subter- ranean city of Naours has been used as a place of refuge at in- tervals for ten centuries, from the time of the, Norman inva- sions, and throughout the A view of the hall inside the main entrance to the subterranean city--It was here that Roussel lighted his candle. From a Photograph.

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388 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. were gradually abandoned, or only utilized for extracting stone for building purposes. They appear to have last served, towards the end of ‘the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth century, as a hiding-place for smugglers of salt, which commodity was formerly very heavily taxed in France. Towards 1825, owing to a child having been lost in the caves and never being seen alive again, and to masses of stone falling away, with fatal consequences, the inhabitants became vinced, that these caves were something more than mere chalk quarries, he appealed to the villagers to help him unearth the entrances. A willing response was the result, and soon the entrance was cleared and a thorough examina- tion of the maze of dark passages beyond was begun. The discoveries made proved that M.‘Danicourt was right in his surmise that the caves of Naours were of no ordinary character, and at the present time the curious underground city stands as an interesting monument of past From a) alarmed and blocked up the entrances to the underground “ refuges,” as they are called locally. The entrances so closed up soon became covered with earth, plants, thick undergrowth, and even trees, and the very existence of the subterranean city seemed to have been forgotten until, about twenty years ago, M. Danicourt, the worthy and learned “curé” or pastor of the village, discovered them anew. M. Danicourt, who is an archeologist of no mean order, had found frequent references to the “refuges of Naours” in old parchments and other documents. He searched the library of the Department of the Somme at Amiens, and finally discovered a description of the curious underground city. He began to inves- tigate, questioned the oldest inhabitants, and eventually succeeded in “locating” one of the probable entrances to the caves. Being con- Another view just inside the entrance to the underground city. (Photograph. ages of the highest interest to archzeologists and historians. It was in this weird underground city of Naours that M. Roussel met with the startling adventure here described, the truth of which is vouched for by the curé, M. Danicourt. M. Jules Roussel, who combines the occupation of a farmer with that of landlord of one of the village inns, is a native of Naours, and has lived there all his life. The story of his thrilling adventure in the caves is here set down as nearly as possible in his own words. It was in the autumn of the year 18go, a couple of years after M. Danicourt had un- earthed the caves, that my nephew, Jean Roussel, got married. Something of a totally unexpected character occurred on the wedding morning to keep me very busy and prevent me

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LOST IN AN UNDERGROUND MAZE. from remaining with the wedding-party—to join which, of course, I had been invited. So, after being present at the “ Mairie,” signing as one of the witnesses, and accompanying the party to the church, I hastened off to attend to my business, promising to join the bride and bride- groom, and their relatives and friends, later in the day. I suppose it must have been nearly four o’clock in the afternoon before I was free to don my black coat again and join my friends. I had found no time to sit down to my midday meal, and, having eaten but a hasty morsel of bread and bacon, I remember that I put mto the tail pocket of my frock-coat, as I hurried off, a couple of biscuits, intending to munch them on the way, so as to keep me going till supper- time. On inquiring for the whereabouts of the wedding-party I was told that it had gone to visit the underground city, the comparatively recent discovery of which had aroused the curiosity of the whole countryside. At that time the caverns were not so well arranged as now; the work of strengthening weak parts and of digging out loose earth and rubbish from many of the chambers and pas- sages was still in progress, and a goodly portion of the underground labyrinth, for such it was, still remained to be discovered. The work of clearing out the place was done during the winter by people in the village who volunteered for the job out of pure goodwill, when less taken up with the work of the fields. 1 myself had been amongst those who had helped M. Dani- court in the work, and I was therefore no stranger to the place. I suppose, indeed, that I must have been in the underground village fifty times at least. I knew that, by keeping to the explored passages, there was no danger to be feared, and when I learnt that the people composing the wedding-party had gone in under the guidance of “Joseph,” the little hunchback who acted as guardian-in-chief to the caves, I resolved to follow them. On reaching the wooden partition, or hoard- ing, that masked the main entrance to the underground city, I found the door closed but not locked—that is to say, all I had to do was to take out my clasp-knife, pass it through the aperture in the planks, and lift the latch on the inside. I then entered the large cavern which formed the entrance, and, taking one of the many wooden candlesticks which are always placed there, I struck a light and started off to look for my friends and relations. I knéw that parties were generally conducted down the gallery to the right—now known as the “Rue d’Amiens”—and through a number of passages i 389 and corridors to an entrance on the south side, now blocked up. I walked along for about ten minutes, holding my lighted candle, and recognising my where- abouts with perfect ease, for I knew the way of all the explored passages. Outside in the open the weather was hot and sultry, and although the caves have an even temperature throughout the year, averaging fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit, and can therefore scarcely be considered cold, the change from the warm sunshine and hot air was very marked. When I entered the caverns I was in a per- spiration, and, as I have said, I had had no time to sit down for my midday meal, intending to make up for it at night with the wedding- party. Moreover, shortly before entering the underground city, I had stopped to drink a single glass of beer. Whether it was the effect of the liquor on an empty stomach, or the change of atmosphere, I do not know, but as I reached a point where two main galleries branch off, one towards the north and the other to the east, 1 was overcome with a sudden attack of dizziness. I stumbled over a heap of stones and fell, pitching head forwards on to my hands and knees. I still grasped the candlestick, but the light was extinguished, and the piece of candle had fallen out of the wooden candlestick. I began to grope about in the pitch-darkness for the candle, but, not finding it, felt in my pocket for the box of lucifers which I carried. There were four or five matches left, but, as ill- luck would have it, the first two would not light at all; the third, after sputtering for awhile, lit up the black darkness momentarily, but failed to show me the whereabouts of the piece of candle. I struck another match and looked around desperately for the missing candle, but could see nothing of it. I concluded it had ‘rolled down an opening in the ground, which was half-filled with earth and rubbish, and which probably led to some passage below. I now realized that I had only one match left, and resolved to grope my way forward by hugging the wall. I calculated that if I kept in touch with the wall on my right, passing the doors of the various chambers, I should presently come to a passage running almost at right angles. By turning down this passage and reaching the other end of it, I had only to bear round again to the right to ultimately reach the exit through which the bridal party must make its way out. In fact, all that was necessary was to keep close to the wall on my right, and follow it in all its turnings until I came to the exit. : Istarted off confidently enough, merely annoyed with myself for stumbling, and, above all, for not having taken the precaution of putting a second

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39° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “I stambled over a heap of stones and fell.” piece of candle in my pocket. Unfortunately, as it afterwards transpired, I had miscalculated the corner at which I stumbled, and, although I kept in touch with the wall on my right, I some- how took the wrong turning and, without knowing it, started off along a gallery which led towards the unexplored part of the “ refuges.” I had not walked along for more than six or seven minutes when I began to realize that all was not as it should be, for, instead of arriving at the passage which ran south-east, I suddenly found myself up against a blank wall. This somewhat startled me, and I stopped for a moment to try to seriously think out my bear- ings. Then, groping my way along the wall, I turned right round, still keeping touch, and began to work back in the direction from which I had just come. I soon realized that I was taking several turnings that completely bewil- dered me, and I began to shout, so as to attract the attention of the wedding-party, but nobody seemed to hear me, for no answer came. Then I began to grow seriously alarmed and to think I must have lost myself. Ina fever of excitement I began increasing my pace and walking rapidly, moving forward as quickly as 1 could in the pitch-darkness. I had not walked very far at this rate when I fell into a hole in the chalk floor, which gave me a severe shaking. I found myself lying on an incline in a heap of stones and rubbish or loose earth. There could no longer be any doubt about it: I had lost my bearings, and, instead of continuing along the “Rue d’Amiens” I had, in some inexplicable manner, turned up to the left, amongst the workings and tunnellings to the north, which at that time had only been partially explored, and were only known to M. Danicourt, the curé, and.his servant Joseph, the keeper. I remembered, with a shudder of dread, to have heard it said that in this part of the work- ings it was not safe to venture unaccompanied or without considerable caution, owing to places where the floor had subsided and to traversal cuts which plunged down underground to . unknown regions. As I lay there I stretched forward my right leg and, to my intense horror, suddenly felt that

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LOST IN AN UNDERGROUND MAZE. it was hanging over a void—that, in fact, I was probably on the edge of a subterranean pre- cipice! I broke out into a cold perspiration, and with infinite precaution drew myself up out of the mass of crumbling earth, which I could hear falling away beneath me to unknown depths. When, presently, I stood upright I was trembling from head to foot, but I felt this was no moment to lose my sang-froid, so, pulling myself together, I moved away from the dangerous spot, this time carefully feeling my way. How long I wandered about I do not know ; it may have been one hour or two. I had my watch in my waistcoat pocket, but I could not see the time. I shouted for help continuously, until my voice became too ‘hoarse to shout further ; and at last, utterly exhausted, I sank down for a rest. After half an hour or so of inaction I felt it was imperative to move on. I groped for the wall of chalk, and discovered that at this point it made a sharp curve to the right. I had not taken half-a-dozen steps, however, before I felt that the ground was descending very rapidly. At the same instant one of my-feet touched a 391 stone and sent it rolling down the incline in front of me. With startling distinctness I heard the pebble roll onwards and then fall over something. A few seconds later I heard it rebound a great distance below, and, frozen with horror at the danger that I had just avoided, I hastily moved back. I had taken one step to my right when I suddenly felt the ground slip away from under my feet, and, feeling that my last hour had come, made a desperate clutch at the wall. I only succeeded in badly barking my hands, and, losing my balance, was carried down in an avalanche of stones and loose earth for a distance of several yards, finally coming to a stop on what I conceived to be a ledge of rock. I moaned loudly, and from the sound of my voice it seemed to me that I had fallen into some huge vaulted chamber. During the exploration work some of the workers were said to have come across the entrance to a great gaping chasm which plunged down into the earth through the chalk to un- known depths, and which they had presumed to be the course of some subterranean river that had long since disappeared. I had no | Cuowker Ue’ bx a Stage Wate par J. Borkesdtns, aapacton (Caowia 5 SIPs Contes xin “Wille Pre Pow é PLACE WHERE ROUSSEL ENTERED am tanya) Brnsmes | cam ome “act INTENDED TO pg POOHE OD RS a hat ne cae The arrows show the direction taken by Roussel after he entered the underground city — The stars show where his candle went out and where he fell into the holes The dotted line indicates the direction taken by the wedding-party, and which Roussel intended to follow.

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392 doubt that I had fallen into this dreadful chasm, and that unless a search-party came after me I should be left to die miserably in these unexplored caves. Then, to add to my mental anguish, I remembered that scarcely anybody knew that I was in the under- ground city. The only per- son of whom I had inquired as to the whereabouts of the wedding party was a man whom I knew, and whom I had met a few yards from the es/aminet where I had taken the glass of beer. ‘This man was in his cart and going to Doullens. I reflected that unless somebody from the café, out of which I had just come when I met him, had overheard him give me the information there was nobody in the village who knew that I had entered the caves. If this man had gone to Doullens, which was some twelve miles away, he would probably not be back till very late at night. My sole hope lay in this man. He would learn on his return to the village that I had disap- peared, and he would re- member that I had left him saying that I was going into the “refuges” after the wedding-party. It is true that there were a couple of cottages close to the entrance of the subter- ranean city, but there was nobody in either of the houses as I passed them on my way to the entrance of the caverns. With these despairing thoughts in my mind, I lay on the ledge of chalk, not daring to stir for fear of fall- ing into the abyss beneath me. ‘Though bruised and sore with the falling about I had experienced, after an hour or so of awful suspense | felt it imperative to move. I THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “The next instant a lantern gleamed above me.” groped about with my hands, and felt above my head the steep slope down which I had glided. Then, turning round on my knees, with infinite precautions I felt about in the other direction, with the result that at a distance of about two feet away I found the ledge came to a sudden end and fell away abruptly. My fears thus appeared to be confirmed: | was ona ledge of rock on the precipitous side of this subterranean chasm. With a determination born of despair, I made an attempt to climb back up the steep incline down which I had tumbled, but I had hardly moved more than a few inches when I slid back again, accom- panied by a mass of loose stones which crumbled up under my hands and feet, and bounded away beneath me, seemingly toa great dis- tance, arousing cavernous echoes. I resolved to sit still and to shout for assistance at intervals, This I did for hours, until, thoroughly worn out, I fell asleep dreaming the most awful things. I know not how long I slept, but the pangs of hunger finally awoke me, and feeling in the tail pockets of my frock-coat I discovered the crushed remains of the biscuits I had put there on leaving my house. I made a meal of these, but suffered greatly from thirst. My throat was parched and my voice almost gone, but I con- tinued to shout for help at intervals, until at last a gleam of hope made my heart leap. Was it my excited imagination or did T really hear a faint and distant sound ? I stood up on the ledge and began shouting my loudest, and presently to my joy there came

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LOST IN AN UNDERGROUND MAZE. 393 the distant sound of human voices, and I heard somebody ask, “C'est toi, Jules?” ‘I'he next minute a lantern gleamed above me, and the whole cavern was lit up with the light of a score of candles. I saw several of my friends and neighbours standing above me. One of them threw down a rope ; I grasped the end of it, and was hauled up amongst them, when, out of sheer joy at my delivery, I embraced everybody. I took a pull of brandy from a bottle that one of the rescuers had brought with him, and felt a_ new man almost at once. My first question was to ask the time of day, and I learnt it was -ten o’clock in the morning, so that I had been in the caverns for eighteen hours. What had happened was this: The wedding- party had not thought about me at all until everybody sat down to supper, and then some- body asked, “Where's Jules?” But as nobody was able to give a correct answer various unchari- table remarks were made about me in a jocular way, and it was supposed I would put in an appear- ance some time during the even- ing. After the married couple had retired, a neighbour, puzzled at my absence, thought he would go round to my houseand inquire after me, but there he learnt that I had not been seen, and considerable sur- prise was mani- fested. Two or three of those who had not been enjoying them- selves too much at the party went round the village to inquire after me. They learnt that several people had ob- servedmedressed Vol. xxiii —60. A portrait of Monsieur Jules Roussel, taken on the spot where he was found after his cighteen-hours’ imprisonment in the cave city. From a Photo, by G. Monnier, Paris, in my frock-coat and tall hat, and had presumed that I was going to join the wedding-party. In the café where I had stopped to take a glass of beer the people knew I was going to join the wedding-party, but I had not said where. ‘They had observed me talking to a neighbour, Henri, as I left the café, but this neighbour had not returned from his journey to Doullens. When Henri returned home, about one in the morning, everybody had gone to bed, and he knew nothing about my disappearance until he was informed of it at eight o’clock. He immediately said that I had gone into the “refuges” and must have lost my way there. A search-party was formed at once, and after a hunt of over an hour they had discovered me, as related, in one of the little-known chambers to the north. This chamber had been partially cleared of the rubbish and loose earth. On one side — doubtless that down which I had previously slipped — was a steep declivity believed to com- municate with a floor below, but which had not then been ex- plored. —_ Fortu- nately for me I had withdrawn from this partand had slipped down the other side, where I was in no real danger of a fall, for what I had taken to bea chasm was merely a large vaulted chamber, and the ledge on which I was found was a sort of step, three feet below which was the solid floor of the cavern. I have often been into the underground city since, but I always remember my adventure there with an un- pleasant shudder.

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to Mecca and Medina. By Haj AppurR RAHMAN. SST z =~ Zia. We have pleasure in presenting our readers with this unique narrative, describing an Englishman's adventurous journey to the jealously - guarded sacred cities of the Mohammedans, where—were his identity even suspected—a European would probably be instantly torn limb from limb by the fanatical pilgrims. to have visited both Mecca and Medina.” “So far as I am aware," writes the author, “I am only the fifth European For reasons connected with his present position, “Haji Abdur Rahman” has asked us not to publish his proper name. Ihram is to leave the right shoulder and arm uncovered, but as I had a wild boar—an unclean animal in the eyes of the Moslem—tattoved on my arm, I preferred to keep myself covered. My guide was considerably annoyed at this, as I had not given him my reasons for doing so. This was no place for an argument, however, and, working our way to the right-hand side of the Black Stone, we merged into the encircling crowd. As soon as this was done my guide commenced shouting out the prayers used on Il. this occasion. 1 was supposed to repeat them after him, but, owing to the noise and the rapidity with which he spoke, I was unable to hear what he was ‘saying, and so contented myself with shouting at the top of my voice as nearly as possible in imitation of my guide. We had started with what was supposed to be a dignified walk, saluting the Black Stone and the angle to the right of it every time we passed them. There was not, I am afraid, much dignity possible, and the scene reminded me for all the world of an immense crowd struggling to buy tickets outside a theatre at home. After A general view of the Harim-el-Sherif, showing the Kaaba round which is suspended the Black Carpet, and the crowds From a) of devotees. [ Photograph.

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 395 the third circuit my guide motioned to me to double up my arms and run. ‘The latter I found impossible, but, although going no faster than an ordinary walk, we imitated the action of running. After the seventh round the ‘Tawaf was completed and we lost no time in dropping out of the procession, and, standing under the Arch of Peace, we recited a short prayer. I was then taken to drink of the water of the sacred well of Zem-Zem, outside the entrance to which some half-score lusty attendants dispensed the precious fluid in large, shallow metal saucers, being rewarded in exchange with silver money, according to the generosity of the drinker. After drinking about a pint, finding the water some- what sweet, though cold and clear, I was con- ducted out of the mosque, and found myself once more in a dense crowd engaged in per- forming the Sai ceremony. This consists in passing backwards and forwards seven times between the hills Safa and Marwa, at the same time calling out the prescribed prayers. ‘The confusion here was beyond Lelief. Those returning from Safa would meet those returning from Marwa, and for a few moments one almost expected to see bloodshed. Nothing of the kind happened, however, all being too intent on their devotions to notice anything else. At either end of the road running between Sala and Marwa is erected a stone arch and a flight of steps; here one rests for a time while a short prayer is recited, and then the next trip is made. Here also two paces are used: the first part of the road is covered at an ordinary walk, but on arriving at two pillars—one built into the side of the mosque and the other into a house on the opposite side of the road —the elbows are again brought up and a short trot is indulged in; after passing two other marks the ordinary pace is resumed. ‘Though the scene presented a somewhat bar- barous appearance, there could be no doubt as to the absolute sincerity of the vast crowd par- ticipating in it. Negotiating three hundred yards of road seven times under such conditions is no‘ light task, and long before it was com- pleted I hardly knew whether I stood on my head or my feet. I was soon enlightened in this respect, however, for, just as I was starting on my sixth trip, a donkey put its hoof down on one of my big toes. ‘The agony was intense— so great, in fact, that for a moment I forgot the object of my visit, and gave vent to my feelings in English in the manner generally adopted under like circumstances. : Bathed in perspiration, and with my Ihram torn, I was only too pleased when we arrived at Marwa at the end of the seventh station. Here another short prayer was recited and we returned to the house, where the evening meal was being served. Space was immediately made for me, and after the usual “ Bismillah” everyone was hard at work. I had already accustomed myself to use the fingers of my right hand in place of a knife, spoon, and fork, but had hitherto always sat at a table. Here everyone was on the floor, and, although I was hungry and the food appetizing, I made a very poor meal. My fellow-boarders noticed this and would insist, despite my protests, on prodding out extra succulent pieces of meat and placing them in front of me. This was bad, but to make matters worse I got cramp in the legs, and was afraid to move or attempt to rise lest I should fall forward into one of the large trays containing food. After vainly attempting to grasp an elusive and over-boiled tomato, which I forsook to wrestle with some boiled beans and rice, I contented myself with a big flat loaf of brown bread and a dish of honey. After what appeared ages the meal came to an end, and as soon as those on either side of me had risen I made a desperate attempt to get up. Luckily, I had waited till everyone had finished, for as soon as I straightened out my legs from under me one of my feet was in among the trays. After this I made arrange- ments to take my meals alone, as the other boarders, although a very decent lot, were exceedingly curious, and this I found rather trying. Next morning I rose before daylight and, accompanied by my old servant carrying my prayer-carpet, went to the mosque for the Fajr prayers. It was still dark when we arrived, and the few surviving lamps cast a weird, fitful light over the interior, where the Kaaba and adjoining build- ings loomed dark and impressive. Groups of pilgrims, sleeping, praying, and conversing in low voices, were scattered about everywhere, and many of them had evidently passed the night there—some out of devotion, but most on account of having no other place in which to sleep. As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom I observed that there was still a large number of people performing Tawaf, but nothing like yesterday’s crowd, and being anxious to get another view of the Black Stone I joined them and sauntered round two or three times. I found it impossible, however, to touch the stone on account of the numbers of Bedouins struggling around it like a pack of wild beasts. Their great aim appeared to be to kiss it, and many received injuries to the features during the process. Leaving here, I went for a stroll around the mosque, and while. doing so attempted to

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396 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The Harim during the Juma prayers, before the pilgrims leave for Arafaat. From a Photo. by Dr. M, Hussain. count the pillars supporting the roofs of the piazzas. ‘This I found a hopeless task, and one which appeared to attract the attention of those present. The pillars are of all sizes and shapes, composed principally of red and black granite, basalt, and sandstone, while a few are of wood, all the latter and many of the former being painted in broad bands of red, blue, green, yellow, and black, which give to the place in daytime a somewhat tawdry appearance. I was informed by an Indian friend of mine that the pillars actually number five hundred and seventy-seven. The building itself, which is an uneven square, shows signs of age and also of neglect, the paving of the piazzas especially. being very uneven and deeply worn in places. In pacing it off I found it was, roughly, a hundred and eighty yards long by a hundred and twenty * yards broad. In one of the corners a large space had been partitioned off with a wooden trellis-work fence for women. I now found that I had lost my bearings, and experienced considerable difficulty in locating the woman with whom I had left my sandals. There are numbers of these people, men and women, scattered throughout the mosque, who, for a consideration, mind one’s shoes. They also sell little saucers of grain to feed the countless pigeons—ordinary blue rocks—that live here. It is a most extraordinary fact that one never sees a pigeon alight on the Kaaba itself, although the flat roof, one would think, would offer every inducement to them to do so. Returning to the house, I received a lecture from my Mutawif for going out alone. How- ever, 1 was very hungry, and, breakfast being ready, I allowed him to do the talking while I ate. As far as I could gather he was very anxious that no harm should befall me while under his roof, as it would give him a bad name. _ For this reason, I suppose, he reproached me regularly every time I returned from a stroll, but the lectures got shorter and shorter, till at last they ceased to annoy me. The remainder of the day I spent in wander- ing about the town, and although everyone was now in Ihram I found great interest in sorting out the different nationalities. As far as I remember, there were representatives of every Mohammedan country present. Arab predominated ; then came, so far as I could judge, in point of numbers, Turks, Egyptians, Indians, Algerians, Kurds, Persians, Somalis, Malays, Bokharis, African negroes, and a few Chinese. All these types, with the exception of the Persians and Indians, are dis- tinct and easily recognised. The cafés and eating-houses were doing an immense trade, and were packed night and day. Many of these are run for the season by foreigners, who thus com- bine business with religious duties. Caravans from every direction were now pour- ing in, many having come from great distances. One in particular I noticed, consisting of some twenty-five handsome litters, each borne by a pair of heavy camels. It had come from distant Syria, stopping at Medina en route. ‘These camels were huge brutes, and their unclipped hair made them appear larger than they really were. Next day being Friday, I went at noon to the mosque to attend the Juma ‘prayers. | I arrived Naturally the.

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 397 late and found the immense place absolutely packed, and, along with many others, I had to content myself with a place on the steps leading down to the interior. The call to prayers had already sounded, and I had barely time to get settled in my place when they commenced. The effect was electrical, and as the “ Allahu Akbar” was sounded by the hundreds of Mullahs, or priests, assembled in the four oratories, the whole assemblage rose to their feet. So simultaneously was this done that one could almost imagine that those assembled had been drilled to it. It is customary during prayers to keep the eyes fixed on the ground about the spot where the forehead touches when making the salute, but for the life of me I was unable to keep my eyes from straying. ‘lhe whole scene was most impressive. Facing towards the Kaaba were over a hundred thousand devotees, bareheaded, barefooted, and all dressed alike in the Ihram. Of all the spectacles connected with the Haj, this is the grandest, and I doubt whether any- where else in the world one could see a sublimer sight. Prayers over, I had cause to be thankful for being on the steps, as the crush inside must have been appalling. Later I had tiffin with a gentleman, Dr. covered with gold fittings, four being ridden and four led. Then came three hundred African slaves on foot, armed with all sorts of rifles and swords ; next a dozen Arabs dressed entirely in red, mounted on camels, and blowing for all they were worth on weird instruments that made a noise resembling bagpipes; and finally an open carriage, in which reclined the Sherif, resplendent in cloth of gold. As he passed he bowed right and left to the crowds assembled along the roadside. He was a striking-looking man of about thirty-five years of age, with clean-cut Arab features and graceful figure. Following the Sherif were a large body of Arab sheikhs mounted on fleet-looking camels, all heavily armed and many bearing behind them on their saddles their eldest son. The whole scene was splendidly barbaric. Later on, returning to my house, I met the procession again. This time, however, the Sherif was riding a grey pony. I inquired the reason for this change, but got no satisfactory answer, and am inclined to think that a great part of the pageant is symbolical. ‘The day following this ceremony was busily passed in preparing for the journey to Arafaat, where a halt must be made at any time between the decline of the sun on the ninth Pilgrims on the way to Arafaat—Note the ‘* shoogdoofs" carried by the camels. rom a Photograph. Mahommed Hussain, who rented a house built into the east side of the Harim and facing Al-Massa—the curved road running between Safa and Marwa, the High Street of Mecca, in fact—and through which the Sherif would pass in state that afternoon. After a long wait the procession passed in the following order: First came two hundred Turkish troops, with eight superb chestnut stallions covered with gold trappings, four being ridden and four led. Next came Arab troops mounted of shaggy ponies, and a couple of hundred camelry, with eight valuable camels Zilhajj and before sunrise of the tenth. Many people started off as soon as the Juma prayers were finished, but as there was not much advan- tage to be gained by so doing my party waited until Sunday evening. In the meantime I whiled away the time by wandering about the bazaars, eventually bringing up at a small tea-shop in Al-Massa which com- manded a splendid view of those engaged in performing Sai. And I must observe that, although at times one felt compelled to smile at the picture, one could not help admiring the sincerity of those/erigaged in| this duty.

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398 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) Sometimes it would be the ladies of a harem who, guarded by slaves and eunuchs, and with their forms and faces veiled, passed rapidly, a pathetic little group, before one’s eyes; then a mob of wild Bedouins, linked hand in hand, and with their long, black locks flowing loose, took their places, to be followed by an old man tottering feebly along in the wake of his guide. Next a party of poor Indians, who, to economize, had clubbed together to be able to raise the sum demanded by their guide, and—a national trait—having paid, were determined to get their full value, much to the discomfort of this unfor- tunate man. ‘Then a husband and his wives, the poor man feeling for once, evidently, that one can have too much of a good thing; and, lastly, perhaps a dying man, his eyes From a) Mount Arafaat from the east—To the right stands Adam's Pillar. (Photograph. staring horribly and his face covered with flies, borne aloft on a stretcher. At length the eventful evening arrived, and, climbing once more into our shoogdoofs and preceded by servants carrying torches, we set out for Arafaat, some ten miles distant. Owing to the congestion of traffic on the road the pace was slow, and we were nearly four hours covering this short distance. Arriving at Arafaat, a vast sea of tents around which were gathered countless camels met our gaze, and before long, ours were added to the number. Early next morning, before sunrise, the Sherif arrived in his carriage drawn by a coal- black stallion and an old mule in tandem, the latter leading, while following the carriage were two four-pounder guns mounted on wheels, The encampment at Arafaat, showing the thousands of pilgrims,

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 399 the cannon firing blank charges as fast as they could be loaded. After breakfast I went for a stroll with the intention of climbing Mount Arafaat and viewing Adam’s Pillar, but when I reached the foot of the stone steps leading up to it I found farther progress was utterly impos- sible, owing to the immense throng bent on the same errand. However, I found another hill farther off from which one could obtain a view of the entire encampment, and a wonderful spectacle it was. The tents, of all shapes and colours, stretched for miles in every direction and must have numbered many thousands, amongst which moved innumerable small white- robed figures, while countless camels, donkeys, oats, and sheep formed an irregular mosaic of black and white. Most parties have three tents owing to the immense assembly, very few could hear what was being said, but all at intervals waved white cloths. The sermon over, there was a general rush back to the tents to make ready for departure, and half an hour later, amidst the wildest confusion, the whole encamp- ment was on its way to Mozdalfah, a small - valley some three miles to the westward, where it is considered “ wajibat” (necessary) to pass the night of the tenth Zilhajj. As was to be expected in such a vast throng, accidents from falls and collisions were numerous, especially in the vicinity of the two stone pillars which mark the limit to the west of the Arafaat Plain. These pillars are, possibly, fifteen feet apart, and, under penalty of having ones pilgrimage annulled, one must pass between them. = From a) each—one for the servants and the cooking, one as a lavatory, and one for their own use. As far as I could judge the number of Hajis present was certainly over than under three hundred thousand, made up as follows: Oversea Hajis, seventy-five thousand; overland Haijjis, thirty thousand ; Bedouins, ninety thousand ; and Arabs from Jeddah, Mecca, and other Arabian towns, a hundred and twenty - five thousand. The riding and transport animals numbered about one-quarter this number, of which about fifty thousand were camels. Later in the afternoon a priest, mounted on a white camel, delivered a sermon from Adam’s Pillar. Nearly everyone attended, though, A tent and pilgrims at Arafaat. (Photograph. We arrived at Mozdalfah after dark and, spreading our carpets on the sand, prepared to spend the night in meditation and prayer. I noticed, however, that a good many fell asleep, as I did myself before very long. At midnight all was astir again, and soon we > were moving towards Mina, where from two to three days are spent, according to the sect to which one belongs and the number of times the “three Satans” have to be stoned. Our Mutawif had engaged a house for us here, and after a rather wearying struggle we managed to reach it about four in the morning. I had a short sleep, but was called at daylight by a servant, who, pressing seven small clean; stones into my hand,

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“400 THE told me it was time to stone the biggest Satan. We got there all right, but here, as everywhere else, the crush was terrific, and as each stone must be thrown separately and hit its mark, we had to fight our way in closer. This over, we returned for breakfast, and then I went for a walk. I first visited Adam’s tomb—Al-Khayf—a large, square, white-washed mosque at the western end of the village, but as there was nothing of interest to see, and as the place was swarming with beggars, many in a terrible state of disease, I retired to the coffee-houses in the bazaar. : The chief charm of Mina appeared to lie in the fact that there is no danger of losing one’s WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hastily selecting a fat little goat, I got a man to cut its throat for me. The stench here was revolting, added to which the struggling animals and innumerable flies rendered it a most unpleasant place to remain in any longer than necessary. And yet there were coffee-stalls here, with people drinking and enjoying them- selves inside them. On the evening of the third day spent in Mina we returned to Mecca. Most of the people had now resumed their ordinary clothes, and the streets not only pre- sented a far more cheerful appearance than formerly, but afforded a practical lesson in the geography of the Mohammedan religion. In the mosque I noticed that during our absence the Black Carpet had been removed and A view in the main street of Mina, where the devotees stay while engaged in “Stoning the Satans.” way there. The principal road runs straight through the town, and all the others, though smaller, run parallel to it; there are, of course, the usual connecting streets. After stoning the biggest Satan comes the operation of having one’s hair and finger-nails cut, which done one is at liberty to have a shave and resume one’s proper clothing. I lost no time in availing myself of this privilege, and, being lucky in my selection of a pony, half an hour later was enjoying myself in an Arab bath in Mecca. However, as there were various ceremonies still to be observed, I hurried back almost immediately. Next day I was given twenty-one stones, and, starting with the biggest, threw seven stones at each of the three Satans. Next day I again visited them and administered another stoning, after which I was taken to offer my sacrifice. This was a most gruesome ceremony, and, From a Photograph. the new one suspended in its place. The old one was then cut up and was sold at so much a piece. In this way a considerable sum is realized by the Kaaba guardians, and a piece no larger than one’s hand fetches as much as half a Turkish pound. The broad gold band, how- ever, goes to the Sherif, who disposes of the greater part among his friends. Two days after my return to Mecca I was presented to the Sherif in his town palace. I was one of a party of three, the others being the Vizier and another high Minister of Bahawalpur —a large Mohammedan State in the Punjab— who were introduced by the British Vice-Consul. After passing through a large vestibule crowded with retainers and slaves, we mounted a broad flight of steps and were ushered into a large, simply-furnished room. His Highness, who was seated by an open window from which one could see right into the Harim, was exceedingly

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 401 gracious, and although, having been introduced last, 1 had taken the third seat on a bench on his right, he insisted on my occupying a chair close to his own on his left, and in Arabic, through the medium of the Consul, asked me many questions about England and India. I then asked per- mission to proceed to Medina overland, which was granted, his Highness kindly telling me that he would supply a riding camel to carry me there. Then, after a cup of coffee and a cigarette, we were permitted to retire. There still remained one ceremony to perform before leaving Mecca, which, although not classed as compulsory, is considered a duty. This is the performance of Unura, or the “ Lesser Haj,” and consists in resuming the Ihram and proceeding outside the town to a mosque named Mikat, and, after reciting a short prayer here, returning to Mecca, repeating certain prayers the while. On arrival in the city, Tawaf and Sai are performed and the ceremony is complete. It was too late to make a start that day, so next morning, accompanied by my servant, both of us riding ponies, I set out for Mikat. Here we found a number of people already assembled, and after a short prayer we commenced the return to Mecca. My servant galloped ahead, shouting out the formula used on this occasion, and I, following, repeated his words. We were travelling merrily along, engaged in this pleasant duty, when, all of a sudden, I ran into a camel coming from the opposite direction and was sent sprawling into the middle of the road, and, to complete my discomfiture, my Ihram and I had parted company. This, however, is no rare occurrence during the strenuous times of the Haj, and I was soon absorbed once more in my devotions. Nevertheless, the remainder of the road was covered at a pace more in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion. As my stay in Mecca was now merely a matter of a few days and I had not yet visited the sacred well of Zem-Zem, I decided to do so that afternoon, When I presented myself at the door leading to the well, however, the door-keeper, probably knowing that I was an Englishman, although dressed as a Turk, refused me admittance, at the same time passing some remarks which caused many of those near by to regard me suspiciously. To linger would have been folly, so, returning to my house, I changed again into the Ihram and presented myself once more at the door of the well. This time no notice was taken of me, and, slipping a half-sovereign into the attendant’s hand, I passed in. Here I found some sixty people crowded into a small domed room, in the centre of which was the well, protected by an iron balustrade. All were busy drinking the sacred water, and those who were unable to drink more were pouring it over their persons. Others were dipping long strips of white cloth into the buckets with which the water is hauled up and then wringing them dry. These cloths, I afterwards learned, were to be used as shrouds by their owners. This well is greatly favoured by those suf- fering from disease, and as in the crush a great deal of the water is spilt and returns to the well after contact with their bodies, I fancy the water must be dreadfully contaminated. Indeed, in such veneration is this water held by the faithful that immense quantities, contained in zinc flasks, are annually carried away by the pilgrims to all parts of the Mohammedan world, and are probably responsible for much sickness at places very remote from their source. The bulk of the contaminated water, how- ever, runs to a large subterranean cavity some forty feet to the south-east of the Kaaba, and is, on the termination of the Haj, emptied out into the square of the Harim. Drinking a small cupful— most of which, however, was spilt while raising it to my lips—I hurried out of the building just in time to escape a second cup. : Next day being Friday, I attended the Juma prayers, and witnessed again the same magnifi- cent spectacle of over a hundred thousand pilgrims assembled at prayer. This time, how- ever, the congregation being in their ordinary costumes, the scene lacked the chaste simplicity of the previous week’s ceremony ; but, to one acquainted with the nationalities of the different costumes worn, it was, perhaps, more impres- sive, recalling forcibly to one’s mind, as it did, the diversity of the races who acknowledge the teachings of Mohammed and also the self- sacrifice and devotion of thousands of human beings who, in obedience to the commands of their Prophet, had braved the perils and suffer- ings of long, wearisome journeys through deserts and savage countries not yet connected by railways to civilization. (To be concluded.) Vol. xxiii—61,

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ON THE . . HILL CREST PATROL . . ToLtp By FRANK G, JENNINGs, LaTE OF THE Natal MountTED POLICE, AND SET DOWN BY H. R. JENNINGS. This stirring narrative tells of a fight with a terrible storm, with the lives of an old couple, buried in the ruins of their blown-down house, as the price of victory. Trooper Jennings won, but only after passing through an ordeal such as few men could endure. may remember seeing in the papers ©} an account of the fearful storm which swept over Natal during the latter part of May and the beginning of June, 1905, in which some hundreds of Indian coolies were drowned and thousands of cattle died from exposure. There is a small stream which has its origin somewhere in Krantz Kloof, called the Umbilo River. ‘his river flows through Pinetown to a village called Pinetown Bridge, where, prior to the storm, it was held back by two massive dams composed chiefly of huge boulders, thus forming two large reservoirs, which constituted the Umbilo Waterworks. From these waterworks there issued a small stream which flowed down the Umbilo Valley, and eventually lost itself in the sea near Durban. The Umbilo Valley was thickly populated with coolies, and at South Coast Junction they had built a temple, quite an imposing structure. When the storm burst over Natal the Umbilo River became impassable, and, having no clear course to flow along, continued to rise until, on Wednesday night, May 31st, 1905, the enormous pressure on the dams at Pinetown Bridge proved too much for them, and they burst. The Narrator, Mr. Frank G. Jennings. Then came the deluge. Above the shrieking of the storm could be heard the roar of these mighty waters as they rushed down the Umbilo Valley to the sea. For miles around people heard and wondered, realizing vaguely that something awful had happened, but never dreaming that at the time hundreds of lives were being sent to eternity, swept away with- out even having time to leave their houses. Some were sleeping, perhaps, but all were under cover from the fury of the storm when this roaring, seething mass of water, rocks, trees, and earth rushed down on them, tearing their houses from their foundations and literally drowning their occupants like rats. Some were carried down and washed out to sea; scores of bodies, more or less mutilated, were found near South Coast Junction after the flood had sub- sided; and the temple was washed from its foundations and, though not carried entirely away, was completely ruined. Some parts of the Colony were cut off for some time on account of the lines of communication being broken, so that for days and days news of fresh disasters poured into the towns. Old colonists and natives said they could never remember such a storm, and the aggregate amount of damage done throughout the Colony was enormous.

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ON THE HILL CREST At the time of the catastrophe I was a first- class trooper in the Natal Mounted Police, stationed at Pinetown. Being away from my station on duty at the time, I, althaugh escap- ing the horrors of the waterworks disaster, was compelled through necessity to endure the storm, under circumstances which will ever live in my memory. The mounted branch of the Natal Police is a corps of men instituted to supervise the districts outside the large towns which are not under the control of the borough police, including all , native and coolie reserves and locations. Pinetown district was the largest in its division, “the head-quarter station being at Durban, There were at that time four Euro- peans stationed at Pinetown—a sergeant and three first-class troopers—and eleven native police-constables. The whole of the district (which included two large native locations and an Indian reserve) had to be patrolled at least once in every month, besides which we had to execute the various duties appertaining to all police corps. The longest patrol in the district took four days to accomplish, and it'was while on this patrol that I was caught in the storm. On Monday, 29th May, 1905, I received orders from the sergeant in charge of the station to take two native police “boys” with the “pack,” and proceed to patrol the Hill Crest portion of the district, including the native location at Botha’s Hill, and return to camp and report on Friday, znd June. Half an hour after receiving orders I was ready to start, having saddled and loaded the pack with the patrol tents, packs, and food, and dispatched ’ Macambana—one of the two “boys” who were to accompany me—with it, directing him to pitch camp near the Wagoners’ Rest at Hill Crest. Nkobein, the other “boy,” whose duty would be to attend to the horses, brought my horse up and saddled him. Then I left camp, armed with the ‘patrol-book, gun, and revolver, sending Nkobein after Macambana. My first day’s work was uneventful, though it was a jaded horse and rider that fetched camp that night about seven o'clock, after ten hours in the saddle. : At sunrise next morning I was roused by the boys, who had brought the horses up and cleaned them and prepared breakfast. After a wash at the spring and. breakfast on mealie porridge, tinned beef, bread, and coffee, I was ready to continue my patrol. The amount of work I allotted myself to do that day (Tuesday) was the whole of the village of Hill Crest and some seven or eight outlying farms extending to the Umlaas location. All residents had to be called on and their signature placed PATROL. 403 in the patrol-book to testify that they had no complaints to make concerning their coolie or Kathir labourers, or other matters; and any trouble or misunderstanding they might have had during the preceding month either with their Kaffirs, coolies, cattle, or their neighbours— in fact, anything happening out of the ordinary monotonous round of existence—would be poured into our sympathetic ears, and, if a little law would suit the case, that little bit of law was usually expounded. From Hill Crest I had to follow the old Dutch road up as far as Botha’s Hill, the boundary between Pinetown district and Inch- anya district. From Botha’s Hill my route struck off to the right of the road, across the railway, and straight into the Umgeni location, over the roughest country imaginable. It was only seven miles, but I would rather ride twenty on the level road. Seven miles from the railway station at Botha’s Hill is a small store in the middle of the location. This store was the objective of the third day’s patrol. It was absolutely essential that the store should be visited by the police, for it stood alone and unprotected, and, being on or near the borders of the two districts, it was usually visited twice a month, once by the Inchanga police and once by us. It was kept by an aged couple, Mr. and Mrs. Walker, both being over sixty years of age. They dispensed blankets, beads, food, and other supplies to the natives, and though not by any means making a fortune they managed to exist. Being English themselves they were always glad to see us fellows there, and when we did get there nothing short of staying the night would satisfy them. Instead of staying the night at the store, how- ever, my idea was to pitch my camp in one of the induna’s kraals about two miles nearer Botha’s Hill, so that I should not have quite such a long ride on the following day. : Telling the boys to pack up and shift the camp to the location, where I would meet them at the induna’s kraal that night, I left them and started up the road for Botha’s Hill. Although it had rained heavily through the night the morning was fine and clear, but in the forenoon, as the sun got up, it again became sultry, the heat growing oppressive. I arrived at Botha’s Hill about eleven o’clock, and after a chat with the clerk and storekeeper there I started into the location. About half a mile from the station the track broke up and I had to dismount and lead my horse for a quarter of a mile down a steep

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404 rocky path that looked more like a huge donga or wash-out than a track. On arriving at the bottom the path became a little better. At this point it was like a saddle, with a deep valley on either side. On the left and to the rear, built into the hillside, was an immense rock poised over the valley. The weight of this rock must have been enormous ; it was at least sixty yards long and ten yards from top to bottom, and it looked from a distance like a gigantic red and white rolling-pin lodged ’on the hillside. Directly beneath it, and at the bottom of the valley, some scores of oxen belonging to the © natives were grazing. I wondered lazily what would happen if that rock “fetched away” and *~ went rolling down to the bottom of the valley. The track ran along the top of the ridge and then sloped up- wards again at an alarming angle, and thence led on- ward into the | heart of the [ location, thread- | ing its way } through a coun- | - try of hills and | dongas. At about half- , past two I arrived at the induna’s kraal, and gave i the ? wae coiled! ts the Wolal Pelim the ah the age of 4. Heb Bond one of i natives my horse Sa Sy oi : to attend to ites lees vg : while I had an boot. Me GE interview — with x va ~ NATAL POLICE. sees Divefarge Gartificate. Ths ute Ruy thel Me gg Trap FE ( fenments. = eB ae dat Schall. Lhe terre Meg nice CUARAGIENS Cae gore THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. when it began to rain. For about ten minutes it poured in torrents, and I stood for a while hesitating whether I should go on or turn round and go back. There was no absolute necessity for me to visit the store that night, as I could easily have ridden there early in the morning, and then have the whole day before me to get back to Pinetown. They say, ‘He who hesitates is lost.” I hesitated, but I buttoned my great-coat up round my neck, let the flap of my képi down (I had left my helmet at the camp), tucked the gun under my arm, and, with hands thrust deep into my pockets, bent my head and trudged on towards the store, heedless of the wind and rain. After the first squall had passed over it settled down to rain steadily, and by the time I reached the store I was soaking wet. It could not have been later than four o’clock, but it was al- ready dark and still raining, and the breeze had Petes Ae? hee mith 4g Od : -/ oF : i ‘oie freshened into a yoy ASL. days, 1 ie _ gale. wnten Qe 04, -- On entering the store my idea was to get the patrol-book signed and hark back to camp as soon as possible, Cg ag Nee 2 5 but all idea of CEA, camtioamissivar of Pater, * | getting away that | night was soon the headman. Shortly after- wards my boys arrived with the pack-horse and pitched the camp on the hillside adjoining the stockade round the kraal. About this time the sky became overcast with heavy rainclouds, and it started to blow rather fresh, but did not rain. It being only about two miles from the kraal to the store, I determined to walk there, carry the patrol-book with me, and take my time coming back, so that as long as I slept at the kraal that night I should be that much farther ahead in the morning. Besides the patrol-book and my revolver, I took my gun and great-coat, starting along the track in the direction of the store, after a parting injunction to the boys to look after the camp and horses, and to expect me back some time during the night. I had traversed about a mile of the distance A facsimile of the narrator's 1» discharte certificate from the Natal Mounted Police. dispelled by Mr. and Mrs. Walker. They were both in the store when I entered, and when they saw who it was they insisted on my taking my sodden great-coat off and waiting awhile; then, after accomplishing the first manceuvre, it was not long before they persuaded me that, if the storm became too violent, the police boys could easily strike the camp and take all the kit into one of the kraals until the morning. “Besides,” said the old fellow, “you wouldn’t leave us a night like this, would you?” That just about finished it, and when he refused to sign the book until the following morning 1 surrendered, and gave myself up to the inevit- able—a good meal and a comfortable bed to sleep in. After a chat in the store we adjourned to the house for tea, Mr. Walker locking up the store for the night. A heavy gale was blowing by

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ON THE this time, and it-was still raining in torrents, while occasionally the sky would be rent. by fearful flashes of lightning, and above the howl of the wind could be heard the dreadful crashes of thunder, which seemed to shake the earth. ‘The store was a building of “wattle and daub,” #¢., the walls were built of posts driven mto the ground and then interlaced basket- fashion with wattle-branches, the whole being ‘sniothered over with a mixture of ant-heap and mud ‘This makes a fairly solid structure, for although. heavy rains may wash the “daub” off, still the wattle remains and can afterwards be redaubed ” at little or no expense. ‘The roof was of corrugated iron sheeting, nailed on to the rafters, which in turn were spiked into the walls and steadied by purlins, there being no ceiling to it.’ The inside was shelved and hung with the multifarious articles of trade and barter used in dealing with the nati A small counter, from behind which the storekeeper officiated ; a window-way, covered with, match boarding ; and a door in front, and: oneZat the back completed the store. Standing at right angles to the store cand about ten yards from it was a small brick cottage where the old couple lived. It consisted of two rooms, the larger being the living room, while the smaller did service as kitchen. Mr. Walker had built it himself ; made the bricks and burnt them himself ; in fact, with the exception of the roof, which was corrugated iron, he built the whole house unaided, and quite proud of his handiwork he was. Directly to the rear of the store and in front of the cottage was a small hut built of wattle and daub with a thatched roof. ‘he inside was ‘fitted up as a bedroom, and it was in this hut that we policemen usually slept when staying ‘overnight at the store. These three buildings, which composed Mr. Walker’s homestead, were built close to the track. ' Straight in: front of the store the track ran—to the left to Botha’s Hill and to the right to the Umgeni River. On the off side of this path the land dropped into a deep valley, while a similar valley bounded the buildings to the rear, thus leaving them on an eminence, entirely at the mercy of wind and weather. After we had fought our way through the driving rain to the cottage, I happened to ques- tion the stability of the structure in a chance temark I made, but the old people were quite certain it was strong enough to withstand the storm, although Mr. Walker was continuaily expressing the hope that the weather would not get any worse, By the time we had finished our tea the wind HIT. CREST PATROL, 425 had risen to a hurricane, and was driving hail and rain with it. ‘The night was black as ink, save when the great jagged flashes of lightning tore across the sky and illuminated the whole country round, while the thunder shook the house and ground. With it all, the noise the wind made was something awful-—as if ten thousand demons were shrieking in one’s ears. Of course, under the circumstances, con- versation was, practically speaking, out of the question ; so, after shouting a few commonplace remarks, we lapsed into silence, and sat looking at one another and listening to the war that was waging without. Mr. Walker had an old terrier, of what breed Iam unable to say. Up to the present it had been sleeping quietly, coiled up at the foot of the bed, but at last the storm woke it up, and it started to whine pitcously. This scemed to frighten the old people more than anything. Mrs. Walker was sure some- thing was going to happen, while Mr. Walker said he was equally sure that everything was all right and daylight would bring fine weather with it. All the while the poor old fellow was quaking in his shoes, his only idea being “not to alarm the missus.” It must have been about eight o’clock when we parted for the night. I left my gun standing in the corner next to the door, with my képi on the muzzle, and, taking my great-coat and revolver with me, I shook bands with the old people, said something about hoping the weather would clear through the night, and then went across to my sleeping-quarters. As soon as I opened the cottage-door to go out the wind nearly took my breath away, and the lamp in the room behind me was extin- guished immediately. I slammed the door to and bent myself nearly double in a vain effort to keep my feet, but it was of no avail; over I went. ‘Twice I went down before I managed to reach the door of the hut. At last I staggered up to it and literally fell into the hut gasping. I had seen some storms at sea, but never did I get foul of such a hurricane as was blowing then. I shut the door of the hut and, after striking about a dozen matches, succeeded in lighting the candle. I propped my revolver holster on one . side of itand put the mirror on the other side, otherwise the draught would have blown it out. After a few moments’ deliberation I disrobed and got into bed. ‘here was no need to extinguish the candle; the wind managed that long before I was ready. Once in bed I laid myself out for sleep and forgetfulness, trusting and hoping for better weather on the morrow. I. do not know how long I lay there waiting

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406 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. for the sleep that would not come, but suddenly something struck me in the face. I sat up in the bed with a start. What was it? I put my hand to my face, where some mud still adhered. It was a clot of daub off the weather-wall, which had been blown off and had struck me during its meteoric passage across the hut. This woke me up to the possibilities of the In this picture the right-hand seated figare is Trooper Frank G. Jennings, while in front are (Photograph. From a) Macambana and Nkobein, the two native police boys. situation. What an ass I had been to take my clothes off! I reached over to the candlestick, “and, after fumbling for a while, succeeded in striking a match, which was immediately blown out. Using a little more caution, and with the aid of the bedclothes as a shield, I managed to light the next one. With it I lit the candle and very cautiously proceeded to look round. Everything was smothered with mud, and now and then a piece would get adrift off the weather- walland come hurtling across the hut. While I was watching a piece about four square feet in extent fell with a thump on to the floor, and the wind came whistling through the wattle like a steam-engine gone mad, almost putting the candle out for me. To make sure of the light, I placed the candle in the middle of the bed and barricaded it round with the pillows, blankets, and mirror ; then I bethought myself to dress. I laced my field boots up, put my tunic on, and put the candle back on the table, where it was instantly extinguished. I pulled the blankets up over the bed, and then lay on them with my great-coat over me. “ Now let it blow till morning,” I thought. ‘Whatever happens, I’m ready for it.” All this while the storm was raging outside with unabated fury, and soon it became something awful inside the hut. The walls had been stripped of their customary coat of mud, and they stood now like the sides of a basket. ‘Through the wattle drove the wind and rain, soaking everything, while I lay shivering on the bed, watching the flashes of lightning through the wicker- like walls, and wishing myself anywhere but where I was. Sleep was out of the ques- tion, what with the shrieking of the storm, the chill, wet wind, and the flying lumps of mud. Presently there came a peculiarly vivid flash of lightning, fol- lowed by a_heart- tending crash which seemed to make the whole hill tremble. Immediately after I heard another dull crash ; then a scream, followed by another and another. I leapt off the bed and stood - in the middle of the hut in the. darkness, trembling in every limb. “Good heavens! what was that?” I cried. Getting down on my hands and knees, I listened. Did I hear someone shouting -my name? I could almost swear 1 did. Then I heard another scream, and that decided me. It was not cattle—cattle could not scream like that; so off I went for the door, only to fall headlong over the bed. Twice I encircled the hut before I found the door, and then, when I had found it, I could not open it. The wind had blown the hut all askew and jammed the door so tightly into the frame and the ground that I failed to open it, try how I might. I was not going to be trapped in that hut, how- ever. I wanted to know the origin of those screams and crashes. So I backed across the hut till I fell over the table; then, judging I was far enough, I charged, shoulder down, in the direction I imagined the door to be. I was right. I must have caught the door fair and square, for it flew open, and out into the storm I went like a shot from a gun. The next instant I was on my back, nor could I rise

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ON THE HILL CREST PATROL. 407 “I pat my head down close to his, and shouted at the top of my voice, ‘Are you alive?’ again. 1 managed to get on my hands and knees, but beyond that I could not get. I do not think any man living could have stood there against that wind. It literally took the breath from me, and the hail and rain that were with it seemed to cut pieces out of me. I was already wet to the skin besides being plastered with mud, so I waited on my hands and knees for the next flash of lightning to show me where the cottage was. I had not to wait long. Almost immediately there came a fearful flash, and I raised my head and looked for the cottage. But I could see no cottage. Another flash of lightning revealed a great heap of mud and bricks about fifteen paces away. Good heavens! the place had collapsed or been blown down, and those two old people were in it! What had I been thinking about? I ought to have known when I heard the first scream. Off I tore, on my hands and knees, in the direction of the heap. Arriving there, I waited for light—and again I was accommodated at short notice. I saw something lying at the foot of the heap, and, making my way towards it, I felt around until I discovered a body. I felt a man’s head, body, and arms, but no legs. I put my head down close to his and shouted at the top of my

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408 THE. WIDE WORLD: MAGAZINE. voice, ‘Are you alive?” “Yes,” but I] could hear nothing for the roar of the storm. He must have heard me, though, for he caught hold of me and pulled me down as if he wanted to say something. That was sufficient for me. He was alive. ‘The next thing was to get his legs free. I cer- tainly could not pull him out, so there was nothing for it but to dig 1 had no tools but my bare hands, but [ did not think of that, attacking that pile of bricks and mud like a madman. How long I was getting him free I do not know, but it seemed ages. At last he was clear, and I fell back panting. I rolled over to his side and shouted to him, asking him if he thought he could crawl to the hut, but never a move or sign did he give to show he heard me. Thinking he had fainted, I pulled his body over my back and crawled in the direction of the hut, half carrying, half dragging him with me. The door of the hut had been blown-to by the wind, and, oh, the labour I had in trying to open it again! How I did it I do not know, but I did manage to get it open, and, kneeling in front, to keep it open. ‘Then I reached out and dragged Mr. Walker into the hut. As soon as the pair of us were inside, the door banged- to again, and 1 lay exhausted on the floor. In the comparative shelter of the interior of the hut Mr. Walker revived, and. I managed to get him on the bed. I asked him if he thought he was seriously injured, but he only moaned and murmured, “My wife—my poor wife!” Mrs. Walker ! In my excitement I had well-nigh forgotten the old lady, but now I rushed out of the hut, only to be bowled over by the wind. ‘The door was now only half shut, for the thatch on the roof prevented it from shutting close up. Picking myself up, I crawled on all fours to where the lightning showed me the ruins of the cottage. Round this heap I crawled, but saw no sign of Mrs. Walker. Then [ crept on top and waited for the next flash of lightning. When it came I saw something close alongside me. I lay on the heap and strttched out my hand in that direction. Yes; I felt a head and two arms, but nothing else. A thought struck me that she might have been cut in two, but that, I knew, was ridiculous, especially as the arms were moving and an instant later were round my neck. The poor old lady was buried almost up to the armpits in bricks and mud. My first diffi- culty was to get her to release me. She clung to me and prayed and sobbed, and 1 was so highly strung by this time that I did the same. Common sense managed to get a word in at last, and told me if I did not do something the I thought he said~ pair of us would, in all probability, perish of exposure. Forcing myself free, I attacked the dédris which surrounded her, and kept at it until I had cleared her to the waist. Then I had to stop awhile. My hands were cut and bleeding, and I had no more energy left. I just lay flat on that pile of mud and rubbish, and did not care whether I died. Suddenly I thought of Mrs. Walker. That seemed to wake me out of the stupor I must have fallen into, for once again I com- menced digging. Pieces of brick and handfuls of mud went right and left, until I discovered the old lady was ina sitting posture, with her legs extended straight in front. ‘This encouraged me somewhat, and I sct about clearing her lower limbs with renewed energy. At last one foot was free. Now for the other! I soon scattered the pile of rubbish which covered her right fvot, only to find a piece of the door frame (or so I imagined it to be) lying right across the ankle, effectually jamming it. What was I to do now ? 1 could have lain down and died alongside her, I was so exhausted. It was too hard, after all my labours, to find that she was pinned to the heap by this piece of wood. I yot on my knees and, grasping it in my hands, strove to move it; but not an inch would it budge. I collapsed alongside her, and she put her arms round me. until our heads were close together. “What shall I do?” I shouted. ‘1 can’t shift it.” “Try again—oh, try again,” was all I got in reply. “1 zzd/ try again,” I thought ; “and if it doesn't come this time it will be the finish of both of us.” I knelt directly below the beam and, grasping it in my hands, worked myself on to my feet, then taking a deep breath, with my face averted from the wind, I pulled. ‘They say a madman has the strength of five sane men. Be that as it may, I shifted the beam, and down I went in a heap, but the foot was now at liberty. I felt all over to see that Mrs. Walker was free, and, finding nothing, I strove to move her, but in vain. “What is holding you now?” I shouted. “My dress,” she replied. I believe I murmured something about dresses then, but I can’t be sure. I pulled my knife out, and everywhere I found the dress buried I cut it, Managing at last to free her at the expense of about two-thirds of her skirt, wuiich 1 left buried in the mud. There was no time to be lost now if we wanted to get to the hut alive. I was beginning to drop off into a kind of stupor. What Mrs. Walker went through while she was buried there with I raised myself up *

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ON THE HILL CREST PATROL. 409 “Taking a deep breath, with my face averted from the wind, I pulled.” her head and arms exposed to the storm, Heaven alone knows ; she doesn’t. After the first shock of the house blowing down on them, she said she only had a confused recollection of trying to pray until I happened to come across her. Although she was free she was helpless, so there was nothing for it but to serve her the same as Mr. Walker. Half carrying, half dragging her with me, I crawled to the hut and managed to get her inside and on the bed alongside her husband. Then I piled sheets, blankets, rugs, mats, and my great-coat on top of them to keep them warm. Mrs. Walker’s foot was badly hurt, she had received a blow on the head, another on the Vol. xxiiii—62. forehead, and another on the shoulder, while Mr. Walker’s ribs appeared to be broken, and he had sundry bruises on various parts of his body. That was the extent of the injury as far as I could gather at the time, but by far the worst part was the exposure. It was bitterly cold, and the hut afforded very little protection from the wind and rain. Still it kept on blowing and hailing and raining, with lightning and thunder at intervals. The poor old couple in the bed were shivering and shaking with the cold, and there was nothing else in the place to put over them. Even the toilet-cover on the dressing-table I hauled off and put over their feet.

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410 THE Suddenly Mr. Walker asked for a light; he wanted to know the time, he said. I told him it was impossible to obtain a light. My watch was in my wristband on the dressing-table and I had matches in my pocket, so I groped roupd for the wristband, found it, and placed it in Mr. Walker’s hand, and then tried to strike a match. I had to put that match. box between my knees in order to take one of the matches out of the box, and then I had the hardest job in the world trying to strike it. My hands were so bruised and torn, and I was shivering so much with the cold, that I could not keep the match on the box long enough to ignite it. Finally I handed them over to Mr. Walker and he struck one, and I managed to get a glimpse at my watch before the wind blew it out. z Half-past one—another five hours to daylight ! How we passed the time I do not know. I sat at the bottom of the bed with an old sheep- skin mat over my head, shivering with the cold and waiting for dawn. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Walker could sleep. All through the long hours we shuddered and waited, while Mr. Walker would occasionally entreat me to go out and find Dash, the dog. But Dash was gone—buried effectually in the tuins of the cottage. At last daylight came. Never was it more welcome! By this time I was so cramped and stiff that I could hardly move. I peeped out- side and had a look at the sky. Heavy masses of clouds were flying over, and it was still rain- ing heavily and blowing, but nevertheless the weather had moderated a little; so putting my revolver on and wrapping a piece of blanket round my head I Set off to find assistance. When I got outside the sight was appalling. In place of the cottage there stood a heap of mud, bricks, and wood. The roof had dis- appeared entirely. The walls of the roofless store, washed clean of the “daub,” bent over at an alarming angle, but were still standing. ‘The roof was after- wards found about half a mile away, almost intact. The nearest kraal was about half a mile distant across the valley, and thither I went. I slipped and slid down the slope to the bottom, managed somehow or other to get across the torrent of water that flowed along it, and then clambered up the other side. On reaching the kraal I kicked the door and shouted to them to open it, but no sound came from within. I kicked and kicked again until suddenly a native came up. Where he came from I did not notice, but where he was going WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to I had a hazy sort of an idea which I endeavoured to instil into that thick head of his. ; But all to no purpose. He said he was anxious about his own people and was going home. . I was not going to be trifled with just then, however, so I drew my gun and, poking the business end under his nose, I asked him if he knew what # mounted policeman was. He looked at me, then slowly raised his right hand. “ Nkosi,” he said. “Thank you,” said I.“ Now we'll get on.” Once he knew I was a mounted policeman, the rest was easy; he walked in front of me like a lamb, When I came to think of it afterwards, no wonder he did not recognise the uniform. My boots and riding-breeches were torn and smothered with mud, and over my head and round my shoulders I had an old Kaffir blanket. I must have looked a pitiable object even to a native, but the revolver seemed to jog his memory quickly enough. We got to the bottom of the valley and waded through the stream and, he helping me, climbed . up the other side and arrived once more at the store, Mr. and Mrs. Walker were still in the bed. I told them I had brought the native to stay with them until help was forthcoming ; mean while I should have to go on to Botha’s Hill and let them know as soon as possible, so that assistance could be sent out. Before leaving I found my gun and képi, both apparently unharmed ; so, putting my great-coat on, I shook hands with the old people and left them to the tender-mercies of the Kaffir. After I had gone about half a mile a thought struck me. After all my trouble I hadn’t got the patrol-book signed ! T slouched on for about another half a mile and then gave up. For the life of me I could not go another step, so down I sank right in the middle of the track. A few minutes after a couple of natives came up, and with their assistance I got to the induna’s kraal. I went in and told him about Mr. and Mrs Walker, and he said he would see they did not starve while other help was coming, My camp had been washed away, but almost all the kit had been saved, and the horses were alive and well. I sent Nkobein down for my horse, which he brought up-and saddled ; then, with the assist- ance of the two police boys, I mounted, and after telling them to pack up and get back to Pinetown immediately, I set off on my eighteen- mile ride home. I got to Botha’s Hill safely, and as I was

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ON THE HILL going up the last hill I happened to look down the valley to my right. The immense rock I had seen the previous day had “fetched away” during the night, and there it was lying at the bottom of the valley, with Heaven only knows how many head of cattle crushed to death under it. On either side of the track were scores of carcasses of oxen—perished of exposure. After telling them at Botha’s Hill about the Walkers, I set my face towards Pinetown. I think I went to sleep, because I remember nothing after leaving Botha’s Hill until I arrived at Krantz Kloof, where I had a spell before going on to Pinetown. I arrived in camp about half-past four on the Thursday afternoon, and a pitiable object I looked. I reported to the sergeant immediately on arrival, and told him about the critical position of the old people at the store in the location. As ill-luck would have it, the district surgeon was away just then, but as soon as he came back he went out to see the old people. Neither of them was seriously injured, Mr. Walker’s ribs turning out to be bruised, but not broken. Mrs. Walker’s ankle was sprained, but beyond a few bruises there was no further injury. Altogether, it was a most marvellous escape for all of us. For my part I was as fit as a fiddle the next morning, although my kit was not presentable for many a long day after. The pack arrived on Friday afternoon, and on Saturday we got some stores and a few comforts together between us and sent them out with the pack-horse. CREST PATROL. 4it The boy returned on Sunday and told us the Walkers had been removed to one of the kraals near, and were being attended to by the natives and a friend who had gone out from Botha’s Hill on the Friday. We were busy just then over the waterworks catastrophe, and getting in estimates of damage and one thing and another. I had almost dismissed the matter from my mind, when what should I get but a letter from the Walkers. I could not read it properly at first, so I showed it to the sergeant, who promptly commandeered it and sent it to head- quarters, whence it was forwarded to the Minister of Justice and Government House, and eventually came back to me. It is the only remaining relic I have of the worst night that I ever spent either at sea or ashore since first I took to roaming the world. I did not patrol the Umgeni location again, as, shortly afterwards, I was drafted to head- quarters at Pietermaritzburg, but I heard from the other troopers on Pinetown station that both Mr. and Mrs. Walker recovered, and the old fellow, after a while, rebuilt his store with the aid of a friend, and once more laid himself out to trade with the natives. He would tell the troopers who visited him there that if he lived another sixty years he should never forget his experiences during that terrible night. That may or may not be, but this much I know—/ never shall. The letter written by Mr. and Mrs. Walker to the Narrator, in which they express their Gratitude to him for saving their lives,

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THE WIDE WORLD: In Other Magazines. SPORT IN TH FT OWARDS mideay I was riding ahead of the pach- train, munching a simple lunch, when, riding round the shoulder of a hill, I came suddenly on a fine silver-tip grizzly digging for roots in an open glade one hundred and fifty yards away. Without a thought of Indians, or anything but the bear, I sprang from the saddle and, with bndle over my right arm, opened fire on the bear. My horse was restive and drew back. the result being that I shot badly and only wounded the animal. | fired four or fivé more shots, but the grizzly managed to struggle up into the timber. I pursued him on horseback, however, and ultimately finished him after ahalf-mile chase and the expenditure of more ammunition. —SIR H. SETON-KARR, IN '¢ FRY’S MAGAZINE.” COSTLY AMERICAN MANSIONS. NE of the most epstly of all the dwellings of America’s millionaires is that built by Mr. Cornelius Vanderbilt. It is modelled on the Castle of Blois, and is said to have cost a million of money for buildings and decorations alone. On the ballroom, an apartment of superb beauty, fifty thousand pounds was spent. Adjoin- ing the mansion there is a small garden. There used to be a house standing there, but it was in Mr. Vanderbilt’s way. He wanted a garden. So he gave the owner twenty-five thousand pounds, pulled the house down, and spent another seventy thousand pounds on making the garden. Jacob Astor’s house, not very far away, Cost five hundred thousand pounds to build. For two years and a half a small army of three hundred men were kept continuously at work upon its erection. The wages bill alone came to one hundred and sixty thou- sand pounds.—FROM ‘‘ WOMAN’S LIFE.” SOUTH AMERICA'S FINEST STREET. T is not generally known that Buenos Ayres, the I capital of Argentina, is one of the finest cities in the world, and its Avenue de Mayo is worthy of so splendid a city. In its length is included a beautiful open square, with fountains, statues, tropical plants, and buildings modelled upon Greek originals. In the street itself even the shop buildings are magnificent, and, being of regular height and very aricdste ‘ade, they give an appearance of beauty to the street which such a thorough- fare as Oxford Street, London, say, does not attain, — - FROM “THE SUNDAY STRAND.” SIBERIA’'S “ ALCOHOLIZED BREAD."* N far Eastern Siberia, in that region which lies ] between the sea and the river called Mssuri, the humidity of the climate, as well as the soil, is remark- able. Vegetation is here distinguished for its wonderful exuberance, to such an extent that the soil never dries up. The result is that the inhabitants, in order to prevent putrefaction of the roots, sow their corn upon a series of layers of the soil. Nevertheless, in certain districts the humidity is so intense that there grows upon the ears of corn a kind of fungus matter much cade: up of micro- fungi. Asa result of this sporadic excrescence the bread made from the corn in question gives all the results of an overdose of alcohol. In very humid climates the phenomenon is likewise known, though to nothing like the extent of Eastern Siberia, where whole districts are affected by this strange kind of * alcoholized bread.”— FROM “*TIT-BITS.” AN AMUSING DECK GAME. 9 Gee ESE figures were drawn on deck during a game known as the Menagerie Race, with which the tedium of a long voyage was relieved. The game is played as follows: A lady runs to a gentleman with the name of an animal written on a piece of paper. The gentleman, having read the name, tries to draw the animal in one of the spaces marked out on the deck. The lady then has to guess what the animal is, go back to the judge, and report to him. You can imagine how difficult it is to guess correctly from the figures shown in the photograph.—MRk. KING, IN ‘* THE STRAND.”

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HE magnificent trophy depicted in —_ and _nearly eight feet two inches in width. The our first photograph is claimed to skin is that of the Kadiak bear, the largest car- be the world’s largest skin rug. It nivorous animal in the world, and now exceed- measures nine feet four inches in ingly scarce. ‘The animal was shot by Mr. A. S. length, from end of nose to tip of tail, Reed, the famous English sportsman, and the The world’s largest skin rug—It measures nine feet four inches in length and_cight féet two inchés) in( width. From a Photograph.

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414° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. front a) “Blessing the Neva," a ceremony which takes place annually at St. Petersburg. skin has just been secured by America and forms one of the trophies in the National Collection of Heads, Horns, and Skins which is now being got together. The photograph we reproduce above represents a cere- mony which takes place annually at St. Petersburg and is known as the “ Bless- ing of the Neva.” It is performed on a large barge moored in mid- stream and is a very impressive function,” being at- tended by the Czar, the Grand Dukes, and the Court offi- cials, all in full-dress uniforms, while the religious part of the ceremony is per- formed by high dig- nitaries of the Greek Church, in their gor- geous robes. A curious Mexican custom—This roadside shrine indicates the place (Photograph. From a) where a man was deaths, (Photograph. ‘They have a curious habit in Mexico of mark- ing places where people have met with violent these monuments of roadside tragedies have a melancholy interest for travellers in un- frequented _ parts. The photograph we here reproduce was taken at Magdalena, in the State of Sonora, and shows a typical structure of the kind, indicat- ing the place where a man. was foully murdered. At the bottom of the aper- ture in the monu- ment a candle was placed, put there by devout friends of the deceased to keep away evil spirits. In some of the high plateaux or mesas of the Rocky

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ODDS AND ENDS. Mountains there are to be found, a short distance from the edge, cracks or fis- sures not more than four fect wide and often as much as eighty feet deep. During the terrific blizzards that rage in the winter these crevices are filled to the level,andcattle and_ horses which are not acquainted with the country fre- quently drop into them, their struggles only causing them to sink deeper and deeper. The cracks, into which the sun never penetrates, are like refrigerators, and the hapless brutes, when death has come to their relief, simply dry up and become, to all intents and purposes, mummies. The cow seen in the photograph fell in three years ago, and now hangs suspended in the fissure between her jaw and her horns. The watering of the streets in China is still a very primitive business. The water is first drawn 405 A natural death-trap—Tais cow fell into the fissure and was suspended by her head and horns. From a Photograph up in baskets from wells by means of a rope and pulley. This sounds somewhat ridiculous, but ‘the “baskets ” are very closely woven, and, when wet, form thoroughly serviceable vessels, possess- ing the valuable quality of lightness. ‘The water is next carried in wooden tubs and distributed by men armed with basket-ladles attached to long wooden handles, with which they splash “spoonfuls” of fluid over the dusty streets. This crude machinery is all the more astonish- ing when one reflects that the Chinaman is extremely clever in a mechanical way. He is, Street-watering in China—One man holds the barrel while the other splashes “ spoonfuls" of water over the road. From a Photograph.

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416 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. however, inherently con- servative, and sticks to old methods on principle, even though common sense tells him they are absurd. Plougastel is one of the most interesting places in Brittany, for here the pea- sants have preserved their strange customs and cos- tumes better than any- where else in the country. Several“ pardons” are held here, the principal one on Midsummer Eve. This is a very picturesque ceremony, accompanied by bonfires and other festivities. The children’s fete is a charming sight. Little Bretons, clad in their gay old-world cos- tumes, go out bird-hunting in the woods on Mid- summer Day. The birds are put into cages and brought home, to te care- fully kept and tended till St. John’s Day comes A group of Plougastel Bretons—These people have some very curious customs. From a Photograph. round again. — . — The Rivar ; _ ie ; vr 0 Rain-MAKERS svt Heer ocKY MOUNTAINS ‘a g cui; EARTHQUAKES wo Ee) ho ‘al Destp Trap Blessing tee Neva* Henao? EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE oF ABRUZZ , AN ARTISTS QL ADVENTURE EMPIRE’ (CLUE OF THE ‘ MARKEDBAMBOo On THE HILL CREST PATROL a SoME ADVENTURES | WITH SEA-Lions “Ne Largest hig Rug wv ry ~ Yak a EXPERIENCES OF A yp DEPUTY-PosTMASTER, @.” AN ENGLISHMANS PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA | nr The map-contents of "The Wide World Magazine," which shows at a glance the locality of each article and narrative of adventure in this number.

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- “THE TIGER SPRANG, HURTLING THROUGH THE AIR LIKE AN ARROW FROM A BOW." SEE PAGE 422.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Vol. XXIII. SEPTEMBER, 1909. No. 137. Stories of ‘‘ Stripes.” Two enthralling and widely-differing accounts of experiences with the lord of the jungle, related respectively by a sailor and a soldier. One concerns a tiger who “fished’’ for some fishermen— and very nearly got them; the other a dream and its remarkable sequel. THE TIGER AND THE TOW-BOAT. By F. W. Boutton. MN June, 1887, the Suakim, a full- a rigged ship, bound for Calcutta, anchored off Sangor Island, at the f mouth of the River Ganges, to await daylight before proceeding up the river to Calcutta. Sangor is situated on the right-hand side of the mouth, of the Ganges, and is one of the many islands composing its delta. There is a lighthouse on Sangor, which guides ships at night-time, and is also a place of refuge for shipwrecked mariners, for the islands of the delta are infested with tigers. I was third mate of the Suakim at the time, and, being the working officer, I was on duty all day, and in consequence did not keep any watch at night-time. After I had had my supper, therefore, I took my fishing-lines out and made my.way on to the poop to try my luck. _ I was passionately fond of fishing, no matter what sort, whether it was catching trout or sharks. I baited my hooks and cast my lines over the stern ; then, lighting my pipe and seating myself comfortably on the wheel-gratings, I started fishing. I had not been there very long when the pilot came up from the cabin and, seeing the glow of my pipe, came over and sat down alongside of me. - “ Fishing, eh?” he remarked, as he sat down. “It’s one of the sports I detest—too slow for me. I like something lively and exciting.” “Well, this is lively enough when the fish commence to bite,” I answered him. Vol. xxiii.—53. “Yes, when they commence to bite,” he said, sarcastically, blowing a volume of smoke out of his mouth, “It’s waiting for that ‘commence’ to come along that annoys me.” We sat in silence for awhile, blowing clouds of smoke out of our pipes. “T say,” said the pilot, at last, “why. don’t you go close in to the shore and fish? I believe there is some very good fishing to be had just under the lighthouse. I don’t think it’s any good out here; the current is too strong.” “ How am I going to get to the lighthouse?” Tasked. “I have no boat, and I am sure the captain won’t let me have the ship’s boat. Even if he did I couldn’t manage it myself, and I wouldn’t ask any of the crew to come with me, for they will be on anchor-watches and will want all the sleep they can get.” “Why not go in the tow-boat?” suggested the pilot. ‘I dare say the natives will be going ashore to fish for their morning’s breakfast very shortly. They usually do when the ship they come down to meet anchors here for the night.” The tow-boat is a small native-built boat which comes down to the river-mouth to meet ships. The crews of these boats are leadsmen, and they are engaged by the pilots to sound the river-bottom as the ship is being towed up the river. They stand in the rigging with a marked line and a lead weight attached to it and report the depth of water to the pilot. Their little craft is towed astern—hence the term tow-boat.

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420 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “T think I z// go with them, now that you have mentioned it,” said I. “I will go and see the captain at once.” Just then we heard the splash of oars, and a boat shot out from the ship’s side. “There they go now,” said the pilot, jumping to his feet and walking to the side of the ship. “Shall I call them back and tell them to wait for you?” “Yes, please; I’ll jump down and get the captain’s permission.” I got leave to go, with strict instructions to be back at twelve o’clock. When I came on deck again the boat was alongside of the ship and the pilot was talking to the headman in Hindustani. “All right, Boulton; they are waiting for you,” he said, as I came along. “T want to be back at twelve,” I told him, “for I have only got leave up to that time.” “You'll be back before then. ‘The headman go and have a stroll on the beach, because it’s dangerous.” “ How is that ?” I asked. “Well, two or three large tigers have taken up their quarters on that particular island, and they just love anything in the way of human flesh,” he explained. “It was only a couple of weeks back that they walked off with one of the lighthouse keepers ; so you just take a tip from me and stop in the boat.” “All right, pilot,” I said, laughing, as I slid down the rope into the boat. “T’ll take good care I don’t become food for tigers.” “Well, you’ve got to take good care, I can tell you,” he shouted back, “because a man- eating tiger doesn’t stand on any ceremony. And he'll stop at nothing when he is hungry— especially if it is human flesh he is after.” The natives pushed the boat off, and we shot in towards the lighthouse. There were nine men in the boat beside myself, the headman steering. I sat down in the little hut-like erection built over the boat, and commenced baiting my hooks with the bait they gave me, think- ing no more of the pilot’s tigers. Thad just about finished when the men stopped pulling, and on looking up 1 saw that we were right underneath the light- house, and about twenty feet from the muddy shores of Sangor. One of the natives picked up a long bamboo pole, and sticking it deep into the mud tied the boat to it. The current was too strong, however, for when the weight of the boat came on the pole it pulled The “Suakim,” of which the Author was third mate at the time of this story. From a Photograph. tells me he can catch half a boatload inside of a couple of hours, and as it is only eight o’clock now you'll have plenty of sport and be back in good time.” I passed my lines down into the boat and, climbing on to the rail of the ship, I was about to slide down the rope into the wait- ing boat, when the pilot put his hand on my shoulder. “Say, sonny, take a little advice from an old fool,” he said. ‘When you get inshore there, stop in the boat and don’t get taking a fancy to it out of the mud, and we were adrift again. The man tried several times to make it hold, but without success. I told the headman to throw his anchor over and ride by that, but was politely informed that he did not possess such an article. He finally saved the situation by sheering the boat in to the shore, and ordering one of his men to-jump ashore and drive a stake into the bank. This having been done, a rope was tied to it, and we then drifted out from the bank and, sticking the pole into the mud again, made a rope fast to that to prevent the craft from sheer- ing back in to the bank.

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STORIES OF “STRIPES.” 432i We were now about twenty feet off the shore, and, the boat being securely moored, everybody turned his attention to fishing ; in fact, I had my lines over before they had finished making her fast. The sport was good, and we hauled fish in as fast as we could bait our lines. The part of the river we were in seemed to be literally alive, for we no sooner put a line in the water than we got a bite. There was nothing to mar the fine sport we were having. Even the weather was splendid, for it was one of those glorious Indian nights when the weather is cool and comfortable, with a light south-westerly wind blowing over the river. We had plenty of light to work by, fora quarter moon was shining brightly, and every minute the bright rays of the lighthouse would revolve across our boat. I think the rays of the revolving light had something to do with attracting the fish to where we were. How long we fished I do not know ; we were all too interested to notice the flight of time. I think it must have been soon after eleven o'clock, however, when something happened, for I remember the faint ring of the six bells coming to me over the still waters of the river from the ship. Suddenly I felt the boat give a jerk, as if someone had given a sharp pull on one of our ropes. I took no notice of it the first time it occurred, nor did the natives. But the jerks continued, and just as I was about to stand up and see what it was an extra strong jerk made me lose my equilibrium, and I rolled over on my back amongst the fish. Before I could get up again I heard a couple of the natives give a low, sharp cry of fear. Scrambling to my feet, I saw that the men had stopped fishing and were gazing towards the shoré, with terror written all over their faces. I did not question them, but followed the direction in which they were look- ing. What I saw nearly paralyzed me with horror. There, sitting on the bank beside our stake, was a large tiger! He was squatting on his haunches like a great cat, and pawing at the rope for all the world like a kitten with a piece of string. Occasionally his claws would stick in the loose strands of the coir rope, and it was this that had caused the sudden jerks. He kept up this pawing the rope for several minutes, stopping every now and then to raise his head and nose the air, while I stood gazing at him fascinated. I was afraid to move, for fear the brute might see me and make a spring towards the boat. I knew nothing about a tiger’s ways, so I kept perfectly still, as also did the spellbound natives. It was very obvious that it was the boat he was trying to get at, for he would look in our direction and nose the air with a low growl. ‘The wind was blowing right across the boat towards him, and I expect it was out scent that had first brought him down to the water’s edge. He also seemed to think the rope was a means of getting at the boat, for he kept persistently pawing at it. Once, however, he left it and came to the edge of the bank, but when he placed his paws in the water he stepped back with a low growl, shaking them as a cat would. Then he went back and started clawing at the rope again. That rope seemed to irritate him considerably, for he suddenly commenced running backwards and forwards along the water’s edge and emit- ting low growls of rage. Once he crouched down and gathered himself together as if about to spring at the boat. I got ready to dive into the river if I saw him coming, and take my chance whether I could swim to the ship or not. But he changed his mind, and, making a short spring at the rope again, he took it between his teeth and with a low, savage growl gave it a jerk, springing backwards at the same time. The quick and unexpected pull on the boat made me lose my balance, and I sat down in the middle of the fish again. I heard the natives give a cry of fear, and when I got on to my feet again—which only took a matter of a couple of seconds—I saw that the brute’s tug had dragged the pole out of the mud, and the boat was slowly sheering in to the bank ! The tiger was quick to see this, and sprang down to the water’s edge to meet us as we came in. But I did not feel inclined to become meat for a tiger, so I darted to the stcering-oar and with one mighty pull canted the boat’s head out again. “Cut the rope!” I yelled to the natives, who were now huddled together and chattering incoherently like a lot of monkeys. But not one of them made a move; fear had paralyzed their senses. Even if they had had sense to understand what I was yelling at them, I don’t think there was a knife amongst the whole lot. Meanwhile the tiger was making short runs up and down by the edge of the water, growling fiercely, his tail lashing from side to side. When he saw the boat cant out from him again his rage was terrible to behold, and, crouching down quickly, he made ready to spring. I had my jack-knife in my pocket, with the blade already opened. When I saw him crouch down I left the steering-oar and, springing forward to the bow, slashed at the rope and

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422 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. severed it in two. Even as I cut it the tiger sprang, hurtling through the air like an arrow from a bow. Fortunately for us, however, his spring was short, and instead of landing in the boat he fell in the water, his great fore-paws striking the stern of the boat and giving her a cant towards the bank again. This seemed to rouse the natives. Seeing that the tiger had only his fore-paws on the stern of the boat, they jumped up and, grabbing the oars, commenced shouting and howling at the top of their voices, at the same time striking wildly at the tiger’s head. “Mr. Stripes” let go pretty quickly and turned towards the bank. I jumped back to the steering-oar and tried to cant the boat’s head out from the bank again, but I was too late ; she stuck on the mud before I could do any- thing. “Stripes” was crawling out of the water about the same time as we touched, and I must leave you to imagine my feelings when I found the boat would not budge—she had stuck fast ! However, I had nothing to fear, as it hap- pened, for the natives kept up their howling and shouting, and I think scared “Mr. Stripes” away. I also think the ducking he received took most of the fight out of him, for when he emerged from the water he bounded away and disappeared in the darkness. We immediately set to work and pushed the boat off in case he changed his mind and came back. We got back to the ship without further adventure, but a more scared lot it would have been difficult to find. I don’t know what 1 looked like, but the faces of the natives, instead of being a copper colour, were of a dirty-milk kind of tint. ; Needless to say, I indulged in no more fishing off Sangor Island. THE PHANTOM TIGER. By Major R. G. Burton, Many strange things happen in the primeval forest—things for which one is utterly unable to account. Hunters who wander in the wild places of the earth, penetrating deep into remote jungles far from the haunts of man, sometimes meet with strange adventures. One sportsman may hunt and shoot wild beasts for many years, and be but little wiser as to their ways and habits at the end; while another, who possesses some of the instincts of primitive man, InpIAN ARMY. whose community with Nature is of the closest, quickly learns all their ways and penetrates deeply into the mysteries of Nature. Some years ago my camp was pitched under a spreading banyan tree on the bank of the River Pein Ganga, in the northern part of the State of Hyderabad. It was the height of the hot weather, and the stream contained but little water, the wild animals resorting to the larger pools and reaches in the early morning and at

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STORIES OF the setting of the sun to quench their thirst. Hither flocked herds of spotted deer and smaller companies of nilgai, and one day I startled a cow bison with a couple of calves, which had been down to drink soon after daybreak. Following their natural prey, the great pre- daceous beasts also resorted to the watercourse, where they nightly prowled or lay in wait for their victims. In the tall trees overhead those scavengers of the forest, the vultures, built their nests, and by watching them one could some- times find the place where the midnight marauder had been at work. Over the remains of the victim they would soar, at first far up, mere specks in the azure sky, and, gradually descend- . ing, would alight on the adjacent trees, or on the carcass of the prey should the tiger not be near to drive the intruders from the feast. Here, close to the river bank, I killed one tiger which had eaten one of my buffaloes. Being too far from camp to carry the great carcass in, the tiger was skinned on the spot, and the vultures soon picked his bones of every vestige of flesh. Next night another tiger killed a buffalo at the same spot, but left his prey untouched, and when on the following night a tigress with two cubs passed close to a third buffalo—even went to look at it, as could be seen from the tracks — but did not molest the patient beast, I began to think there was something uncanny about the place. Perhaps all these tigers were frightened by the whitening bones of their deceased relative, or per- haps his spirit, haugting that dismal solitude, warned them of the proximity of danger. At any rate, they left the place hastily and fled into the night. Wandering far fromcamp, I came one day upon a dark pool of water, deep in the jungle and under the shadow of a giant tree. No living thing was there, but in the mud on the margin of the pool was the impress of the paws of a great tiger. Other animals had been there also, for there was no water but this for miles around. Qn the soft margin of the pool could be read the comings and goings of all the beasts of the forest—the deer, bears, four-horned ante- lope, and the marks of many birds, pea-fowl, jungle-fowl, and quail. A porcupine had dropped The Author, Major R. G. Burton. From a Photo. by Paul Coe, Cheltenham, “STRIPES.” 423 a quill upon the bank; but over the other tracks, and evidently more recent than all, was the great sign-manual of the tiger. It was a difficult and, in fact, almost impossible locality to organize a beat in; nor were beaters to be obtained near this remote spot, which was ten miles or more from the nearest human habitation. Moreover, the local inhabitants would not go near the place, for they said it was haunted. So the only way of bringing to bag the great tiger whose tracks I had seen was to lie in wait for it. The branches of the tree which overshadowed the pool afforded a good place of concealment, whence the watcher could obtain a clear view of the animal should he return to slake his thirst. I took up my place of concealment among the branches of the great tree late in the afternoon, when the sun had already reached the tops of the tall trees in the west ; and as night’s phantom army, the shadows of the forest, advanced across the face of the water, the animals began to issue from their retreat in the surrounding thickets. The little barking-deer and four-horned antelope came down with dainty footstep to the water’s edge and dipped their soft muzzles in the life-giving fluid. A fine peacock appeared, spread- ing his proud tail before a bevy of sober - plumaged hens; a jungle-cock crowed loudly in a patch of grass, and his challenge was taken up in the adjacent thicket. A troop of grey monkeys with black faces came swinging from tree to tree, and one or two at a time, with caution and fear ex- pressed in their movements and in the grimaces on their sooty countenances, came down to snatch a_ hasty draught of water. The heat and the exer- tions of the day made me sleepy, and more than once I found myself nodding over the rifle that lay across my knees. At last I must actually have fallen asleep, and as I slept I dreamt. Suddenly it seemed all the voices of the forest were hushed. The animals that had come to drink disappeared as if by magic, and in the grey light of the approaching night no living thing remained. Then there came a human cry—a shriek of fear and agony—from

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “The beast walked to the water’s edge and bent down to drink.” the bushes some distance up the ravine in which the pool lay, followed by the roar of a tiger. A moment more and all was still again. I remained spellbound, unable to move hand or foot. Next I heard the deep breathing of the tiger as the beast came down the watercourse, and the sound of his velvet footfall in the dry leaves; he was evidently dragging his victim with him, for the heels could be heard trailing through the leaves. The monster came nearer and nearer ; he approached the pool, but I could see nothing, although it was quite light and all objects were I heard the sound of his distinctly visible. ghastly burden being dropped on the water’s edge, and of his lapping tongue, which dis- turbed the surface and sent rings out from the margin; but still no living thing was visible. After quenching its thirst, it resumed its burthen and went on down the nullah; and as I looked the great footprints of a tiger were marked off one by one in the sand, with the track of dragging heels alongside, right down the ravine, as far as the eye could see. But the monster itself remained invisible,

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STORIES OF “STRIPES.” 425 From a) Lawoke about midnight feeling rather ashamed of myself for falling asleep. So vivid had my strange dream-vision been that I had difficulty in shaking off the impression it had made upon me. The moon had not yet risen, and it was pitch-dark. I grasped my rifle and peered into the deepening gloom. There was no sign of a cat like form, no sound of stealthy tread !. Scarcely even could I distinguish the glimmer of a solitary star in the depths of the pool below. Presently, however, a faint effulgence heralded the coming moon, faint, ghost-like outlines of trees appeared, and gradually the white light spread through the forest, deepening the shadows and lighting up the water below. Suddenly something emerged from the shadows and stood on the bank above the pool, grey and indefinite in form; as my eyes became accustomed to the light I saw that it was an immense tiger! The beast walked to the water’s edge and bent down to drink, when a bullet from my trusty rifle pierced the point of his shoulder, and he fell dead without a sound. In the morning my men came, and we went up the watercourse to the place where I had heard the human cry in the vision of the night. There among the bushes we found a woodman’s rusty axe, and a few rags which had been part of the clothing of its owner. They had evidently been Vol. xxiii. 64, The tiger shot by Major Burton. (Photog raph. lying there some months. Following the course of the ravine for a hundred yards beyond the pool, I found no tiger’s tracks, but something gleamed round and white in the rays of the rising sun. It was a human skull! From this we were able to reconstruct the scene of the tragedy that had taken place. The woodcutter had been killed by a tiger at the place where we found his axe, and the monster had dragged his victim down the nullah and devoured him where the skull lay, no doubt stopping, on the way to drink at the pool, The tragedy had occurred some months previously, and in all probability the tiger I had killed was the murderer. But why or how the vision should have been presented to the watcher over the pool it is impossible for me to say. I asked the shikaree what he thought of it, but he would not say much. 1 “Sahib,” he said, “there are many things that happen in the forest we know little about, even we who have wandered in the wilds for forty years. ‘The Gonds could tell us, if they would ; they are almost as wild as the beasts of the forest. They tell me that they will not go into that jungle, for there is a demon there. And this axe, they say, belonged to Lungota Papa, who went there to cut wood six months ago, and was never seen again.”

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THE EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE OF THE ABRUZZL By Epwarp WHYMPER. Author of “ Scrambles Among the Alps,” “Amongst the Great Andes,” ete. H.R.H. the Duke of the Abruzzi is well known to ‘“ Wide World” readers as one of the world’s foremost travellers and explorers. Now that the Duke has just started upon another expedition in the Himalayas this authoritative article will be read with additional interest, dealing as it does with His Royal Highness’s achievements in scaling Mount Blias, Alaska, his adventurous dash towards the North Pole, and his conquest of the “‘ Mountains of the Moon.” N December 27th, 1899, four days 4) after the unfortunate excursion, the pain in the Duke’s fingers grew worse, preventing rest either by day or night. Cagni’s fingers healed, but those of H.R.H. did not, and it was found necessary to amputate the ends of them. “I was anxious,” he writes, “that the doctor should perform the operation as soon as pos- sible in order that the wounds might be healed in time ”—(to go with division number one)— “but he delayed it, hoping to save the parts which were not irretrievably lost. As he could not perform the operation before the middle of the month (January) I began to fear that I should not be able to take part in the coming expedition. It would be impossible to make use of my hand if my fingers had recently under- gone an operation, and they would require to be dressed under a tent, which could not be done while on the march.” The Prince is a commander, and knows how to command himself. It must have mortified him greatly to have to yield to force majeure and give up his cherished aim; but he said, speaking to himself, “You must not go,” and appointed Cagni to take the command and to lead the first division. The three parties, or divisions, set out together on March 11th. The third one started back upon the 23rd, when only a short distance from the ship. The second, under the doctor, with the guide, Savoie, and Cardenti, an Italian boatswain, continued northwards until March gist, and then they too went home. As a parting mark of regard, the doctor promised to amputate one of Cagni’s fingers upon his return ! Cagni, with Fenoillet and Petigax, guides of Courmayeur, and Canepa, an Italian sailor, pursued their way towards the Pole, and they went north until April 25th, and got back to the encampment on June 23rd, having been away a hundred and four days. When the second division left them they had forty-nine dogs in hand ; by May 6th there were twenty-eight, and when they returned there were only seven left— “some of them merely skin and bone.” Most of the others had been consumedex route. Assuming that on an average twenty pounds of edible matter was yielded by each dog—a large effort of imagination—every pound of dog-flesh that was consumed cost about six shillings, a price high enough to make a Bond Street butcher die with envy. Space will not permit here of a detailed rela- tion of the explorers’ struggles and progress. The first division returned in a desperate state. During the whole time it was out they saw nothing except a howling waste of ice, learnt nothing beyond what was known before, led the dogs and lived worse than the life of a dog, and ultimately killed and ate their faithful assistants to save themselves from starvation. What they endured from cold may be guessed from the temperature recorded at the encam ment during their absence. In March the average temperature was 52° F. below freezing- point (lowest 72° F. below) ; in April the mean was 36° F. below (lowest 64° F. below); and in the merry month of May the mean or average temperature was 14° F. below, and the lowest 32° F. below ! In the end the heroic party got to a position which was estimated to be 86° 34'N. Lat., or 3° 26’ from the North Pole. A few passages from the book, gathered here and there, will give some idea of the life they led. “While seeking a place to cross I slipped into the water up to the middle, but I pulled myself out at once by crawling on the ice. Before I could stand my legs were already encased in stiff tubes of ice. The water froze so rapidly that it had not time to pass through the stuff of my trousers.” March 14.—‘‘Canepa, while trying to dreak his butter with the point of his knife, cut his wrist. The temperature at the time was 77° F. below freezing-point.” March 15.—" We found our down sleeping- bags frozen as hard as wood. Two men had to pull them so as to stretch them, and even then it was hard work to slip in.” March 16.—“ We only ask of Heaven that the temperature may not fall more than 63° F. below freezing-point, and our prayers seem to us very modest.” The prayers were not answered.

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THE EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE .OF THE ABRUZZI. -427° March 17.—“‘ At six this evening the tempera- ture is —79° F. Is it never going to rise?” March 23.—‘Return of the first division. I stop to look towards the south, and see Quirini’s little convoy on the march. We are already far away, but we can still see them distinctly, and we greet each other with a last wave of our caps. Poor comrades! At that moment certainly our souls could hardly repress a feeling of envy for those who, we thought, were returning to comfort, to life.” March 24.—“The troublesome dog which deserted for a couple of days at the beginning of the week ran’ away again to-day, but was caught this evening. It is a fine, strong animal, and it would be a pity to kill it. The doctor undertakes to tame it. In the meantime he secures it with two chains, and, moreover, passes the steel-wire rope through its collar. After dinner he finds that it is again trying to escape, and begins its education by beating it mercilessly. Fully convinced that he has given the animal a wholesome lesson that it will never forget, our doctor returns to his tent and enters the sleeping-bag. “During the night the dog breaks the two chains, gnaws the steel-wire rope, a trace, and the end of the runner of a sledge near to which he was tied, and, by working with his teeth, in an incredible way frees himself, after doing an amount of damage which it takes us nearly an hour to repair. As if that were not enough, and as though to be revenged on its tamer, the brute made a hole in the tent of the second detach- ment and stole the butter which was to serve for breakfast next morning. When we awoke there was much laughter behind the doctor’s back. He, with his men, was forced to make a meagre repast. On the following evening the unfortunate animal expiated its misdeeds with its life.” April 5.—“ This evening we killed Jason, an excellent dog. For some days we shall have to sacrifice more dogs. . . . Dogs’ flesh is now eaten by the survivors with almost more greedi- ness than pemmican, even while it is still warm. Previously the few who ate it willingly waited till it was frozen.” June 23.—“We give the dogs what remains of the last victim’s bones, which have been already well scraped for our own meal.” There is much more of the same description. On April 25th it was decided to stop, return, and finally quit this region of suffering and desolation. ‘They had then been out for forty- five days, and reckoned to get back in much less time. Return to the encampment, how- ever, actually occupied fifty-nine days. This was owing to Cagni miscalculating the drift of the ice towards the west. It has long been —» From a) The expedition crossing river on the way to Raweazori. (Photograph.

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THE EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE OF THE ABRUZZI. 429 From a) known that the floating ice of the Arctic Ocean has a constant tendency to move towards the west, and also from north to south. This was demonstrated in a striking manner fifty years ago by the drift of the Fox (the vessel sent : out under McClintock by Lady Franklin to ¢ endeavour to ascertain the fate of her husband), which was caught in the ice in Baffin’s Bay at the end of 1857, and was borne south and west for twelve hundred geographical miles before it could escape. When Cagni and his companions got so far south as to be in the latitude of the encampment in Teplitz Bay they were about forty miles to the west of it, and it was only by desperate struggles that they got to land. "The finale is pathetic. As the worn-out and starving men approached the encampment, it was naturally on their minds, knowing what they themselves had experienced, to learn if their comrades had returned. Yes, there was the doctor, waving his arms and shouting. The second division, then, had got home all right. But Dahl, the fireman, whispered, “Do you know that Quirini has not come back?” and Cagni looked at the doctor as though stupefied. The first division, comprising Lieutenant Quirini, the second officer of the expedition, Stokken, the chief engineer of the ship, and Ollier, the ee eS RES Semper and Edward Peaks, both nearly sixteen thousand feet high. rere (Photograph. guide of Courmayeur, had disappeared, and nothing has ever been heard about them from that day to this. From the Arctic Regions His Royal Highness went to the Equator, with the object of explor-- ing the Mountains of the Moon. Schoolboys of the last generation used to hear a good deal about the Mountains of the Moon. This appel- lation has disappeared from modern geographical text-books, and is replaced by Ruwenzori. Ruwenzori was first seen in modern times by Stanley on May 24th, 1888. He recognised it as a single snowy mountain rather than as a range, and estimated its distance from him to be seventy miles. On March 17th, 1889, when about eighty miles off, he considered that it was eighteen to nineteen thousand feet high. On June 3rd, 1889, he says (in “ Darkest Africa”) “now was the period of exploration,” and on June 6th Lieutenant Stairs was sent out to explore. He did not get to a considerable elevation, but he rightly guessed that the height of the highest peaks was about sixteen thousand six hundred feet. On June 15th Stanley saw Ruwenzori again, and said it was ‘one of the rarest sights in the world . . . a bright vision of mountain beauty and glory.”

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THE EXPLOITS OF THE DUKE OF THE ABRUZZI. 431 The Duke left Naples on April 16th, 1906, and arrived on May 3rd at Mombasa, the port of entry. His Royal Highness always takes an adequate staff for the operations he proposes to carry out. He believes in his compatriots, and on this journey Italians alone were employed. There were Cagni, the indomitable ; Sella, king of mountain photographers ; Molinelli, the doctor of the Polar expedition; and the guide Petigax, who was one of: those who were with Cagni on his dash for the Pole, with his com- rades Ollier, Brocherel, and Laurent Petigax, all from Courmayeur. In all the party consisted of eleven persons. On May 4th they were off again by railway, and in a couple of days got to next stage of the journey, from Entebbe to Fort Portal. On starting from Entebbe the caravan had grown to three hundred porters and assistants. The march was made in fifteen days. When about five-sixths of it had been accomplished they got their first view of Ruwenzori, still a long way off. On approaching Fort Portal (an English post where the European residents only numbered fifteen) H.R.H. was received by the King of Toro. Leaving Fort Portal on June rst they first travelled south-west and made for the mouth of the Mobuku Valley, and in the course of a week got up to a place called Bujongolo, twelve E EH aM PA EP SALE ATES 9 B88 i aa Froma\ | The Alexandra and Margherita Peaks. (Photograph. Port Florence, at the near or eastern end of Lake Victoria. On May 6th they left Port Florence on the steamer Winifred, but stopped at dusk for the night, and were immediately surrounded by native canoes, “large boats of slender form, carrying twenty rowers or more, not roughly hollowed out of tree-trunks, but built regularly from the keel upwards, with boards held together by fibre cords, the interstices caulked with fibre and resinous gums. The bow is armed with a long, sharp point, covered at ordinary times by the ‘ prow of peace,’ frequently adorned with feathers, horns of animals, etc.” The steamer reached Entebbe, at the north- west corner of the lake, on the evening of the 7th, and there “the expedition reached the end of the civilized means of communication, after travelling four thousand seven hundred and fifty miles in twenty-one days.” They remained here until the 15th, completing preparations for the thousand four hundred and sixty feet, which was made head-quarters, having experienced no, troubles worth mention except from fording torrents, which were sometimes waist - deep. Bujongolo was conveniently situated, but yielded rather cold quarters for the porters. This had been foreseen, and flannels and blankets were distributed among them. ‘“ They had great difficulty in putting them on, and their long and ludicrous attempts generally resulted in frantic efforts to squeeze their legs into the sleeves of the woollen vests. The blankets, tied around their shoulders and girt with a rope round the waist, formed a garment somewhere between a toga and a cassock.” They did not, however, much appreciate their dress, for on one occasion ten deserted, and, notwithstanding the cold and the bad weather, they ran away stark naked, leaving their clothes behind. From Bujongolo H.R.H. started out with

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432 THE WIDE toc ee WORLD MAGAZINE. The summit of Margherita Peak, the loftiest point of Ruwenzori, sixteen thousand eight hundred and thirteen feet high. From a Photograph. some of the guides, unaccompanied by the others, and in course of time succeeded in “bagging” the whole of the highest peaks, sometimes scoring two in a day. The temperatures experienced on the summits of the Equatorial snow-capped peaks were by no means severe. They were seldom much beneath the freezing-point. The lowest (23'4° F.) seems to have occurred on June 18th, upon Peak Margherita.* At Bujongolo it generally fell to 33° or 34° F. at night. The frequent mists were a much greater obstacle than the cold. In one place it is stated that “during a whole week Commander Cagni was not able to see the sun for a single continuous hour. The rainfall was slight but almost incessant, and the fog was so dense as to make it impossible to see the farther side of the valley.” Nevertheless, by the middle of July work was completed, on the 21st they re-arrived at Fort Portal, and, after a short sojourn in the lower country, packed up and returned to Europe. The ascents made in the Ruwenzori range are not to be compared in difficulty with the ascent of Mount St. Elias. Both the peaks and * The two photographs of of Margherita, Peak, here reproduced by kind permission, are from M Wollaston's “ From Ruwenzori Congo.” ' London: John’ Murray. their glaciers are comparatively small. They presented few obstacles, and their ascents might have been made by less skilful mountaineers ; but what there is to admire in this African campaign are the perfect management, the adoption of the right means to attain the ends which were in view, and the complete- ness of the manner in which the results were attained. His Royal Highness showed once again that he is an excellent mountaineer and organizer. To some, perhaps, the narratives of his remarkable journeys would yield more attrac- tive reading if their pages were occupied by relations of accidents and horrors. ‘The absence of them, and ‘the successes which have been attained, are evidence that unlimited time and trouble were spent in preparation in advance. Rumour says that his career of succe.s has been momentarily checked in the West, and he has, therefore, turned his attention to the East, with the intention of scaling the Himalayas. He is still young, having been born at Madrid on January 29th, 1873, and so has only just entered his thirty-seventh year. On the “ Koof of the World ” there is space enough for him to eclipse his conquest of the Mountains of the Moon.

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THE DYNAMITE SMUGGLER. By Herman H. Matteson, oF VANCOUVER, B.C. Mr. Matteson writes as follows concerning this remarkable story: “The narrative was related to me by a prominent young citizen of Vancouver, whose name I am compelled to suppress, as he has large business interests here; for obvious reasons several of the other names given are fictitious. I have obtained corroboration of the fact that he was mate of the steamship referred to, and have myself seen the scars upon his chest to which he refers. He has now left for the Philippines, as stated, and personally I have not the slightest doubt of the veracity of the story.” |T happened in May, 1898, about | three months before the Battle of Though but twenty years of age, I had achieved the proud distinetion of having been made first officer on a toy steamship plying between Nagasaki and Manila. We loaded grain and coal in the Japanese port and brought hemp and native hardwoods from the islands. That, to be exact, was the cargo under hatches, and which showed on the manifests. There was a small further cargo, however, on which I made my own hazardous but highly- remunerative venture—dynamite. But that was never stored outside my own cabin. T had better explain here, perhaps, how I first came to smuggle dynamite. At that time the insurrectos, or rebels, were fighting the Spaniards with all the treachery and barbarous methods which the Dons themselves, by centuries of mis- rule and cruelty, had taught the natives. It was practically impossible for a Filipino to secure arms and ammunition, for the Spanish authorities watched every store and incoming ship with the utmost care. Some wily native had discovered that a little dynamite would do a great deal of damage, and that a stick touched off under the house of a Spaniard was a more deadly and effective mode of warfare than to take the risk of certain detec- tion and prompt execution if he boloed his victims on the streets. One of Aguinaldo’s aides, a greasy, ragged nigger, who bore no tangible evidence of his American education, came aboard our ship one day in Manila Harbour. I caught him sneak- ing around the decks and ordered him ashore. He smiled that inane, vacuous smile with which a Filipino, a Chinaman, or a Jap meets every occasion, and ceremoniously presented me with a small bolo, the handle of which was beauti- fully carved and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. I could make neither head nor tail of his gesticulating gibberish until, suddenly ceasing his chatter, he looked me straight in the eye and, in perfect English, asked if he might have the honour of a private word with me in my cabin. Vol, xxili.—65, We walked into my cabin, where he broached the proposition that I should procure dynamite for the rebels. If he heard footsteps on the deck, he instantly left off his perfect speech and, without a pause, lapsed into a vociferous jargon that would have shamed a Borneo monkey, the while waving frantically before my eyes several pieces of matting and native cloths, which he pretended to be offering for sale. Well, to be honest, I had no great love for the Spaniards then—and I needed the money. The native and I signed articles, I undertaking to smuggle in all the dynamite the glorious cause of freedom required in its business. This native was the man who always afterwards received the explosive from me, and where the poor, ragged creature got the gold Spanish pesos with which he paid me I have never learned. My caution over the disposal of my contra- band—which, of course, I always secreted very carefully in my own cabin—came near to annihi- lating the lot of us on one occasion. Dynamite, for commercial purposes, is moulded into cylindrical sticks about eight inches in length, covered with paraffin wax. ‘They are of two sizes, one inch and two inches in diameter respectively. I always handled the smaller size, on account of its less conspicuous bulk. Many times I have sauntered ashore in Manila Harbour with half-a-dozen sticks of dynamite in my coat pockets, just as one might carry a number of lead pencils. I never experienced any difficulty in bringing the stuff aboard at Nagasaki, as, ordinarily, the officers were permitted to take their kits aboard ship without examination or molestation. Two or three trips between shore and ship, and I would have fifty to seventy-five pounds of dynamite in my cabin—enough to do as much damage as a dozen torpedoes. As soon as I had got my dynamite into the cabin I would take several life-belts, from which I had extracted some of the cork or reed strips, and fill the empty spaces with sticks of the explosive. I would then sew up the canvas, and, as the bundles lay on the floor under my bunk, a casual observation would never disclose the fact that they were now potent life-destroyers instead of preservers.

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434 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “He slipped just outside my door, and’ fell with a thud on the deck!” One of the cabii-boys gave me a terrible fright on one occasion. At sea, as you probably know, fire-drill must be practised at frequent intervals ; but, in order to maintain the efficiency of the officers and crew, no one, save the captain who gives it, knows at just what hour the fire-call will be sounded. When the whistle blows the fire-call every man in the crew, from cabin-boy to first officer, drops his work, dons a life-belt, and instantly takes his proper station. On the morning of my fright the “old man” sounded the fire-call at about three bells. A cabin-boy was swabbing out my cabin when the whistle blew. He grabbed one of my loaded life-belts from under my bunk, slid into it, tied the strings about his waist, dashed for his station, slipped just outside my door, and fell with a thud on the deck !

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THE DYNAMITE SMUGGLER. 435 As he dropped the back of my neck felt cold and bristly, and after the shiver which ran over my body had subsided I was seized with a deadly nausea, If the tiniest corner of one of those sticks of dynamite had struck the deck or any hard sub- stance, the survivors would have had to collect that boy’s remains—and mine, too—on a blotting-pad. But, as luck would have it, nothing happened. After that incident I hid my loaded belts at the extreme rear of the space under the bunk, and kept two or three real ones 1n front. In the course of many voyages to Manila I had become acquainted with a considerable number of Spanish officers and dignitaries of the city. The chief Customs officer was a hand some young Spaniard of noble birth, by the name of Castillejo. I had become very friendly with him ; and after a few trips, when our ship made fast at his dock, he would come aboard, have a drink with the captain and myself, and sit chatting with us while his assistants examined the cargo and checked the manifests. On several occasions I remember Sefor Castillejo sat on the edge of my bunk, his heels actually touching my loaded life-belts, and received the report of his subordinates that the manifests and cargo were correct. One of the regidores (aldermen) of Manila was a pompous old Spaniard by the name of Hurtado de I.eon. I say that was his name; I mean that it was a fraction of his name. The Spaniards carry a power of sail in the shape of names; but Hurtado was the one most commonly known around Manila. Hurtado de Leon was a real Castillian, but had nevertheless engaged in business and made a fortune. Under the Spanish régime the office of regidore was perpetual, and old Hurtado demanded all the ceremony and deference to which he thought his position entitled him. In the absence of the real a/caide, he was a sort of acting mayor, and upon several occasions I had called upon him at his house in reference to some supplies of oil for the use of the city authorities which our ship had as cargo from Nagasaki. Now Hurtado had a daughter. was Juana. If you have any idea of the extremely strict espionage which high-caste Spanish and Filipino parents exercise over their daughters, you will probably be surprised to hear that I even became acquainted with the girl’s name. I did learn her name, however; and, more than that, I talked with her several times— usually, though, under the watchful, snaky, sus- picious eyes of the old duenna, who guarded her charge jealously. Her name Juana and I became very good friends. She was only a trifle past fourteen years of age, but was as matured as an English or Amcrican girl of twenty. 2 These Spanish girls of high estate are as un- sophisticated as kittens. Their lives, both at home and in the convents where they receive their education, are so strictly circumscribed that they are totally ignorant of every evil. Yet they are—by instinct, no doubt—mistresses of the arts of coquetry and fascination from the cradle. Juana needed but to glance those great, black eyes of hers at you over the edge of her fan and you were her slave for ever. I admit that I was —and, for that matter, am still. Now, Seftor Castillejo was well acquainted with the De Leon household ; and, as a high officer of the Spanish Administration, had the entrée to their home more freely than any foreigner, whatever his station and degree might be. On one occasion when he called at the house, ostensibly on business, Castillejo discovered me talking privately with Juana. He said nothing to me at the time, but I could see he was greatly enraged, and on our next trip into Manila Harbour, when Castillejo came aboard, he merely made me a ceremonious bow and went below with his men to examine our cargo. When his task below decks was finished he walked into the captain’s cabin and sat down for a moment; but never again did he honour my stuffy little cabin with his presence. My dynamite smuggling went on without incident until the second or third voyage into Manila following the incident of Castillejo’s manifestation of jealousy at finding me talking to Juana. I had made myself a wide chamois-skin belt with straps which went over my shoulders. This contrivance was pocketed like a cartridge- belt. I filled the compartment with sticks of dynamite and put the outfit on next to my bare skin, under my clothing. The tnsurrecto to whom I delivered the dynamite always knew when I came ashore, and used to be in waiting for me at the rendezvous, a hut within the old, walled part of Manila, and not far from Juana’s home. I imagine that he watched the ship with a strong pair of field-glasses from some house-top, though I do not know this to be a fact; at any rate, he was always on hand when I came ashore with the stuff, waiting for me with his bag of gold pesos. The exchange of dynamite for money was made in a jiffy; then he would disappear as if by magic. On the day of my adventure I waited until

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436 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the ship’s cargo had been cleared by Sefor Castillejo and his subordinates. I then retired to my cabin, stripped, and put on my chamois belt full of dynamite—twenty sticks. I then dressed in my best shore-going clothes, because, you see, “official business” might demand my presence at the De Leon house. As I walked down the gang-plank, Seftor Castillejo appeared from behind the Customs building with rather disconcerting suddenness. He advanced towards me with outstretched hand and an ingratiating smile on his face such as only a Spaniard can perfectly simulate. “It is foolish for us to be enemies, sefior,” he said, sweetly. “The Spanish curse of jealousy caused me to affront and insult one whom I highly esteem. Forgive me, and let us be friends.” 4 I have never been of a suspicious nature, and unhesitatingly I gave him my hand and walked down the prado with him. All the time I was thinking how I could get away from him without arousing his suspicions or breaching our freshly-renewed friendship. Your Spaniard is quick to take affront, and counts a nod or a wink awry a more deadly insult than an English-speaking man a rap over the skull with a belaying-pin. “The sefor must honour me with his presence at the club and afterwards at the theatre,” said Castillejo. The Spanish officers maintained a mess of their own which they called a club. There was a little Jim Crow opera-house in the town at that time, and from time to time stock companies from Madrid and Seville played long engagements there. The play that night, I remember, was called the “Comedia de Capa y Espada” (“Comedy of the Cloak and Sword ”). I simply had to accept the Spaniard’s invita- tion; and I felt, moreover, that I must pretend to be pleased. If Castillejo, in the enthusiasm of our recon- ciliation, had slapped me on the back, after the hearty manner of the Americans, he would either have blown us both to smithereens or discovered that I had ‘something suspicious below decks. Fortunately, the Spanish are extremely punctilious about touching the person of another or allowing themselves to be touched. If one inadvertently brushes against a noble Spaniard, he had best make his apologies then and there, or he may get a kmife in his back some dark night. Little as 1 wanted to do so, I simply 4ad to go with Castillejo. I did not dare excite his suspicions or ruffle his sensitive, ceremonious notions of the deference which he thought his due. So I accompanied him to the club, where, at dinner, every bite nearly choked me, for the warmth of my body had begun to affect the dynamite. Nitro-glycerine, which is the explo- sive agent of dynamite, is extremely volatile, and the smell of warm dynamite will set one’s heart beating furiously ; will cause one’s head to ache as no ordinary headache under heaven aches ; and will, in time, drop a man dead in his tracks from paralysis of the heart, due to over- stimulation. Physicians sometimes use the active principle of nitro-glycerine as a heart stimulant, I am told; and the profession claims that it is one of the most powerful and quick-acting drugs in the whole pharmacopeeia. An overdose means instant death. Nitro-glycerine is rapidly absorbed through the skin, and when left in contact with the flesh for any length of time will sear and burn the tissue like a red-hot iron. This was now beginning to happen with me. I lived through that dinner somehow or other, but Heaven alone knows how. My head was bursting ; I felt as if the arteries in my neck were pumping molten lead into my sizzling brain. The cooler air of the evening revived me somewhat as we walked to the theatre. Our seats were next to the aisle, and I manceuvred so that Castillejo gave me the out- side. My head began to whirl again, and I knew from the manner in which people looked at me that my countenance was either pale or that it showed other visible signs of distress. My heart seemed to be trying to burst from my body, and I knew that I was rapidly approaching unconsciousness. Juana was seated in a box to the right, and was accompanied by the ever-present duenna and an aged man-servant who always attended his mistress when she was abroad. Juana glanced at me again and again ; and I knew she was puzzled over my being with Castillejo. The look of concern upon her face told me plainly that she knew I was in distress. In spite of my deadly illness, the sympathy and tenderness expressed in her looks thrilled me ecstatically, I tried with all my might to keep my brain above the unconsciousness which was pulling me down as the hungry waters engulf a struggling, exhausted swimmer. I must keep my head whatever happened, I told myself. My one remaining thought was that I simply must get away from Castillejo— insult or no insult. To swoon and have that dynamite found on my person meant that I should be taken out to the Luneta, the street where public executions were held, and shot dead. By this time Castillejo’s suave, conciliating smile had vanished. He looked at my pain-

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THE DYNAMITE SMUGGLER. 437 ““T started to rise from my seat.” drawn face with all the exultation and cruelty of a tiger regarding a victim. I glanced up at Juana ; and as, in desperation, I started to rise from my seat, she also sprang from her chair and left the box. I staggered half-way up the aisle, and then fell in a dead faint on the floor. When I regained consciousness I found myself looking up into two faces, one the sweetest and dearest on earth, and one the ugliest. They were Juana’s and the duenna’s. “ How came I here?” I asked. Juana answered me in her pretty, shaky English, while the old lady continued to glare at me most malevolently. Fortunately, the duenna understood no tongue but Spanish. “T felt the sefior’s distress,” Juana said, ‘and went at once to his aid. In a low voice I told my servant, José, to bring you here—home ; and in a loud voice I directed him to drive you with all speed to the hospital San Juan de Dios. “The Senor Capitaine Castillejo would have accompanied you thither; but I asked him with considerable sweetness and entreaty to remain with me, as, without a brave escort, I dreaded the scrutiny of many prying eyes. “José brought you home and put you to bed. The precious belt which the sefior wore is safe, and is this moment ingeniously hidden where it will remain until the sefior wishes it. No one knows of its remarkable presence beneath my father’s roof, save only myself and José.” I rejoined my ship the next morning ; but my head ached for days, and the scars on my body, where the dynamite seared my flesh—I’ll show them to you presently—I shall carry to my grave. Within a short time after the dynamite episode the Americans occupied Manila, and I never again engaged in smuggling dynamite. In the fall of that year I shipped as first officer on an Australian liner, and have occupied several maritime berths since then. What about Juana? Well, Juana’s father died several years ago, and she went to Spain to live with an uncle. She has, within the last few months, returned to Manila with that uncle, who is looking after her interests in the islands. You see this ticket? Well, I am going to take passage for the Orient on the Canadian Pacific Railway liner Empress of India, which sails from Vancouver on the 28th of January, 1909.

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A House Built in a Day. By Haro.ip J. SHEPSTONE. The story of a remarkable building achievement—how a dwelling-house—a substantial edifice, consisting of four rooms and offices—was erected in eleven hours. The house was not only built, but occupied by a newly-married couple, who gave a dinner in honour of the feat the same evening. N interesting and remarkable build- ing feat was recently accomplished at St. Louis, U.S.A.—the erection and occupation of a house in a single day. It was a bride’s ardently- expressed wish to have a home to go to that caused the builder to attempt it; and he succeeded. Twelve hours before the evening meal was served the plot of land where the house was to stand showed not the slightest sign of human activity. Rag- weed and golden-rod greeted the sunrise, and the scene was absolutely innocent of a stick of timber, a piece of stone, brick, or other material. But when the seven o’clock whistles blew on the morning in question, however, there was a concerted movement of men and wagons towards the lot, the exact location of which is at Harding and Forest Avenues, in East St. Louis. First came the workmen, with Mr. W. C. Carl, of the Carl Construction Company, the contractor, at their head, and then followed numerous vehicles loaded with } Mr. W. C. Carl, who put up the house built in a day. From a Photograph. concrete blocks, timber, and other materials. How fifty workmen, representing all the trades necessary in the construction of a house, could operate without getting into one another’s way was the problem Mr. Carl had to solve before operations were commenced. It was accom- plished, however, and the division of labour mapped out several days before the job was actually commenced, and the result was that the men were able to work on the house without the loss of a minute of time, completing the dwelling by six o'clock at night. Such a feat was possible only through a per- fect organization, a system in which each man did his work well and promptly, following the plans and the contractor’s schedule intelligently. By the time the wagons had drawn up on the site the lot had been pegged out and the trench work was well in hand. By eight o'clock the foundations had been dug and the greater portion of the building material dumped on the ground and sorted out ready for use by the workmen. Two and a half hours later the The scene on the site one hour after work had commenced. (Photograph.

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A HOUSE BUILT IN A DAY. 439 Three and a half hours after operations commenced the concrete foundations were complete. concrete base on which the building stands was completed, and preparations were then begun for the erection of the timber frame- work. The house, it may be added, is a typical American “frame” building of modern design, standing on a foundation of concrete blocks. Now followed with great rapidity the erection of the wooden frame of the dwelling, which is of cypress. All this lumber had been previously sawed and cut to the required lengths, and all that was necessary was to erect and nail it in its proper place. By twelve o'clock the skeleton began to take on some semblance of a modern house. At this period the carpenters were working at feverish speed, being now and again jostled By twelve o'clock the framework of the building was rapidly approaching completion. { Photograph. by the men putting in the chimney. Before another hour and a half had elapsed the _ window frames were being inserted, and four men began the erection of the roof. This occupied some little time, for many thousands of feet of laths and weather-boards and shingles had to be handed up and nailed securely in place. A peep into the interior of the dwelling at this stage would have revealed an, interesting scene. Two men were still busy at the chimney, which is, of course, of brick; and carpenters were hustling the lathers, who, in their turn, were rubbing shoulders with the gasfitters and electric-wirers. The plumbers, too, were decidedly pushed for room. It was here that the wonderful organizing power Ate y cite An = (Photograph.

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44° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a\ of Mr. Carl was demonstrated, Youths were stationed at the windows, whose duty it was to hand tools and materials through the openings to the men as essential, have been with workmen going they needed them. This was or the passage - ways would continually blocked in and out. At half-past one the men started to erect the roof.: (Photograph, The carpenters had not finished the erection of the small staircase in the dwelling before the painters had arrived and had commenced operations. These men painted the walls a light green, with white decorations. By six o’clock—eleven hours from the time the men arrived on the spot—the house stood virtually complete. A quarter of an hour later not Frem al By three o'clock the building began to take on the appearance of a ho (Photograph.

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A HOUSE BUILT IN A DAY. 441 a single workman was to be found about the dwelling. As will be seen from our photograph, the house is a one-storey dwelling, and boasts of four rooms, a bath-room, reception hall, front porch, and a back “stoop.” The chimney is brick throughout, and the roof is covered with asbestos. In the erection ." the dwelling seventy-five thousand nails were used, eleven thousand feet of timber cut and fitted, twelve thousand shingles put on the roof, six thousand laths used to make electric wiring in one and a half hours, while four men did the necessary painting in five hours. The builders had hardly cleared away before a large furniture-van arrived, together with a caterer’s cart. The furniture-van contained the owners’ goods, and willing hands quickly transferred them to their rightful places in the record - built home. In just under an hour the newly - married couple and their friends, who had mean- while come upon the scene, sat down to From a) the walls, three hundred and seventy-five yards of plaster spread, and several gallons of paint used. Twenty-five carpenters were employed on the job, of whom eighteen worked ten hours, and the remaining seven about eleven hours each. Twelve lathers and twelve plasterers did the lathing and plaster- ing in three hours. Two men built the chimney in four hours and forty-five minutes. Four men put the roof on in three hours, while two men did the plumbing and gas- fitting in five hours. One man did the Vol. xxiii.—-56, At six o'clock, just eleven hours from the commencement, the house stood complete. § $ & (Photograph. a sumptuous dinner. Twelve hours previ- ously, as already stated, not a brick or a stone was to have been seen on the site of the dwelling. Mr. Carl is quite modest about the feat he has performed. With the modern methods of construction and the seasoned lumber used nowadays, the erection of a dwelling in quick time is not difficult, he says. In the old days, when “shrinking” had to be reckoned with, it would have been far otherwise. The cost of erecting the building was four hundred pounds.

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BULSTRODE AND THE BEAR. By James Barr. - The author vouches for the truth of this ludicrous story, which sets forth what happened when, bored by the unutterable dullness of life at a Canadian summer hotel, he devised a practical joke to liven things up somewhat. Seoal WHINNIE, Bulstrode, and I had but newly emerged from the woods after our trip through the wilds Hudson Bay way, a journey which I described in THE Wipe Worip MacazinE in 1904. Even after our weeks with Red Indian paddlers and_ birch - bark canoes we had not tired of that gorgeous jumble of rivers, lakes, mountains, and forests which make up such a large proportion of Canada’s surface, and we decided to take another plunge into Nature’s unspoiled chaos before returning to England. After consulting Montreal friends and Canadian maps, we chose as a starting-point one of those large summer hotels which dot the fringe of the Quebec wilds. ‘This hotel*, like most of its kind, was fronted by a lawn which ran down to a lonely lake, and behind began the unbroken woods, leading back to the Arctic Circle. The hotel was big enough for a city—and so were its prices—while the guests enjoyed, at one and the same time, the table of a metropolis and the black fly and mosquito of the wilderness. ‘The summer boarders whom we found installed in this place were a drab, dreary lot, mostly from New York. A few of the more dare- devil of them, on the first day of their arrival, ventured into the fringe of the woods, but were quickly routed by the Black fly, who proved that he would just as soon dine off the skin of a stockbroker as off the hide of a bull moose. After the first adventurous day the guest usually confined himself to the roomy veranda, smoking cigars and waiting for the next meal. As a crowd those boarders were about as sad and grey a lot as can be met with outside a home for decayed curates. When Bulstrode, M‘Whinnie, and the chronicler blew in on this hotel to put up until such time as we could induce the Indians to hire us their canoes and services, the place was approaching its busiest season, and there were enough weary souls already there to fill all the more comfortable chairs on the wide veranda, and to look upon the three of us, brown and shaggy from our Hudson Bay trip, as irresponsible monstrosities devoid’ of reason- able intelligence. I think, all things considered, they were not so far wrong in their outlook, for finding ourselves in such company made us take quite the opposite view of life to theirs, and, as * I have furnished the Editor with the name of this establish- ment.—THe AUTHOR. That he succeeded—even beyond his own expectations—there is no denying. theirs was the strictly conventional view, ours perhaps erred by guing too far the other way. However, in one thing we agreed perfectly, and that was in being at the table promptly at tle call or tne cook. For all meals, that is, save one—breakfast ! It was the third morning of our stay when I accomplished a brilliant feat, which feat was nothing less than managing to get up in time for breakfast. Breakfast at this hotel dis- appeared from the programme promptly at nine o'clock, and, as a usual thing, I got down just in time to see the waitress bundle up the last table- cloth and march off with it, a sight pretty enough in its way, but far from filling. Conse- quently I found myself behind the game to the extent of two breakfasts, and there is enough Scottish blood in me to cause me to resent missing anything I am paying for. Hence the unreasonable hour I arose this morning, an hour that allowed of me squeezing myself through the dining-room door at the very moment they thought to shut me out for the third time. My self-immolation in quitting the blankets at eight-thirty did not strike consternation into the hearts of M‘Whinnie and Bulstrode ; it struck blank dismay. To think that I, of my own initiative, had got up in time for breakfast quite unsettled my comrades, setting Bulstrode busy prophesying dire disaster and causing M‘Whinnie to advocate the immediate abandonment of the trip. I enjoyed that meal immensely, and some day, if I live long enough, will again try the experiment of getting up in time for breakfast. It must have been shortly after ten o'clock when, my hands deep in my pockets and my pipe going great guns, I sauntered out to see what sort of day we were likely to have. Pass- ing across the crowded veranda I accepted, with becoming modesty, the congratulations tendered to me on all sides, and was much touched by the many kind-hearted hopes that my experi- ment in early rising would not prove fatal to me. ‘Tearing myself away from the solicitous multi- tude, I wandered off across the lawn, drifted round the hotel, and headed for the woods, I had threaded my way through the sentinel bushes and was on the point of entering the woods proper when, on a sudden, I received such a start as to make me nearly bite through the stem of my pipe. For there, not twenty feet from where I stood, I beheld a great brown- black bear coming bouncing towards me. The

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BULSTRODE AND THE BEAR. 443 beast’s eyes were aglow with savagery, its mouth wide open, and it came crashing on, its back humped high and its head held low in a most uncanny manner. For perhaps two seconds I stared, utterly unable to move a muscle, not even able to cry for help—and during those seconds I realized the full wickedness of early rising as I had never done before. Suddenly a fierce desire for self-preservation seized upon me, and, snatching off my cap, I hurled it at the bear. At the same time, with a backward fling and a bound, I started for the hotel faster than 1 had ever run before. I suppose, by rights, I should have shouted, but I kept my breath for better use. T had taken not more than half-a-dozen strides when a shout struck upon my ear. It rang reassuringly. “All right, mister. houses.” Scarcely pausing, I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, I beheld Mr. Bear brought to with a round, and a stalwart young man holding tight to a chain which he had hitched once round a small sapling. Never the ghost of a smile flickered across the young man’s face, but the bear, it seemed to me, grinned a most savage grin as it lunged at its tether, its little wicked eyes never for an instant wavering from my face. I stood still, yet all strung up ready at a I’ve got ’im safe as “I started for the hotel faster than I had ever run before."

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444 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. moment’s notice to resume my journey hotel- ward should the man, the sapling, or the chain prove false. I knew the bear would not. The man hooked the forefinger of his left hand across his forehead, raking off the perspiration. He looked weary of life, almost as weary as the summer boarders. “Where the deuce are you taking that menagerie?” I asked, having recovered some of my wasted breath. “Exercising him,” answered the young man ; then he added, fiercely glaring at the brute, “I'd like to exercise him over the snout with the back of an axe.” “Same here, two seconds ago,” I admitted, venturing nearer. “He seems to exercise you pretty successfully.” “You bet your neck he does,” answered the man, emphatically. ‘You would know what exercise means if you had to take eight of these brutes out one after another on a hot day like this. Muscle and temper cxercise, all bunched together.” “Eight bears?” I exclaimed. -He nodded his head over his right shoulder. “Step behind those bushes,” he said, “and you'll see what I mean.” I glanced at the bear, and hesitated. “Oh, I’ve got him anchored here for a spell right enough. I need a rest, if he doesn’t,” said the man. So I ventured. Behind the bushes I came upon a most interesting sight. A long row of bear-dens confronted me, each den consisting of a small yard and a large kennel. In the centre of each yard was a strong stake, and to each stake a bear was chained. The bears ranged in size from one only a quarter grown to a regular thumper of a veteran, and made quite a pleasing menagerie so far as bear is concerned. Presently the man returned with the beast I had first seen and secured it in its place, after which we sat down on a log, smoked pipes, and talked bear. All the bears had been captured in the cub age, some of them when only a few days old, others when they were well on, but as they grew up each became savage, so that not one of them all could be trusted any farther than was abso- lutely necessary. Primarily they were kept for the edification of the hotel guests, but occasion- ally one was sold to a private collector, a show, or a zoological garden; and on more than one occasion, I gathered, a rich sportsman had returned to civilization from these parts with a slain bear about whose neck an expert could almost vow he detected marks of a chain—no doubt a logging chain which the bear had confis- cated from some lonely lumber camp! It did not take me long to discover that the young man was dissatisfied with his position as “ bear-tender” in chief to a summer hotel, his objection being not so much the lack of oppor- tunity to rise in the world as that the position commanded too little pay for too much work. Moreover, his dissatisfaction was emphasized this morning by a row he had had with the “boss,” who, I gathered, was an ungrateful man to bear-tenders. I made no secret of my sympathy with the young man, for in every part of the world I have happened upon work is too hard, the pay too small, and the “ bosses” too ungrateful to suit me. Each of us agreed in wishing for a world in which there is no work and no “bosses.” When I left the man I am confident he thought more highly of me than did the summer boarders—my two travelling companions included. From that log I went direct to the veranda and, calling Bulstrode aside, buttonholed that ponderous personage. “ Bulstrode,” I said, looking him in the eye ; “Bulstrode, this is a pretty flat place we've camped in.” Bulstrode scowled. “The. place may be flat,” he replied, “ but its bill is not; it’s steep.” Bulstrode all along had been entrusted with the financial side of our outing, and made much of his responsibilities. Paying no attention to his mercenary reflections, I continued :— “What I mean is, this is not the hilarious, vivacious, exhilarating, buoyant abode of joy I always took a summer resort to be.” “ Hilarious, vivacious, exhilarating, buoyant?” Bulstrode repeated, puzzled. “TI failed to notice that put down on the tariff list. Were we promised that?” “Perhaps not precisely promised, but it was implied. I always associated light doings with a-summer resort. Yet here all is melancholy, which state of things I hope to change. I’ve struck an idea.” “T trust you struck it hard enough to stun it, for I would much like to see an idea of yours,” growled Bulstrode, who steadfastly refuses to give me credit for brilliancy. ‘“ Have you got it in alcohol ?” “Tt’s a little too early in the day for alcohol,” I replied. ‘Have you seen the collection of bears at the back of this dyspeptic hostelry ? ” Bulstrode drew himself up majestically, gazing down on me reprovingly. “They are real, Bulstrode,” I added. and see for yourself.” I took him gently by the coat-sleeve and led him to the bears’ dens, and for half an hour Bulstrode silently contemplated the bears. They were brothers, those bears and Bulstrode, each so heavy and burly and silent and placidly “Come —

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BULSTRODE AND THE BEAR. 445 morose. I am sure Bulstrode enjoyed that half- hour, and so did the bears, I think. As we -stood there the far-off jingle of the hotel piano, vigorously played by the effervescent M‘Whinnie, tinkled on our ears. At length the sound touched upon Bulstrode’s nerves, and he muttered :— “1 would dearly like to feed M‘Whinnie and that confounded piano to this splendid gentle- man of a bear.” “ Perhaps we'll manage that. The mantle of Elisha has fallen upon me,” I said. “There are some things about these animals that even you don’t know. For instance, a man has to exercise them on a chain every morning.” “What's that to me? I have no desire to do him out of his job.” “Do you know that it’s a pretty appalling thing to suddenly meet a careering bear?” Bulstrode refused to commit himself. I went on:— “ At four o’clock this afternoon there will be a grand reunion of the guests of this hotel on the lawn awaiting tea. Does it not strike you, Bulstrode, that something of an excitement might be created by the sudden introduction among that staid crowd of a full-sized bear?” Now, those who know Bulstrode know that anything in the nature of dire calamity appeals irresistibly to him, and when the idea of a bear among the tea-drinkers penetrated his brain a grim smile stole across his broad face. As he scratched his head and pondered the grin became very wide. “T think I see possibilities in your suggestion,” he admitted, grudgingly ; “but how exactly is it to be done? If we cut loose a bear, he'll not invade the lawn-—he’ll take to the woods.” _ . “Great heavens, Bulstrode!” I gasped. “You don’t mean to say you would think of turning a bear loose on the people?” - “Wouldn’t I, just?” exclaimed Bulstrode, fervently. ‘Yes, and stand by to see that the bear had fair play, too. Isn’t that your intention ?” I started to walk away, but Bulstrode com- manded me to stay, and I stayed. “You are one of those half-and-half characters who make up the greater part of the population of the globe,” he said. “‘ Now, what is the half-and-half to turning a bear loose on such people as we find ourselves among?” “You might have put it more politely ; but Tl tell you. A judiciously-proffered five-dollar bill will enlist the interests of the young man who has charge of these bears. I propose that to one end of a long clothes-line he attaches a reasonable-sized bear, and to the other end attaches himself. You and I will then happen round here, when we have made sure that tea is ready on the lawn, and will attract the attention of the bear. Attracting his attention will result in him making after us. ‘The clothes-line will allow the attendant to keep well out of sight while all the time retaining control of the beast. We dash round the corner of the hotel bawling “Bear!” at the top of our voices—but, of course, no one will believe us; they know us too well. Then, lo! round comes a bear! Delectable consternation will reign for as many minutes as it takes the crowd to detect the clothes-line. I count on the line not being noticed till most of our self-satisfied friends are under their beds.” Bulstrode considered the proposition for a while, then shook his head. “ Half-and-half,” he muttered. ‘Count me out. Either a free bear among free people, or no bear in mine. Why not give the bear a free hand?” “That's out of the question—quite.” “Then I’m out, too. I make no fool of myself by running away from a clothes-lined bear. But I have no doubt that M‘Whinnie will readily fall in with your plan. He’s another half-and-half. You may go ahead, if you like, knowing that I sha’n’t say a word to anyone. But I’ be among the tea-drinkers.” “You promise not to spoil the joke?” “T promise,” he said. “Then I’m off to find M‘Whinnie.” The instant the irresponsible M‘Whinnie heard the proposition he jumped at the idea, and was all impatience until the hour arrived. ‘Together we rousted out the bear-keeper, and were so fortunate as to find him ripe for mis- chief. He had indulged in the luxury of a second row with the “boss” and got, as he called it, “fired,” and was leaving that evening. In the circumstances the five-dollar bill was most acceptable, as was also the chance of getting even with the “boss.” “It'll be the last time I exercise a bear round this shanty, and I hope both the boss and the bear will like it,” he muttered, as he spliced two clothes-lines together in readiness for the after- noon. M‘Whinnie and I watched, with great interest, the people troop out upon the lawn to take their places at the little square bamboo tables under the big, flaming umbrellas. We saw Bulstrode lurch and paw his way among the throng and seat himself well in the centre, his back towards that part of the lawn where the bear must enter. When M‘Whinnie saw this he said to me :— “Bulstrode is preparing to play the hero. You see if, when the others scramble for safety, he does not sit tight and beard the bear from the den.”

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446 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “T don’t mind if he does. He is one of us, although sometimes it’s difficult for me to realize that fact. One of us may as well appear heroic, for I doubt if either you or I are making for popularity over this matter.” “You're not beginning to weaken, surely ?” inquired M‘Whinnie, contemptuously. “T must admit I don’t think quite so highly of the joke as I did three hours ago,” I answered. “Better go and be a hero with Bulstrode,” sneered M‘Whinnie. ‘I'll see the thing through.” “Oh, no. Whither thou goest I’m there too.” We left the hotel by a side exit, and found. the young man with a three-quarter-grown bear short-held by the thin rope, and the remaining thirty yards of the line neatly coiled in his left hand all ready to pay out. Wasting no time, the noble two of us began slashing our soft hats at the bear’s face. At first the bear took our exertions as a joke, then, thinking the joke carried too far, began to toss and tumble and strain to get at us so as to take a hand in the game. Presently the young man, his heels dug into the ground and shoulders thrown far back, shouted :— “ Dig out for all you’re worth !” I dug. So did M‘Whinnie. And, no mis- take, we dug for all we were worth. The first shock I received was to see how much more successfully M‘Whinnie dug than I, for by the time I had covered twenty yards M‘Whinnie led by ten. The second and by far the more violent shock I got was when I distinctly heard the pounding and gasping of the half-strangled beast appallingly close behind me, plainly informing me that if this joke was destined to kick back, as practical jokes have a way of doing, I was the party who would receive that kick. In the fierce strain of running I dimly heard M‘Whinnie issue the arranged-for shout, but I am willing to wager that the yell I voiced rang with much more genuine hair-raising “médre. Fervently I hoped that the young man at the executive end of that clothes-line was playing the game fairly, but I hardly felt so sure on that point as I was that the bear was playing his game straight enough, and playing it with all his might. My soft hat I held crumpled up in my hand, I could feel the wind of speed blowing a gale through my flying hair, and as I raced along I did not dare to look over my shoulder to see how things were shaping astern of me. Presently I beheld M‘Whinnie double round the corner of the hotel, but unfortunately I was running too wide of the place to take advantage of the turn, and found myself obliged to carry straight on, heading for a tree round which I determined to hook my arm and whip myself into an opposite course. Skirting the lawn, I made out that the guests were already in full flight, and that the commotion and disorder were chaotic. A babel of shouts rent the air, but I did not gather that any great number of the guests were endeavouring to attract the bear’s attention from me to themselves. Against the tree I brought up with a spine- racking wrench, and, like a colossal football kicked by a giant, the bear hurtled past, quite unable to pull himself up before clearing me by some ten feet. Dashing for the hotel, I saw that the young man who should have been at the far end of the line was missing. Bitterly I did him the injustice of thinking he had wilfully turned the animal loose, but subsequently found that he had stubbed his foot against a root and had the line jerked out of his hand while he lay half stunned. If I had had the presence of mind to snatch up the rope, which lay on the grass within a few inches of my feet, and taken a turn of it round any one of a half- dozen trees near by, the matter would have been settled quite satisfactorily, but I doubt if the knowledge that a freed bear is after one leads to presence of mind. Anyhow, I did not pause until I stood on the deserted veranda. Then I did glance over my shoulder, and the sight I saw caused me to grasp a post for support. Alone upon the lawn, in the huddle of tables, sat Bulstrode. Unruffled, Bulstrode sipped tea. Calm, majestic he sat, his back turned to all the hubbub, nor did he even deign to glance over his shoulder. He knew. No shackled bear was going to budge him. And not twenty feet away the bear was swarming towards him at full speed ! “Jump, Bulstrode!” I bawled, my hair standing on end. “ He's broken loose.” Bulstrode was neither to be bustled nor befooled. Sléwly he raised one hand and sarcastically waved it over his shoulder towards me. This was altogether too much for the bear. Paying not the least hecd to the intervening furniture, the beast made direct for Bulstrode. On his way he managed to run his head between the legs of a bamboo-table, and this he carried along with him. As it happened, this wreck brought about the downfall of another table immediately behind my companion, who still sat as serene as stood that noble boy on the burning deck. This second table proved the salvation of the all-unwitting Bulstrode. As it fell a sugar-basin leapt into the air and the immaculate lumps of sugar scattered on the grass. ‘These attracted the eyes of the bear, and, doubtless thinking Bulstrode was a fixture that could be tackled at any time, whereas the sugar had proved itself possessed

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BULSTRODE AND THE BEAR. 447 of motion, the brute began snapping up the lumps and crunching them greedily. It was then that Bulstrode, hearing behind him heavy breathing and sharp crunching, languidly con- descended to glance over his shoulder. At the same time the bear raised his head, and the two great ones looked into one another's eyes. No doubt the bear’s eyes said: ‘When I’ve finished this sugar 1’ll finish you.” When the real state of affairs flashed upon Bulstrode he clasped the frail table in front of him with both hands, then slowly, inch by inch, arose to his full height, his eyes never for a twinkle wavering from those of the bear. Suddenly, in the frenzy of desperation, Bul- “ The bear hurtled past." strode snatched up the table, heaved it in the air, and brought it crashing down upon the unfortunate bear—teapot, cup, saucer, sugar- basin, and all in one devastating heap. Then, regardless of what stood in his direct line of travel, and shouting in a fashion that set. the woods a-ringing, Bulstrode, with bounds like those of a stampeded elephant, heaved himself for the hotel, jettisoning everything sheddable as he tore along. The destruction in his path was double as great as that which marked the path pursued by the bear. Shortly after Bulstrode reached the hotel, and before the beur-keeper had secured his animal, I found M‘Whinnie,

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448 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Let’s cut for it lively, while the coast is still clear,” I said. ‘There’s bound to be an acri- monious Board of Trade inquiry into this little episode, and I, for one, do not yearn to be present when the report is issued.” “Nor I,” agreed M‘Whinnie. By slipping through the woods we reached the lake-shore some distance from the hotel, and, pirating a birch-bark canoe, we paddled under shelter of the bank until it was safe to cut across to a small island two furlongs from the shore. Before we got out of hearing we heard Bulstrode making clamorous inquiries as to our whereabouts, and we were glad to be well clear for the day. I’d rather have the bear after me any day than Bulstrode. That night, to be free from mosquitoes, we rested out on the bosom of the lake until the twinkling lights of the hotel winked out, telling le brought it crashing down upon the unfortunate bear.” that the guests had retired after another stren- uous day. Then we quietly paddled back. In the hall, stretched out on an easy-chair, and more than half asleep, we found the bar- tender of the hotel. When he opened his eyes and saw us he held up a warning finger, cau- tioning silence, then silently led us into the bar. There he placed before us a bottle of champagne. “With Seller’s comps,” he whispered. “Seller? Who's Seller?” I asked. “The feller that tends the b’ars. He planked down the coin for this bottle before he left, and made me promise to see that you got it. It cost him five dollars, and I guess I can afford to throw in a few biscuits. You look hungry as tramps.” We were, but not for long. The delighted and admiring “ bar-tend ” took care of that.

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- - With Pen and Camera By in Nigeria. FREDERICK W. EMeETT. Being a record of life and travel in this most interesting portion of the British dominions, narrated to the writer and illustrated with photographs lent by various high officers of the Protectorate. HERE can be no more fascinating } study than the conditions of every- day life in the outlying parts of the Empire, and the contrasts that are to be seen as a result of the gradual substitution of the Pax Britannica for the old régime of slavery, murder, and terrorism. In this pioneering work hundreds of the finest specimens of the British race live — and, alas! often die—in what must prove in the early days a heart - breaking attempt to replace savagery of the worst description by modern civiliza- tion, There is no part of the Empire whose record during the past few years has been so full of stories of in- tense human inte- rest as that portion of our West African possessions now known as Nigeria. THE Wipe WorLD has frequently pub- lished narratives from this region of the world which, though known by those conversant Vol, xxiii.—57. 4 4 cae San} From a I. Sir Heroy Glrovard; the Governor (in white hat hat), and Sir William Wallace on board the with life at the outposts of Empire to be abso- lutely true, may by some, less well-informed on the subject, be relegated to the realms of romance. One of- the most interesting articles of remi- niscences of Northern Nigeria was that which appeared in 1902 from the pen of Sir (then Mr.) William Wallace, one of the pioneers of Nigeria, whose record, when it comes to be written, will : : be found to be among the most inspiring tales of Scottish determi- nation and _ pluck. The responsible place which he holds as Resident- General _ precludes Sir William from writing for the Press, for which reason he has re- fused many tempt- ing offers to pub- lish his experi- ences. This work will have to wait until he retires from the Service, but the writer has been fortunate enough, in the course of many conversations with him and with \Photograph. Other officers of the

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450 : THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Service, to collect stories, anecdotes, and incidents of life and work among the Fulani and Pagans of Nigeria and the Central Sudan, which, it is hoped, may prove of interest. The material is illustrated by photographs, many of unique interest, which have been kindly lent by Sir Percy Girouard, Sir William Wallace, General Abadie, whose son lately laid down his life in the service of Nigeria, and other distinguished officers. Nigeria is first reached when the mail steamer from Liverpool arrives at Forcados, the largest mouth of the Niger, which at this point is about five miles wide. But the traveller who is pro- ceeding to the capital—Zungeru—or to some of the more northerly posts of the Protectorate, will now realize that the voyage from Liverpool to Forcados is only one-third of the total journey. Leaving the mail steamer at Forcados, he will probably find waiting in the river a beautiful steamer of shallow draught, which was built in England and transported to West Africa for the special use of the Governor of Nigeria. This vessel is fitted up in magnificent style, complete with electric light and refrigerating chambers, and her tasteful dining saloon, with its oak panelling, beautiful glass, and gorgeous tropical flowers, might easily be taken for a dainty corner at the Savoy or the Carlton. On this vessel, named the Corona, the Governor, transhipping from the ocean liner, has to travel a distance of over five hundred miles up the Niger before reaching the point where he disembarks for Government House at Zungeru. The first photograph reproduced is an interesting snapshot taken on the promenade deck of this vessel. Here Sir Percy Girouard, the Governor, may be seen discussing with Sir William Wallace, the Resident-General, who is on his right, the question of the new railway which will eventually terminate at Kano (the Manchester of the Sudan), and of the plan for deepening the Niger. For three days the Corona, steaming up the Niger, passes low- lying country with either bank covered with the densest tropical foliage, so thick that it is impossible to land except where trading stations exist, or where clearings have been made by the natives, The navigation of the Niger is extremely diffi- cult and needs great care, owing to the tortuous channel and the constant danger of snags, sub- merged trees, and other obstacles. Accidents are by no means infrequent, and recently three fine boats have been wrecked. Quite lately one of these vessels, named the Karonga, was entirely lost in the lower river, through striking a snag just after dark. One of the Residents, on his way to his post, accompanied by his wife, “* Alligator bait "—A piccaninny who hes just had a narrow escape from a man-eater’s jaws. From a Photograph. was on board the ill-fated boat, and the passengers were dressing for dinner, when, without any warning, the vessel suddenly filled, capsized, and sank in mid-stream. Happily there was a barge towing alongside, and the alarmed passengers, who were in a -state of. extreme deshabille, managed to scramble on to

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WITH PEN AND CAMERA IN NIGERIA. 451 the barge. It was only owing to the gallant behaviour of the crew, who with great difficulty severed the tow-rope in the nick of time, thus preventing the barge from being dragged under with the Karonga, that a tragedy was averted. After a night of great discomfort the passengers on the barge were rescued the next morning at one of the riverside stations. For the first hundred miles from the coast the river banks are densely populated with Ejo oil-traders, a people who strenuously fought against the first pioneers and sought to keep the Niger a closed waterway. These tribes are of the real negro type. The photograph on the previous page is a snap- shot taken at Burutu, on the lower river, and shows one of the little piccaninnies, hun- dreds of whom are to be seen from the decks of the steamer joyously running about or splashing in the water in a state of nudity. It is a matter of surprise to new-comers to see native children in charge of canoes darting recklessly out from the banks, regardless of the frailty of their craft and the fact that the river in places is alive with alligators. The pic ture shows a small urchin who has just been rescued by his mother from the jaws of one of these saurians. The old alligators, who can- not catch fish, become man- eaters and a terror to every riverside village they frequent Always of great size and uspe cially wily, they lie in wait at the water-places, which, as a rule, are staked off and palisaded round as a_ protection from these brutes (a step which is usually only taken after there have been a few fatalities). In many cases where man- eaters have been shot, brass arm and leg rings, How the women carry their babies. From a Photograph. which have been swallowed ‘with their unfortunate owners, have been found in their stomachs. A curious native legend is current among the lower river tribes, who declare that these animals are not really alligators at all, but men who have taken that form for a short time, and afterwards return in their original shape to their villages. ‘There are many cases of natives, after having been denounced by the witch-doctors as being alligators, being driven from their villages and put to death. Even to-day this occasion- ally occurs in remote parts. ‘Theaccompanying photo- graph was taken at Illushi, near Onitsha, the adminis- trative head-quarters on the Lower Niger of Southern Nigeria, where the tribes are fairly civilized, and is interesting as showing the method in which the women carry their babies. Formerly this was one of the most dangerous places on the Niger, the tribes just off the river banks being the worst form of cannibals. Not only did they eat prisoners of war, but they actually devoured the bodies of those who had died from disease. They carried on a regular trade in corpses with the neighbouring tribes, a condition of things which has now happily ceased. In addition to their other amiable traits, they were particu- larly addicted to twin sacrifice. When twins were born the village people placed the little mites in a jar and hid them in a bush or fetish grove, where they would, of course, perish. Even to-day it is not unknown for one - of these “twin jars” to be found. The people are of a particularly jovial disposition, and love nothing more than to assemble on the banks of the river in the tropical moonlight and dance the

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452 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. This photograph shows one of the curious circular fishing-nets used on the Nigerian rivers. whole night, to the accompaniment of tom- toms. Passengers on the steamer lying off one of these villages will hear their curious native songs through the small hours—a musical performance which, when near stations, became such a nuisance that tomtom playing had to be suppressed. The above photograph is one taken on the river bank, showing the primitive method of fishing which obtains on all the rivers of Nigeria. From Onitsha and farther up-stream, where the banks are clearer than lower down the river, there is a constant succession of these curious nets, which are of enormous size — usually about twenty feet in diameter. They are laid a few inches under the water, and the fisherman then either perches himself on the bank or, more commonly, or a high platform and watches until the fish float over the top, when the net is pulled up and the catch removed. Fish is the staple article of food among the riverside natives, being chiefly esteemed when it is somewhat “high” and old. Practically the only dangerous fish on the Niger is the electric eel, which has been known to kill people with its shock, and the sting-ray, whose sting contains deadly poison and is especially dreaded. The next photograph was taken at Muraji, one of the most important villages of the province of Nupe, situated on the Niger, where the popula- tion largely consists of slaves who have escaped from the bondage of their Fulani masters and have settled down to peaceful avocations. This section of the Nupe people are expert canoemen

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WITH PEN AND CAMERA IN NIGERIA. 453 and have large fleets of dug-outs moored along the banks. ‘They are of great assistance to the Government in getting material up the river when there is not sufficient depth of water for the steamers. At one period there were thousands of these canoes, but, owing to slave- raiding and the consequent depopulation, their numbers have decreased. There are still an immense number, however, and it is only necessary for an official to give the order for a hundred of these dug-outs—fully manned and each capable of carrying one to five tons of cargo—to be at the disposal of the Adminis- tration, who pay well for their services. As soon as it is known that the Corona is coming up-stream with high administrative officials on board, the canoe shown in the photo- graph comes out to meet the vessel. ‘This craft is one of the biggest of the fleet, and is a state On state occasions the crew use paddles, but at other and more ordinary times, when the vessel is laden, they punt, and will often work the canoe by this means for fifteen or sixteen hours without a stop. Kuta himself is a patriarchal and dignified individual, who thinks . it quite beneath his dignity to smile when in the presence of his men. As soon as his swiftly- propelled craft comes alongside the Corona the Chief is escorted to the upper deck, where, salaaming in the Mohammedan fashion, he salutes the Governor. He usually brings a ram as a present, and, after receiving’ his own “dash” (West Coast phrase for a present) in exchange, is paddled back to his town. The Nupe tribes are nominally Mohammedans, but underlying their Mohammedanism there is a great deal of strong fetish superstition which considerably influences their life. Until the last From a) barge belonging to Kuta, the Chief of Muraji. It is of immense length—about eighty feet—and is carved out of a single log. At one end is to be seen a crimson state cabin, in which the Chief himself sits in state, while ranged on the platform outside are his attendants and the members of his band, all vigorously blowing horns and beating tomtoms. The vessel is manned by about thirty powerful natives of very fine physique, who, singing as they keep time with the paddles, propel the vessel at a great rate. ‘The state barge of the Chief of Muraji. (Photograph, few years the commencement of the fishing season in this province was inaugurated by the sacrifice of a man, who was done to death in one of the many creeks as propitiation to the fishing god. The whole place is honeycombed with fetish practices, although, nowadays, sheep or bullocks take the place of human victims. There are still many religious and other tribal rites of a mysterious character, which are pre- sided over by the ju-ju man, and of which the white man has very little knowledge. The next photograph is a picture of a

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From a Photograph. fetish hut in a Nupe village. As a rule they stand apart from the village itself, hidden away in a grove of trees, and of the mysterious rites which take place inside few Europeans know anything. The huts, approach to which is for- bidden to woman, are about twenty feet in cir- cumference; on the exterior the plaster with which they are formed is covered with curious images of animals, human figures, and other weird designs; while inside there is usually a large * eee +n E ares =e = % a se ee ~ * hay Oa Oo aa ross oe at EE: 3 ae Pr ta A fetish hut—In the bad old days these places were scenes of untold horrors, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. collection of evil-smelling charms which depend from cords stretched across the house, the entrance of which is nearly always covered with a white cloth. Until an effective British Administration had been __ established these places were scenes of untold horrors. Many cases are on record in which British officers have come upon these ju-ju villages while these devilish rites were in pro- gress. Cooking-pots full of human limbs have been discovered in the villages, while in the huts themselves pieces of human flesh have been found hung up and por- tions of human bodies were openly offered for sale. Even to-day on the Benue, the great tributary of the Niger, which is navigable for over six hundred miles into German and French terri- tory, these practices are still carried on among the unconquered Pagans. The picture below is a view of the Emir of Bida’s palace, and shows his own official quarters in the great palace compound. This is one of the largest native buildings in this part of Northern Nigeria, and the com- pound in which it is situated, enclosed by massive walls about - The palace of the Emir From a Ph

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WITH PEN AND thirty feet high, is of great extent. ‘he en- closure contains many buildings of the sort shown in the photograph. The interior is sub- divided into many rooms with neatly-plastered walls and ceilings, which, with the exception of treed beds and stools, contain no furniture. The picture was taken on the Occasion of one of the Emir’s receptions, which are held two or three times a week, and shows a crowd of people waiting for audience. : A striking example of native decoration is seen in the annexed photograph, which CAMERA IN NIGERIA. 255 missioner, was using the room as an office and is seen writing a despatch to Downing Street. By far the greater portion of the population of Northern Nigeria are Mohammedans, who are very zealous in their outward form of worship, and still owe allegiance to the Emir of Sokoto. The real power in the provinces, however, is vested not so much in the local Emir as in the spiritual advisers, or Limans, who usually fill the office of Chief Justice as well as that of spiritual head. The individual in the first photograph on the A room in the palace of the Emir of Kano, showing Sir Frederick Lugard writing a despatch—Notice the extraordinary decorative 01 From a. pattern on the walls. ( is an interior view of a room in the palace of the Emir of Kano, and was taken just after that place had been captured by the British. It is strangely like the dungeon of a medizeval castle. The walls are decorated with patterns made’ in clay of various colours. Many of these are beautifully shaded, and some have the appear- ance of old burnished gold. The door of this room is not unlike some of the iron-clamped and heavily-studded doors which were to be found in old Newgate. When this picture was taken Sir Frederick Lugard, the High Com- tograph. next page is the Liman of Bida, who died only a few months ago. He is described as being an excellent fellow, probably among the most educated and cultured men of his sect. At the native Emir’s Court the Liman takes the seat of honour next to the Emir himself, and the latter takes no step of importance without consulting him. The Liman of Bida occupied the same post when the place was captured by the British ten years ago, and right up to the time of his death he proved faithful to the Administration. In the photograph he is

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456 arrayed in a costume of white embroidered brocade, underneath which, however, despite his Mohammedan- ism, he no doubt wore round his neck and waist the strings of charms, sewn up in leather, which are so common among the Pagans. At the conclusion of the long annual Mohammedan fast of Ramadan, which terminates with the sight of the new moon, all the people run out from their houses firing guns, while everyone, from the highest to the lowest, kills a ram. On the following day a great religious ceremony is held out- side the city walls. Thousands flock through the gates, the procession being headed by the Emir, and when the open From a} THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The Liman of Bida, the E From a Photograph. Sate eee a + Public prayer at the conclusion of the fast of Ramacan. (To be continued.) 's spiritual adviser and Prime Minister. ground outside is reached form up in rows led by the mallams, or exhort the faithful to prayer. priests, who The whole assem- blage with one accord prostrate themselves until their foreheads touch the ground. After prayers, which last about twenty minutes, the wor- shippers re-form and, with much firing of guns and _ powder play, return to the town and continue their rejoicings. During the fast itself the people are not allowed to eat or drink between dawn and sunset, and while the fast is in progress drummers go round the vil- lages about. two o'clock in the morn- ing in order that they may rouse the women to prepare the food for sunrise. (Photograph.

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The Castaways of Guadalupe Island. By Rosert S. WEAVER. The unusual and exciting experience which befell a young American and a party of Mexicans on an island in the Pacific. The interest of the narrative is heightened by the photographs—taken before trouble overtook the castaways—which accompany it. ] HEN the failure of two large finan- cial houses in Chicago put a sudden stop to my father’s extensive com- Pany-promotion plans in Mexico, there was but one of the many con- cessions he had obtained which could be carried through with a limited capital. This was a fifteen-year grant of Guadalupe Island, by the terms of which my father might kill the goats which roam its barren slopes in thousands, on a basis of equal division of profits with the owner of the thirty-two-mile stretch of rocky wilderness comprising the island. Guadalupe lies a hundred and fifty miles off the coast of Lower California, due west from the little port of San Quintin. It is out of the course of all vessels, being too far from shore for the coasters and south of the line of travel of Pacific trade. In shape it re- sembles a half-moon, its three mountain ranges rising high in the air. From its northern cliffs to its southern bluffs, a stretch of more than thirty-five miles, there are but three points at which it is pos- sible to make a landing, even with a small boat. Everywhere else are rocky precipices, rising straight up from the sea. A couple of hundred years ago—so the story runs—an order of monks exiled from Mexico took refuge on the isle, bringing with them domestic goats, the forefathers of the hun- dred thousand or more strong, agile beasts that are now the sole inhabitants of Guadalupe—for not even a bird makes its home there. On August 18th, 1904, my twentieth birthday, I landed on the island, with seven Mexicans and a Vol. xxiii—58. Where the Author and his men landed on Guadalupe Island. Chinese cook, and began the superintend- ence of the work of goat-capturing. Com- mercially, goats are goat-skins, kid-skins, jerkin, and tallow, the average goat being worth about a dollar and a half; and I have seen eight hundred captured on Guadalupe in.one day. Our methods were very simple. Every water- hole and spring in the southern half of the island had been closed up save one. This spring, a mile from camp, over the crest of a hill, was situated in the wide mouth of a long barbed-wire corral. ‘Two fences, converging slowly until a quarter of a mile from camp, met in a huge gate- way leading into a round enclosure built to hold a thousand goats. During the misty periods before daybreak we < 4 From a Photograph.

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458 would conceal ourselves in little pits, dug for the purpose at intervals across the mouth of the trap beyond the spring. There, without sound or motion, we would lie for hours awaiting the coming of the thirsty flocks to the water- ing-place. Slowly the goats would gather, nervously aware of some danger, sniffing the air like deer, but forced by thirst and the hot sun to the water. When I felt sure that we had in front of us all the animals we could get that morning, I would blow my whistle and our ragged band of slaughterers would tush, yelling and waving, across the mouth of the corral. The goats, frightened, would stand for a moment in trembling silence ; then some leader would head the retreat. Up over the rise they would go, and down the narrowing line of the fences into the corral for slaughter. I never grew hardened to that part of the work. For the sake of companionship — something The corral in which the goats were penned. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. T missed with the Mexi- cans and the Chinaman— I began taming some of the kids. I selected the finest of a day's drive and put them in a pen along- side the adobe house. They soon became very friendly, and would climb into my lap when I let them. I grew to love them almost as I would a dog. My Spanish was only suf- ficient to give orders or instructions to my men for the day’s work, and there was but one among them in whom I had any confidence. I called him Maximillian. He had been with my father the previous season, and father, liking him, had given hima silver watch, of which Maximillian was extremely One of the long fences leading to the corral. From a Photograph. proud. It was a small affair to my father, those words of appreciation and the token given, but they served to pull me out of many a tight hole during the next few months. The Sax Jose, my father’s schooner, made the cove again on October 18th. Father was ill—sick with the disease that afterward caused his death—and he was badly discouraged. He was ina sad tangle in the Mexican courts, and his captain had allowed the San Jose to ground in the harbour, so that she was badly strained and leaking. Indeed, it was only by continual work at the pump that he had been able to make the island. We patched her up as best we could, shifting the cargo

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THE CASTAWAYS OF GUADALUPE in order to bring the worst hole above the water- line, and they sailed away. The weather was perfect, and my father felt sure that he would be able to keep the schooner careened and float her into San Quintin. “T'll be back on the 25th of November,” he told me. “You have provisions to see you through, and the goats will be plentiful until the rainy season scatters them over the island. Get as many as you can, for if this legal bother isn’t cleared away it will be my last trip.” All that day, from the summit of the hill, I watched the schooner lying over on her side and drifting in the light winds. She was gone from sight in the morning, and I was glad that she was far on her homeward way. Toward noon, how- , ever, without warn- ing, a great cloud- burst descended. I have never seen water come from the skies as it did that day. It was more like the bursting of the dam of some great reservoir than a rainstorm. Every gully became a roaring river, and I had to swim in getting the short distance to camp. Fully a third of our provisions were ruined—soaked to pulp by the terrific downpour. The rainy season set in with that first cloud burst—not the next day, but before the gullies were dry. At frequent intervals it rained and goat-driving became impossible, for there was water in plenty to satisfy their thirst anywhere upon the island. My Mexicans lolled about the camp smoking, eating, and grumbling; what little work there was to do was hard to get out of them. They were evidently only waiting to be taken off by the San Jose. I did not begin worrying about the schooner’s return until the end of November drew nigh. I knew how many causes might have detained my father a few days, and I looked each morn- ing eastward over the sea expecting to sight the white gleam of his sails. Our flour was gone and the vegetables had given out before it dawned upon me that it would have been wiser From a) The Author's camp on Guadalupe. ISLAND. 459 to have been more sparing of them. We had some canned goods and lots of jerkin, but dried goat-meat, without flour or vegetables, is neither palatable nor especially nourishing. Then I began goat-hunting in earnest, for there were nine men to feed, eight of whom did not appear to be able to feed themselves. Each morning I started out in the dark early hours to get into the goat country before their sentinels, perched on some high rock, could spy me. I stalked my prey as a hunter does a deer, and I had to get within ten rods of the animal to be effective, for my only weapon was a shot-gun, my only ammunition fine bird-shot. Often the goat escaped, and sometimes I used half-a-dozen cartridges on one animal. December | passed away some- | how, up to the day before Christmas, and still there was no sign of the schooner. The Mexicans all this time had been getting more and more sullen and morose, sitting most of the time with their heads buried de- spondently in their hands. They obeyed me in a way that convinced me that my autho- rity would soon be entirely gone. I had kept them in fresh meat until the last week, but fogs had now set in, making hunting impossible, and we were living solely upon jerkin. On the 24th of December Teriquez was taken ill. Big sores broke out on his arms and body, and I had a horrible fear that scurvy was about to come upon us. I knew we should all be down with it unless I could get fresh meat, ‘so I took out the gun, determined to have another try at the goats. As I have said, the corral where the tame goats were kept was directly alongside the cabin, and, sitting on my bunk, I heard a commotion there. 1 guessed what it meant and hesitated for a moment, deciding upon a course of action. The men had been forbidden to kill my pets. If, after the prohibition, I allowed the butchery to go on and my authority to be dis- regarded, I could not hope to regain command. (Photograph.

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460 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. peeks Se . ie Gun in hand, I stepped out of the door. De Sotia, the worst of my men, had a goat down and his knife in hand. Around the little corral stood the other Mexicans, watching him. “Tet that goat alone!” I cried, in Spanish. De Sotia scowled at me; then he placed his knife-point on the animal’s throat. No one else moved. I raised the gun and levelled it at his head. “Drop it!” I cried, this time in English. He looked for a moment into my _ eyes. Evidently he read there, correctly, my deter- mination to fire in order to retain my authority. Slowly and sullenly he released the goat and put his knife back into his belt. I raised the gun and levelled it at his hea oe: “Now,” said I to the others, “the first man who kills a goat I will kill. Iam the padrone ; you must obey. When the time comes I will slay the goats here. To-day we will hunt and find wild goats. Come, De Sotia; you go with me.” De Sotia came, and he and I started on the hunt. I made him go before me, so that he could not stick a knife into my back or roll a rock down upon me. Luckily we killed, late in the afternoon, and I made him carry the carcass back to camp. 4 Once there I went to my room, where I sat down, waiting to be called to the meal by Julius, the cook. Meanwhile I thought over my position.

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THE CASTAWAYS OF I was only a boy of twenty, and I had eight mutinous men to look after, who were every day becoming more rebellious. There were six shot-shells left, twenty goats in the pen, and a hundred pounds or more of jerkin in the kitchen. If the San Jose had gone down, as I now began to fear, there rescue for us. With the utmost care the pro- visions would not last a month; then we should starve. It was obvious that I must find some way of getting off the island or of capturing further goats for food. Finally I began to wonder why the supper had not been served. I went into the kitchen, ‘The men had finished and the Chinaman was cleaning up the dishes. I had been deliberately overlooked. “What does this mean?” I said sternly to Julius. The Chinaman sullenly continued his work. ‘The Mexicans did not even look at me. “You will get me food—at once. You sabe?” I ordered, and stepped from the kitchen. Five minutes later I was back, shot-gun in hand. Julius had made no move to obey me. I went up to him and grasped him by the loose of his shirt, whirling him around. ‘Then I released him and slapped his face with my open hand—two strong blows. “I would kill you, dog!” I said in Spanish, “but I need you to cook the food. Serve me now—quick !” He served me without saying a word. None of the Mexicans had moved to help him. When IT had eaten I addressed them all. “Tam boss here,” I began, “and I will con- tinue to be the boss. You must do what I command or I will kill you. ‘To-night, and every night hereafter, you will sleep out of doors. Go to the cabin now and get your blankets. The cabin is mine alone, and not one of you shall enter it and live. And you, dog”--this to Julius—‘“you serve my meals first. Sabe?” ‘The Mexicans shuffled out and did my bidding. That night I lay on the bunk with the gun beside me, but I did not sleep. ‘There Author's Maximillian, the trustworthy Mexican. From a Photograph. was little chance of ° GUADALUPE ISLAND. 461 was no door on the adobe hut, and I watched the opening all night. It was the next day, when I was up on the hill, looking anxiously out to sea, that Maximillian came to me and told me that he was my friend. De Sotia, he said, wanted to kill me, and the others were willing. But Maximillian had argued that my father, when he came, would hang them all if I were gone. ‘So they will not harm you,” he continued; “you may sleep at nights without fear, and we will obey when you command.” Three days of jerkin, then fresh goat; that was the schedule of diet I established, and I tried to have the fresh goat wild. Sometimes, however, I was obliged to kill one of my pets, and each time it was with a pang. So the next week dragged by. Every morning I climbed the hill to search the horizon for a sail. Some days it was too foggy to see the ocean, byt I always made the ascent. It was on the 2nd of January that my watch was rewarded by the sight of a schooner, far in the offing, which I at first took to be the San Jose. My hope was crushed, however, when it drew nearer and gave me a broadside view, as it tacked to skirt the af eastern coast of the island. There was little chance of any signal being seen, and practically none of its being heeded. Nevertheless, I waved a large piece of canvas in the air and lighted a fire on the hill-top. I decided that the schooner was a seal- poacher and that it would make a landing on the southern end of the island, where, it was reported, seals made their home. We could make the journey overland and catch the schooner there. aM Two men—Teriquez De Sotia, the treacherous and Ortez—were both Mexican cto one down with the scurvy, From a Photograph. and I could not leave them alone. So I decided to take Maximiliian and De Sotia with me and make the schooner come back to the south cove forthe others. We started at once. I took the shot-gun with me, feeling sure that I would find goats in plenty in

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462 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, the unexplored southern half of the island. We also carried a. stew-pan to cook our food. We followed up a hog-back of the central of the three mountain ranges, and made good time for the first half of our twenty-six-mile journey. Then the mountains came down on a wide plateau, covered with rocks and as dry as ashes. No rain had fallen there for months, for a certainty, and the springs were baked clay. We carried no water, the day was hot under a Mexican sun, and I was soon suffering extremely from thirst. There was nothing to do but push ahead, so we crossed the plateau to where the mountains again began. Then I made a serious mistake. None of us knew this part of the island at all, and in trying to decide our route I selected the western coast as the most accessible, and we were soon in a country of deep ravines and almost impassable precipices, All that afternoon we struggled up and down cliffs, parched and burning. My tongue had swollen till it filled my mouth almost to suffocation. My boots, already badly worn, gave out completely, and my feet were cut, torn, and blistered. When we at last scaled the most southerly summit and descended to the beach, it was too dark to make out anything at sea, and we could not tell whether the schooner was lying off shore or not. We saw no lights, but we still had hope that morning would show us the ship. There was no water but the sea, and I soaked myself in it. It did not allay the thirst, but it soothed and rested my feet. Maximillian had built a fire of drift-wood on the: shore, and he and De Sotia lay down beside it and went to sleep. But I could not sleep. I was suffering tortures of thirst, so much that I finally did the worst thing I could do—drank the sea-water. It was a short relief; then the torture returned tenfold. When I could bear it no longer I went down to the shore and swallowed more of the brine. With daylight came positive knowledge that the schooner had made no anchorage there. A search for water discovered the water-holes dry ; so we started back for camp. I had no hope of ever getting there ; my feet were almost too sore to stand on; I was half crazed by thirst. Only the feeling that I, an American, must not be outdone by these Mexicans made me start at all. I would rather have died there. T gave out when the sun rose high enough to be effective. My tongue was too swollen to talk much, but I gave Maximillian the gun and I steadied it with my hands and drank every/drop.”

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THE CASTAWAYS OF GUADALUPE ISLAND. 463 made him understand that he and De Sotia were to leave me. Maximillian protested, and offered to help me on, but was too exhausted to do more than carry himself. I threw myself on the ground in the shade of a great rock and watched the two disappear ahead. Then I had a return of the desire for life, and I was staggered on until I fell on my face. delirious now, seeing visions of my boy- hood days and of running brooks and water-taps. Twenty times at least I fell and rose, struggling on only to fall again. Then I became un- conscious, lying prone on my face amid the rocks. It was water run- ning down my throat and over my face that aroused me. Maximillian was emptying the stew- pan, holding it to my mouth. I steadied it with my. hands and drank every drop. It was life and’ hope. My sore feet were nothing now, and I followed him the two miles to where they had found this water- hole. I lay in it and simply soaked aS up water, drinking until I could hold no more. De Sotia killed a goat near by, and we camped there that night. I bound up my feet, and the next day we reached the cabins. My disappointment in the failure of this hoped-for Tescue was offset by gladness that I was alive at all. There were twelve live goats in the pen, there were still four cartridges, and there was always the chance of a boat. On the morning of January 19th we ate our last bit of food—the remainder of the jerkin. We had not seen wild goats for many days, so I was surprised to discover a flock of about fifty on the hillside less than half a mile from the cabins. It had been foggy—was still foggy lower down the mountains—and the animals had wandered close to us unknowingly. From a} The Author, Mr. Robert S. Weaver, (on left), and his resezer, Captain ndon. De Sotia and I started to stalk them, making a detour to get to windward. We were still some distance from them when I heard a rifle- shot far below us. I knew it was a rifle-shot, but I could not believe my ears. I sat down on the ground and looked at De Sotia, and he looked at me. His eyes. were fairly starting from his head and his face was livid. I may have appeared worse ; I could not see myself, Then came three shot$, clear and un- mistakable, and I jumped for the trail. Down it I flew, shouting whenever I had breath to shout. The men at the cabins heard the shots and heard me. Even the invalids were headed for the sea, taking long leaps like racehorses. Soon I saw a man coming towards me. “Halloa, Weaver!” he cried, and I knew that he had come for me. We were saved. There is only one thing more to say or explain—why my father had left me there so long. He had been thrown into jail through Mexican subterfuge, and had been ill, very ill, for a long time. Unfriendly Mexicans at Ensenada had told him there was no danger for me, that goats would be plentiful and rain would not fall until February. ‘The Mexican Government would not give him permission to take the San Jose to San Diego for repairs, and the vessel had been beached at San Quintin. Finally he had secured, through Manager Brown, of the Lower .California Development Company, the loan of a little steamer, the San/a Barbara, and had taken false clearance to Cedros Island. Not able to come himself, he had sent Captain Condon to our aid—in the nick of time. I shall always keep by me, as mementoes, four twelve- gauge shells, loaded with No. 8 shot, that I did not use on Guadalupe Island. (Photegraph.

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An Englishman’s Pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina. By Hajr ABpuR RAHMAN. We have pleasure in presenting our readers with this unique narrative, describing an Englishman's adventurous journey to the jealously - guarded sacred cities of the Mohammedans, where—if his identity were even suspected—a European would probably be instantly torn limb from limb by the fanatical pilgrims. to have visited both Mecca and Medina.” “So far as I am aware,” writes the author, “I am only the fifth European For reasons connected with his present position, “Haji Abdur Rahman” has asked us not to publish his proper name. ERMISSION to leave was now granted to all desirous of doing so. ba) ‘The reason for keeping this vast Bd. Ko SRO number of people cooped up in ~ Mecca for several days after the Haj is completed is ostensibly to give the soldiers guarding the road back to Jeddah time to resume their posts, but in reality, I fancy, it is designed to benefit the townspeople, who derive an immense profit during this period. The city emptied rapidly, but as no caravans were setting out for Medina I had to remain where I was for the present. Several days later an Arab sheikh called and told me I was to be ready to start the following day with the “ Rakab,” a fast dromedary caravan, and the next evening, after paying my Mutawif and bidding good-bye to my fellow-boarders, with whom I had become very friendly, I set out. My mount was, I found, a very different animal from the slow brute that had brought me to Mecca, and the contrast between the two was as pronounced as that between a Clydesdale and a racehorse. Just outside the city limits 1 was met by the sheikh who was in charge of the caravan. He was one of the most important sheikhs in that part, and had at one time been Mayor of Medina, but the roving life of the desert in which he had been brought up proved irre- sistible, and, resigning his mayoralty, he had returned to his Bedouins and camels. We only proceeded a short distance that night, and at eight o’clock came to our encamp- ment at an old well named Shuaada, where the rest of the caravan, about six hundred in number, were already assembled. Rugs were immediately spread, and after a few cups of coffee everyone turned in, as the halt was to be but a short one. At midnight I was awakened “and found the whole camp making ready to start, and without a sound we were soon gliding quietly but swiftly through the darkness in a north-westerly direction. At first nothing could be heard but the peculiar muffled sound given out by the pliant III. feet of six hundred camels passing swiftly over loose sand, and then, from somewhere at the head of the caravan, arose, in a weird, shrill voice, a song almost unearthly in its plaintive- ness. At the end of every few bars the whole caravan joined in the chorus. After a while the singing ceased, and a feeling of depression, engendered by the song, seemed to have taken possession of everyone, when suddenly from the hills on our right two rifle-shots rang out. The caravan immediately closed up, and while some of our sheikh’s Bedouins formed up ahead to stop our further advance, the sheikh himself rode off into the darkn Presently we heard voices all around us calling from hill to hill, and shortly afterwards our sheikh -returhed and informed us that he had paid tribal toll, and that we could now proceed ‘unmolested. By daylight, having travelled at an average rate of three and a half miles an hour for six hours, we arrived at Wadi Fatimah (the Oasis of Fatimah), a narrow stream of clear water flowing in an easterly direction through small groves of date palms and plots of camel grass, and here we pitched our camp. At noon we resumed our journey, and, travelling over barren, rocky country till an hour after dark, we came to our third encampment at a little village called Bir-al-Pasha. Here we had hardly had time to settle down when we were startled by a volley from about fifty rifles, evidently aimed over our heads. Immediately there was the wildest confusion, many people, through panic, discharging their firearms in the direction of the report. I had hardly time to step out of the way when the sheikh, surrounded by nearly all our Bedouins on foot, galloped by on his pony in the direc- tion of the firing. I would have followed to see the fun, but was forcibly detained. However, I did not miss much, as it was simply an intinaa- tion from the desert péople around there that unless toll was paid they would fire into us, Our people returned shortly afterwards, and after having some food we all turned in.

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 465 “I would have followed to see the fun, but was forcibly detained.” Our rest was again a short one, and by mid- night we were once more on the road, arriving at Eursfaan—a small, uninteresting village—at sunrise, and remaining during the heat of the day. Leaving here, we travelled over an arid, boulder-strewn plain for six hours, when we arrived at Natuka Wells in the middle of a violent sand-storm, which rendered cooking out of the question. At midnight, while the wind was still fresh, we moved on to Gubima, a large village twenty _ miles distant, where, in the bazaar, one can buy the necessaries of life in the shape of cooked camel, grain, dates, coffee, and sugar. A large slave caravan was camped some distance away, but none of our people were allowed to approach it. From a distance, however, we could see several fairly large groups of blacks, all women and children, seated in circles, apparently chat- ting and looking very bored, while here and there, on the outskirts of the camp, moved a long- robed Arab with a gun slung over his shoulder. Vol. xxiii,—69. We resumed our journey after a good night’s rest, and after travelling seven miles came into view of the sea. The sight was particularly —_re- freshing after so many weary miles of sand and rock, .and I was fondly looking forward to a swim, when, to my disgust, I learnt’ that we should not halt here, but at Doodima, a squalid little vil- lage of camel-hair tents, where we arrived at sunset. Here we were besieged by wild- looking Bedouin women selling sour milk, _fire- wood, and water, and after a short rest we resumed our journey at midnight. Pass- ing through the village of Nasaif without stopping, we arrived at daylight at Rabigh, a large coastal town protected by a fort and about fifty Turkish soldiers. Meanwhile, as our tent was rapidly filling with visitors, I went for a stroll through the town. There were some large date-gardens in the vicinity, and to one’ of these I repaired, armed with a skinful of water, and I indulged in my first bath since leaving Mecca. Later on, in the afternoon, while we were having coffee in the tents, a large body of slaves, with two old drums and a flag, went through a most grotesque dance. It was one of the most ridiculous spectacles I ever witnessed, seeing these great, big, hideous fellows dressed in tatters hopping about yelling and clapping their hands to the accompaniment of two drums and an old brass tray. ; We had now accomplished about three- quarters of our journey, of which forty-seven miles had been covered during the last twenty- four hours, but as the country so far had been fairly level our animals were all perfectly fit.

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466 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN Just as we were preparing to leave Rabigh after “’Asr” prayers—about 3.30 p.m.—an exciting little incident occurred, and for some time it looked as if we were in for a fight with the local Arabs. It arose out of a dispute regarding the amount of toll due to the tribe through whose territory we were passing. Our sheikh offered the usual toll, which was refused, with the intimation that until we paid we must remain where we were. To this the shcikh replied by giving the order for the caravan to advance, but before we had gone many yards shouts and rifle-shots on the neighbouring hills informed us that reinforcements for the tribes- men were hurrying in. A halt was called, and, as no assistance could be expected from the Turkish troops, a rough circle was formed with the animals outside while everyone looked to his weapon—mine was a Mauser pistol, lent me by a Beirut Arab. Realizing, however, that, while we offered a splendid target to our oppo- nents, they themselves were perfectly hidden, some of the older members persuaded our sheikh to give in, and we were then allowed to proceed. Travelling in a northerly direction for fourteen miles, we arrived at the village of Hirscha shortly after dark, and, resuming the journey at midnight, came to the little village of Becrekh at daylight. Here we remained to take food and a short rest, and then got on the move once more, The ground now showed a gradual rise to the north-east, and shortly after dark, having covered some thirty-three miles, we camped at Biguadi Wells, at the base of a range of high mountains. Next day our journey led upwards by a very steep path covered with large loose boulders, and, although everyone dismounted to ease the camels as much as possible, the poor brutes had a terrible time of it; more than one quietly lay down and died. After several hours of this work we reached the top, which was almost flat and extended for miles in every direction. It was now well into the afternoon, and every- one was absolutely dead-beat. We remained here till about four next morning, when we made another start ; this gave us ample time to get to the commencement of the descent by daylight. The down grade was very steep, and was simply the dry bed of a mountain torrent. However, we only descended half the distance we had climbed the day before, and then, turning sharply to our right, commenced another climb. We made camp early that evening, and had the whole night to rest. ‘The wind up on this high plateau was so biting, however, that, although fagged out, I was unable to sleep, and for the first time since leaving Mecca I regretted not having brought my bedding with me. We were up early next morning and commenced the last stage of our journey. ‘The country was now assuming a somewhat less desolate appearance, and here and there we passed a grove of date trees with a well in the middle. Towards noon we passed on our left Wadi-al-Alik, where, in the centre of a date- grove, stands the mosque Al-Kiblatayn, a small whitewashed dome dating from the founding of Islam. Here many of our people remained for a rest and to perform their Zuhr (noon) prayers. Most of us, however, pushed on, and after proceeding a short distance along a curving road came suddenly into full view of the lofty green dome and four minarets of the Medina Harim—distant about three miles in an easterly direction. Immediately the pace of the caravan was hastened, and four of us, three young Turks and myself, set out in a race for the city. We had, however, proceeded only about a mile when I, who, thanks to the supe- riority of my camel, was leading, was compelled to pull up and proceed cautiously over an extensive bed of black lava nearly a mile wide, very uneven, and in some places cut into broad steps. Many-small mosques, mostly in ruins, were dotted about on both sides as we emerged from the lava field, and after a smart trot for about a mile we entered by the north-west gate. At this gate, which is the main entrance to'the town, I met a Mutawif who spoke Hindustani and who agreed to put me up. Passing up a broad road with many large, well-built houses on either side for about six hundred yards, and then bearing away to our left, we passed through the market- place and came to the south gate of the inner town, which opened immediately into the main bazaar. Traversing this for about half its length we turned to the right and, after a few more turns, arrived at the house. Here I enjoyed for the first time for a week a drink of really good cold water, and after a bath and a meal I was ready for a ramble. Medina, which is, roughly, two hundred and forty miles from Mecca and only about half its size, consists of two walled towns, one inside the - other, but what it lacks in size it more than makes up for in the matter of cleanliness ; indeed, for an Arab town it is remarkably clean, It is plentifully supplied with excellent water, and the health and longevity of its inhabitants are proverbial. The bazaar runs straight through the centre of the town, terminating at the principal door of the mosque at one end, and at the main gate connecting the inner and outer towns at the other.

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 467 acca rs “We had proceeded only about a mile when I was compelled to pull up.” Naturally, the mosque was the first place I visited, and on entering I was struck with its magnificence. It is built somewhat after the style of the mosque at Mecca, but on a smaller scale. The floors around the four sides are paved with marble, and over the entire surface are spread costly praying-rugs. At the south- eastern end are situated the Prophet’s tomb and the tombs of several of his family; and after the Kaaba this is looked on as the most sacred spot on earth by Mohammedans. The front of the tomb is protected by a trellised screen of highly-polished brass, through which a door opens on to a small space within. Beyond this no one can venture, as the centre of the tomb, where Mohammed’s body lies, was his house during life, and was afterwards walled up, by order of the third Caliph, to prevent devotees removing it piecemeal. Over the top of the tomb, and visible for many miles, is a lofty copper dome, green with verdigris. Having said the regulation prayers at the various tombs, I was on the point of leaving when I was told that the Pasha of Medina wished to see me, and, on being conducted to his presence, I found him—a large man, with blond hair and beard —seated on a | small raised plat- "form to the left of the Prophet’s tomb. He was a Circassian by birth, and had been sent when a boy as a gift to the Sultan of Turkey. Al- though perfectly illiterate, he had worked his way up to high office solely through the good graces of his illustrious master. He was now not only Pasha of Medina but of the mosque besides, two posts formerly held by separate _indivi- duals. I was allowed to kiss ad ; ; his hand, and then, after being questioned as to my object in coming to Medina, our interview ended. Next morning I visited the tomb of Sidi Hamza at the foot of Mount Ohod. I did not remain long, however, as the place was infested with beggars, and returning I went for a stroll through the date-gardens. These are rather a disappointment to one who expects to see miles and miles of verdure. They were simply plots of date trees surrounded by mud walls four or five feet high and irrigated by wells. The next few days passed very quietly, and I had to content myself with wandering about in and out of the town, and although I had dis- missed my old Arab servant in Mecca, as I found him a bit of a nuisance, I experienced no trouble on these occasions. On the fourth night after my arrival the first caravan from Yambo arrived, and everyone in the town was soon hurrying to the gate with an eye to business. By the time I got there a thick mist had risen, and it was almost impossible to see a thing; however, one could just catch glimpses of forms gliding swiftly by and hear the creaking of shoogdoofs. After a while the fog lifted and I found that it was a caravan com- posed of Algerians and Indians, about eight

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468 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. thousand strong. Next morning I heard that two more caravans had arrived, and hence- forward the arrival of a caravan was an almost daily occurrence: Having now visited the Prophet’s tomb and everything else worth secing 1 was anxious to leave ; but this I found was impossible until there was a sufficient number of others ready to make upa caravan. ‘To pass the time | used to visit the cafés frequented by Algerians, many of whom spoke French fairly well, and were only too pleased to have an opportunity of doing so. ‘They were a fine, somewhat fierce-looking lot of men, and are generally recognised as the toughest lot that zo on the Haj. 1 nuticed that one of their number had a bandage round his head, and on asking the cause was told that on their way up from Yambo this man had lagged behind and while sitting down had been attacked by a Bedouin, who, creeping up behind him, had slashed him across the head, inflicting a cut from the eye to the back of the head and cutting the ear in half. Springing up, the injured man seized the Bedouin and, shouting at the top of his voice, attracted the attention of his friends. These returned in a body and hacked the would-be robber to pieces. So far, beyond being questioned as to my yeasons for going on the Haj, I had suffered no molestation at the hands of the other Hajis, but on the tenth day after my arrival in Medina, as I was pushing my way through the bazaar, I found myself gripped by the throat by a Baghdad Arab, who accused me of being a Nazareeni in disguise. Immediately the cry, “Nazareeni! Nazareeni!” went ringing through the bazaar, and before I could do anything I found myself the centre of a frantic, yelling mob of excited Hajis, many of whom waved knives and daggers. I tried to speak, but in the hubbub it was impossible to make oneself heard, and I was beginning to think that the game was up when my Mutawif and some neighbours pushed their way through and suggested that we should go to the Pasha; if he denied know- ledge of me I was to be handed over to the crowd. All parties agrecing to this, we struggled through the bazaar in the direction of the mosque. The crowd was now becoming more and more excited, and, realizing that the nearer we approached the Prophet’s ‘tomb the more their fanaticism would grow, I decided to make a break for it should an opportunity occur. In this I was aided by the narrowness of the bazaar, which only permitted some six or seven people to walk ubreast, and just as we were passing the Turkish civil hospital I broke away and darted through the open gates. Many of the crowd, the Baghdadi in particular, would have followed, but were kept back by the doorkeepers slamming the massive gates. A perfect roar of fury went up as I dis- appeared, and the thought flashed through my mind that, had I not managed to escape, I should certainly have been hacked to pieces on the threshold of the mosque—an act which would have conferred much merit on those of the crowd who managed to get in a blow. Meanwhile I was allowed to sit and smoke in the operating-room while the Pasha was being communicated with, and shortly afterwards, some police and soldiers arriving, the crowd was dispersed and the Baghdadi arrested. I then wished to leave, but was informed by an officer that he had orders to accompany me wherever I went. However, this was unneces- sary, as things had quieted down, and after a few cups of coffee in the bazaar I persuaded him to allow me to proceed alone. Next day I heard that my Baghdadi had been sentenced to five years’ imprisonment. At last, on the fifteenth day after my arrival, a party was ready to start, and late in the after- noon we set out for Yambo. The caravan con- sisted of two thousand camels, tied neck and tail in batches of about one hundred each, and nearly four thousand Hajis. For the first thirty miles we followed the same road as we had traversed on approaching Medina, and then, striking off in a westerly direction, we travelled for the next two days through very mountainous country absolutely destitute of vegetation. The carcasses of camels and mules in every stage of decomposition assailed our eyes and nostrils on every hand, and testified to the large number of caravans that use the road. On the afternoon of the third day out we met a large caravan of Egyptians and Indians bound the -opposite way, and they told us that the previous night two of their men had been murdered and their camels and_ belongings stolen. We camped for the night shortly after wards at a village named Beersaid, and I was just dropping off to sleep when I was startled by a great commotion in the camp It appeared that an old Turk had gone outside the circle of shoogdoofs for a couple of minutes and had been set on by two Bedouins. who had dealt him a severe blow on the head with a club and robbed him of forty pounds, which he was carrying in gold in his belt. Immediately all our Bedouins set off for the village, about two hundred yards distant, and, after a great firing of rifles, returned apparently none the worse for their outing, but without the money. However, he was lucky to get off so easily, as hardly a caravan travels through from Medina to the

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AN ENGLISHMAN’S PILGRIMAGE TO MECCA AND MEDINA. 469 “1 found myself the centre of @ frantic, yelling mob of excited Hajis.” coast without losing at least one or two of its “members, and very often more. Indeed, only the previous year the Egyptian Mahmal, while proceeding to the coast under an escort of four hundred troops and accompanied by a large number of Egyptian pilgrims, was attacked by the natives, and only after a pretty severe engagement, in which both sides had several killed and wounded, was the caravan able to resume its journey. On the evening of the fourth day we came out on the sea-coast at a point twenty miles to the southward of Yambo. and the event was celebrated by a great shouting and firing of guns, in the midst of which a shot came whistling by my ear. Guessing that it probably came from a friend of the imprisoned Baghdadi I thought it better to take no notice, but when next we started I kept as far in the rear of the caravan as possible.

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47° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. We rested on the sea-beach for a few hours, and at midnight commenced the last lap of our journey. After a while, however, what with the slow movement of my camel and the glare and heat of the sun during the last four days, from which my fez afforded very poor protection, I was completely done up, and as I was unable to keep awake riding I slipped from my camel, and, hurrying on ahead for about six miles, managed to secure a couple of hours’ sleep by the road- side.” When I awoke Yambo was in sight, about five miles to the north-east of us, although at the time it appeared much closer. I set out once more accompanied by a Bedouin who promised to take me to a Muta- wif in the town. When we got there, however, we found that every house was full, and after a fruitless search for decent accommodation I was compelled to share a room with a party of Chittagonians. Here I went to sleep immediately, but was disturbed shortly afterwards by a lieutenant of police, who informed me that he had orders to take me before the governor of the town. 1 prot.sted that I was unable to walk just then, an? he agreed to return and explain matters to the authorities if I could produce satisfactory evidence to show who and what I was. Luckily I was able to do this in the shape of a letter given me by the Kazi of Jeddah. This appeared to satisfy him and he took his departure, return- ing shortly after with the governor’s salaams and an offer to put me up in the police quarters, which, however, I refused. After this I was left in peace and had a good long sleep. I awoke late in the afternoon, and was horrified, on looking around me, to discover that no fewer than five of the fifteen other occupants of the room had apparently only just recovered from smallpox ! Preferring the open street to such surround. ings, I was on the point of clearing out when the landlord appeared and told me that he would give me a room in his own part of the house for one rupee a day. To this I gladly assented, and for the remainder of my stay in Yambo I had the use of a dirty little cupboard about eight feet long by eight broad. I had expected to be able to leave here immediately, but discovered next day that there were no ships sailing for Jeddah or India for at least a week. Yambo, which is distant about one hundred and thirty miles from Medina, is confined by a semicircular wall, with the sea as a chord. The Streets are exceedingly narrow and _ irregular, and revoltingly filthy. ‘There appear to be no sanitary arrangements whatever in the town, and people suffering from the most terrible diseases wander about unchecked, and, worse still, are allowed to handle the food in the bazaars. Water, apparently, is scarce, and has to be brought on camels from a distance; it is retailed at two annas a skinful. The only gosd water procurable is what is condensed by a steamer, which is chartered by the Egyptian Government, and lies here throughout the season dispensing good water free of cost to the Egyptian pilgrims. These latter, by the way, are well looked after by their Government, and not only are hospitals provided for them in Mecca and Medina, but food and money are distributed to those who need it. The next two days passed very slowly, but on the evening of the fourth day of my arrival, while walking along the sea-front, 1 noticed a number of Somalis putting off to a large buggalow lying out in the bay, and on making inquiries learnt that they were sailing for Jeddah next day. Hearing this, I immediately pro- ceeded out to her and interviewed the nacoda, or skipper, who agreed to take me to Jeddah for two majidis. 1 returned to my room, and hastily grabbing my baggage, consisting mostly of cigarettes, returned to the ship, which, during my absence, had filled with passengers. How- ever, space was made for me aft, and I was given an old sack to lie on. The bulk of the passengers were Somalis, and evidently a very poor lot; many of them were suffering from dysentery. We got under way early next morning and were soon bowling along before a moderate breeze. I now dis- covered that, in my hurry to get aboard, I had forgotten to buy food for the voyage. This was decidedly annoying, and but for the kindness of an Arab next to me, who gave me a lot of dates, I should have been in a bit of a fix. The following night, as it was impossible to make the port after dark, we tied up to a coral reef out of sight of land. It was a beautifully light night, and as, owing to the filthy condition of the buggalow, sleep was out of the question, I joined a party of Somalis, and, armed with spears, we went on a fish-hunting trip over the shallower parts of the reef. Sport was good, and we had already stuck several large rays, when suddenly I caught sight of a fairly long water-snake wriggling over the rocks, and this, coupled with the sharp nature of the reef, induced me to return forthwith. Next morning we got under way again, and, running south with a fair wind, tied up alongside the jetty in Jeddah shortly after sunrise. Here I was most hospitably entertained by my former friends until, two days later, I was lucky enough to sign on as assistant medical officer aboard the ss. Hardari, bound for Bombay, with a full load of pilgrims,

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SPORT IN INDIA. By Epwarpb FitzjaMes. ILLUSTRATED BY LIONEL Epwarps, A.R.C.A. The author of this most entertaining article is a gentleman well known in Indian sporting circles. Few men have had personal experience of a more varied nature in the numerous pursuits which India offers to the sportsman, and the episodes he describes: have all occurred within his.own knowledge. J HOUGH now, perhaps, fresh and more prolific fields have been opened j up to the hunter of big game, India remains the premier country for the =~ sportsman generally. Nowhere else is such an immense variety of entertainment to be had, for wide indeed is the field offered to the sportsman who “has to spend some time in India’s sunny clime.” If his inclination is towards horses, he has ample opportunities for’ polo, racing, pig-sticking, and hunting; if he prefers life in the jungle, there are tigers, bison, and other large beasts of the chase to be pursued, while the less ambitious gunner can content him- self with the quest of innumerable small game, which comprises some of the best snipe and duck shooting in the world. Should he be not only a hunter, but a climber, he may crawl on the roof of the world and pursue the ibex over the snowy slopes of the Himalayas. Where the range is so wide it is difficult to award the palm; but ¢#e sport of the East is generally acknowledged to be pig-sticking. Its popularity is of old standing, for the practice of hunting the wild boar with the spear is over a century old. According to tradition the first English in India were wont to ride after bears with the spear, but in course of time, when bears became scarce in the rideable parts of the country, wild boars were pursued instead, and were found to be much the more sporting quarry of the two. Whether pig-sticking will for long hold its pride of place is a matter of some doubt, for pessimists are not wanting who declare that this best of mounted sports may soon be only a memory. Though pig are found in most parts of India, even in districts which are cultivated and fairly populous, they are by no means so numerous as they were, and it seems to be not impossible that they may die out. The best time of the year for pig-sticking is from February to June, when ‘the crops are off the ground. Beaters assisted by elephants are usually employed to find the quarry, the hunters being mounted and armed with spears. ‘The latter are of two kinds, the use of either pattern depending on the locality. In some parts a long spear of about seven feet is used, like a lance. Elsewhere a shorter jabbing weapon is used, which is grasped near the loaded butt end (weighted with lead) and held pointing downwards. ‘The horsemen wait apart until the boar breaks cover, and then ride after him in the open. Naturally the success of the hunter depends very largely upon the quality of his mount, and the class of horse employed depends very much upon the nature of the country and other circumstances. If one of the celebrated pig- sticking trophies of India, such as the Kadir or Gujerat Cups, is being competed for, no horse is too good, as the company is sure to be “hot,” both as regards horses and riders. But in the ordinary—and in some ways more sporting— meets the hunt resembles rather a family party, the members of which compete against each other in friendly rivalry for the honour of the first spear; and their mounts may be of any class, ranging from the country-bred or Arab pony to the well-bred Australian horse. : It is largely the nature of the quarry that makes pig-sticking the premier sport it is. ‘The boar is, without doubt, the most courageous of all animals. Moreover, he is possessed of one of the worst tempers, and has most effective weapons with which to vent it upon his foes in the shape of sharp, curved tushes. He stands about two feet six inches or more at the withers, and in spite of his great weight is extraordinarily quick. For about a mile he is too fast for any horse over the rough ground he is generally found upon. His weight carries him crashing through small obstacles, whilst he can, and will, jump the larger ones. He never loses his head, no matter how hard he is being hustled along — a trait which no other beast of the chase can boast--and never forgets to put all and every kind of obstacle between himself and his pursuers. When at last overtaken he will turn on his foes, charging with sudden and extraordinary rapidity, although perhaps wounded, again and

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472 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Pig-sticking—a boar turning upon his pursuers. again, finally taking refuge beneath some over- hanging thorn-trees or other place where he cannot be reached on horseback, to stand at bay. Then it becomes necessary to attack him on foot—a very dangerous proceeding. At least two sportsmen must go in together, for he will probably charge once more, and his weight (even if the spear goes into him) will throw a single man over. In that case those keen tusks will quickly inflict injuries that will lay up their victim for many a day, if not for ever. To be a successful hog-hunter it is essential that a man should ride hard. The sport is different from fox-hunting ; for in hunting, after the game is afoot, it is possible a long run may ensue, and the necessity arises for the rider to save his horse. In pig-sticking, however, the run is not long, but the pace is very great. A small pig will give a much longer and faster run than a fat old boar, and as the object is to get first spear the sportsman must press the pig from start to finish ; if he does not, someone else will. It is the pace which gives to the sport its peculiar zest, for the rider is obliged to trust more or less to chance, and to take the > country as he finds it. The element of luck is present in pig-sticking, as in most other sports. The race is not always to the swift, for a well-mounted, hard-riding man may press the pig so closely that the latter, “‘jinking ” to one side, turns back to meet those on inferior mounts who are following in the rear, thus giving them their chance of a spear. In this way the poor rider and cautious man may occasionally beat the field. But in the long run horsemanship, dash, and an eye for a country will reap their reward. The writer once witnessed an extraordinary accident when pig-sticking. A novice at the sport thrust at his pig when at full gallop. Missing the quarry, his spear point struck the hard ground, and, the shaft bending back as he let go, the spear point entered the horse’s breast with the force of the impact, coming out behind the saddle! Nor was this all. The horse did not fall, and, when its rider hastily dismounted, commenced to graze quite unconcernedly! The injuries, of course, took effect presently, and the unfortunate animal had subsequently to be destroyed. After pig-sticking, tiger-shooting probably takes the next place of honour among Indian sports in the opinion of most people. But as tiger-shooting is a well-worn theme, I do not propose to deal with it in this article. After tiger comes, perhaps, panther or else bison- shooting. Let us deal with the larger animal first. The big-game shooter has few more ticklish jobs to tackle than the pursuit of the bison or gaur. This creature is found in parts of Assam and Mysore. It is as handsome a beast as the buffalo tribe possesses—a massive, slate- coloured brute, with white legs, standing about seventeen hands high. The great attraction of its pursuit to the sportsman lies in the fact that it isan extremely shy and cautious creature, and as a result the stalking of it requires great skill.

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SPORT IN INDIA. 473 Bison are gregarious animals, usually living in small herds of from ten to twenty, frequenting the forest or jungle country. Being nocturnal feeders, and accustomed to lie up in the thickest part of the jungle during the day, it is neces- sary to make a very early start after them. The usual programme is to be up some two hours before daylight and to proceed under cover of darkness, guided by a local shikaree or villager, to that part of the jungle which is known to be frequented by the game. Some- times a lantern is carried to assist the party in its march along the footpath that leads through the thick jungle. The guide goes first, closely followed by the sahib, the gun-bearers coming after. They move along in single file and in absolute silence, and it not infrequently happens that in this way a party of hunters passes close toa bison, or even a whole herd. I have known cases where the breathing of the animals could be distinctly heard, though no signs of them were visible. So long as the wind is favourable the bison may remain quiet without taking alarm, but the moment they get scent of the hunters there is a sudden upheaval, and they can be heard crashing off through the jungle in every direction. The big-game hunter becomes inured to exciting experiences, but he must be A wounded bison charging the hunters. Vol. xxiii.—60.

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474 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hardened indeed who can lie in pitchy darkness within a few yards of a bison in a jungle, listen- ing, while able to do nothing, to the ‘heavy breathing of his monstrous foe. At grey dawn the party, one may suppose, reaches its hunting-ground. As cautiously as possible the hunters advance through the jungle, striving to detect the shadowy forms of the quarry in the semi-darkness. Then it is that the sharp and practised eye of the shikaree is useful. Suddenly he touches one on the shoulder and points. Following the direction of his finger, nothing at first is visible. But after peering into the gloom for a few moments the eye eventually makes out a dark form enveloped in shadows. Or perhaps the outline may be seen of a pair of huge spreading horns, silhouetted against the sky, not more than twenty or thirty yards distant. Now is the time! Before the bison has discovered that he is in the presence of enemies, let him have it—but be careful how you aim. If you can hit him between the eyes, and slightly above them, you may drop him in his tracks—or behind the shoulder will serve the purpose equally well. Buta wounded bison which is not disabled by the first shot is a nasty customer, and if you miss there may be urgent occasion to beat a hasty retreat behind the nearest and most convenient tree. If the bison, though not killed, is badly wounded, it will be necessary to follow him up through terribly thick cover. The greatest caution is then necessary, for it is not unlikely that the brute may lie in wait for you and charge before you realize that you are in his presence. Unless the luck is all against you, however, pluck, skill, and perseverance will probably be rewarded by one of the finest shikar trophies obtainable in the jungles of India. Equally dangerous, and attended perhaps by greater likelihood of fierce encounters, is the pursuit of the panther or leopard. The beast is found throughout the greater part of India in all suitable localities, such as the jungles or rugged hill country. It is sometimes supposed that there are two species of panther, and undoubtedly there are two varieties, large and small respec- tively, which are quite different in marking and colour. But the black panther, which was at one time considered to be a separate species, has been almost conclusively proved to be a mere freak of “melanizm,” or that excess of pigment which in many animals causes the occasional appearance of a black or exception- ally dark individual. A female leopard in captivity, for instance, has been known to give birth to both spotted and black cubs in the same litter. There are many different ways of shooting the leopard, driving towards the guns with beaters being the most usual in jungle country. Extra- ordinary though it may seem, the beast often manages to slip away unseen, or contrives to hide safely in some hole in a pile of rocks, from which it watches its pursuers. If the lair is known stones or fireworks will generally dislodge the lurker. The writer remembers one occasion when a leopard was supposed to be located in a cave near camp. The guns were placed around in positions commanding the exit, and a few stones were then thrown in. ‘There was no result at first, but as more and larger stones crashed in there came a faint humming, and then a roar like the sea under the cliffs. In a moment the air above the cave’s entrance grew dark with— bees! As one man, sportsmen and gun-bearers fled for the camp! A few were slightly stung before they could reach their tents and pull the flaps over the entrances, which the bees for some time besieged. Incredible though it may sound, it is the truth that, although the camp was full of native servants, horses, etc., none of those who had remained behind, and were not concerned in the attack on the bees’ cave, were stung! It was a considerable time before the bees beat a retreat, but during all the time that they stayed in the camp it was the tents of their aggressors exclusively round which they angrily buzzed. Tying a goat or kid near the rocks inhabited by the panther is another way of luring the quarry to the guns. The solitary goat bleats for its late comrades, and before sunset the panther will probably come to_ investigate. Sitting up over a “kill” and waiting for the leopard’s return is yet another method. When the plan of lying in wait is carried out, a bait is sometimes substituted for a “kill,” and a goat or kid is chosen as a victim for the purpose. The hunter takes up his position a little before sundown on a “macham” or platform among the branches of a convenient tree. Let us suppose that we are more or less safely ensconced on our “ macham.” I say “ more or less safely ” advisedly, since it is by no means unprecedented for a leopard, when wounded, to attack a sportsman ona “ macham ” in a tree, his lofty position presenting no great obstacle to the leopard, which is a most expert and rapid climber, apart from its powers of springing. When the sun has sunk beneath the horizon deep silence falls. An occasional bat flits by, and the trees look dim and ghostly in the half light. Should the leopard come now we could hardly see to shoot. From time to time the kid breaks the stillness with its plaintive “maa.” It is decidedly chilly at this time of night, even in the East, and the desire to move one’s limbs

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SPORT IN INDIA. Panther-shooting from a “ macham,” or platform, among the branches of a tree.

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476 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. grows irresistible. It is wonderful how uncom- fortable any position becomes when it has to be rigidly maintained. Away to the west a blue- white tnist hangs over the river, and as the moon rises objects around us begin to be discernible. Something moves! We strain our eyes to make out the dim shape in the shade yonder. We can hear it shambling along somewhat clumsily, grunting and grumbling to itself, but not till the squat and awkward figure of an old boar lumbers heavily out of the surrounding jungle into the bright patch of moonlight, and slowly moves across the clearing, are we able to determine its identity. Every now and again there is a faint rustle in the jungle as some creature moves through the undergrowth, or the distant sleepy chatter of a party of half-awakened monkeys comes to the ear. In brief, to use Kipling’s words, the air is full of all the night noises that, taken together, make one big silence. But our goat seems to be getting restless, and now bleats loudly and continuously, straining at his tether, a sign which should herald the advent of our quarry. For a while I am all alive, but one cannot keep every nerve at tension for long, and I am beginning to lose interest again, when suddenly my shikaree touches _™my arm and points silently. I notice now that the victim has stopped bleating and is straining at the very end of its tether, intently watching the jungle. Slowly it changes its position, following with eyes and nose, as it moves round, an unseen foe. The latter is apparently sus- picious of a trap, and is trying to get the wind from all sides before deciding to attack. Hunger at last overcomes discretion, and suddenly destruction leaps into the moonlight. One is conscious only of a swiftly moving shadow, a frightened bleat, followed by a gurgling, satisfied snarl, and there crouches the leopard on the kid’s carcass! Up goes the rifle—crack/ In the stillness of the night the report is deafening. The leopard, half raising itself for an instant, with ears laid back and teeth bared, rolls over and lies dead beside the body of its victim. It may be remarked here that sometimes the sportsman finds the sights of his rifle invisible, with the result that his shot misses its mark. The latter eventuality can be, to a certain extent, avoided by covering the barrefs of the rifle with white linen or calico—an expedient which has been found by the writer to be most successful, though it is but little known. On one occasion the writer, sitting up in a “macham” for a leopard, in the company of a lady who wanted to see a panther, was nearly killed by the shikaree who accompanied them. The night was still and oppressive. Faint ‘time, which slowly grew louder. rumblings of thunder were heard from time to Presently the storm broke, apparently right overhead, the roar of heaven’s artillery being accompanied by blinding flashes of lightning. ‘The shikaree, who had been decidedly nervous all the evening, now showed the utmost terror at being in a tree with rifles, which he was sure were attracting the lightning. Hurriedly starting to climb down, he slipped, and caught wildly at the nearest object, which happened to be the projecting barrel of a rifle. Man and rifle struck the ground with a thud, the rifle exploded, and the bullet passed through the “‘macham” on which we were sitting! After that it was no use wait ing up any longer for the panther, so we returned to camp in a fearful downpour of rain, the after- math of the storm. Following up a wounded panther on foot is a very ticklish enterprise. The brute is more savage than a tiger, and unless too severely wounded is almost certain to charge ; and when he does charge, being a smaller animal, he is far more difficult to hit than “Stripes.” Perhaps a smooth-bore gun, with a solid bullet in the right barrel and a charge of buckshot in the left, is the best weapon for such an encounter at close quarters. Panthers are occasionally speared from horse- back, but in this case they have nearly always been previously trapped and then carted to an open piece of country, where the game is at the mercy of the horsemen. The sport is favoured by some native princes, but it is not commonly pursued. By no means unfrequently, however, panthers are met by a horseman riding through high grass or jungle, but under such conditions it is rarely possible to ride after them, so that panther-spearing is altogether an artificial sport, though dangerous if the animal is not disabled by the first spear, for in such case he will most certainly attack the first horseman who approaches him. Rather akin to this sport of panther-spearing is the fondness of many native princes for animal combats on the sante lines as the old Roman gladiatorial shows—z.g., fights between rams, buffaloes, and elephants. The brutes are not allowed, however, to fight to a finish as in Roman days, and, of course, the value in these days of such an animal as an elephant would in any case prohibit it. Occasionally wild beasts are pitted against each other, and on one occa- sion a tiger and wild boar were matched. The result was an easy win for the boar, the tiger not unnaturally being afraid of his fierce little opponent. Combats of this sort usually take place at some notable celebration, such as the visit of a high functionary to a native State.

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SPORT IN To the hunter who possesses both patience and endurance the keyl or ibex is most alluring game. Dwelling in the midst of the most magnificent mountain scenery, among rocky precipices and gloomy waterfalls in the region of eternal snows, his pursuit has other than purely sporting attractions. An ibex head is a splendid trophy if the bunter is successful in securing a good one; but the good ones are hard to obtain, and success usually entails a great deal of hard work and not a little dis- comfort. Perhaps the best ibex ground is in Ladakh and Baltistan, but the creature can be found without going so far afield. ‘There are generally a few in the first pass out of the Sind Valley (Kashmir), frequenting the higher slopes above the pass. Some idea of the enormous INDIA an An elephant fight. altitude at which the ibex lives may be gained when it is remembered that the Zog-la Pass itself is eleven thousand feet above sea-level, and that it is necessary to climb the mountains which overhang the pass before the haunts of the ibex are reached. Imagine, if you please, a climb of anything from a thousand to two thousand feet up rugged

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478 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. nullahs and spurs, so steep that they are often almost precipitous ; over slopes of shale, which give way beneath the feet; and over snow and ice-drifts slanting at an angle of forty-five degrees. To say the least, it is excessively trying to the nerves of those who are not accustomed to such exploits! ‘The worst of it is that just as the hunter has got himself into a peculiarly pre- carious position, where he is almost. literally hanging on for dear life by his eyebrows, the game is sure to come into view. If only he had a chance of a fair shot it would probably not be difficult to bag the quarry, but to shoot straight while standing upon an ice-slope as steep as the roof of a house is ‘more than the ordinary man is capable of. Of course, it sometimes happens that the ibex is shot in comparatively easy ground, for when met in such localities it does not present a very awkward target. The chief difficulty is to judge the range, especially when firing up or down hill, or perhaps across a valley. The hunter of ibex must therefore be a good judge of distance, as well as an inde- fatigable climber, and, above all, he must have an accurate weapon. As the reader has probably often heard before, there is a good deal of fraud practised by globe- trotting sportsmen (so-called) when the latter go big-game shooting. The local shikaree supplies trophies which the European afterwards claims as his own. In America, I am told, much the same sort of thing is done, it being a regular trade for professional hunters to take out shooting parties. gIf the tourists fail to bring anything to bag, the professional supplies them with a trophy! All the glory (such as it is) departs from big. game shooting under these conditions, for when game is met and the novice misses or wounds his animal, the professional promptly fires and kills. Thus the element of danger from wounded animals is entirely lacking. A friend recently told me that when he was in the West he knew a hunter who took “ personally-conducted tours ” after moose, etc. ‘This man charged so much per day, every- thing found, and would take, say, a fortnight or three weeks to find game for his party ; whilst, as a matter of fact, plenty of game was to be found within three or four days’ journey from the starting-point! When in Kashmir a few years ago the writer had a personal example of the method pursued in those parts. After several unsuccessful days, ibex were at length sighted. Eventually, after a long and exhausting stalk over fearful ground, though very tired and shaky I got a shot—and, of course, missed! Of this I was perfectly aware, for through my glasses I could see the herd departing unscathed. My shikaree, however, swore I had hit one, and insisted on following it unaccompanied. The next day he duly produced a head. But, as even to my unpractised eye and nose it was many days old, I refused it, and, my leave being up a couple of days later, I never got an ibex ! Did space permit, one might go on to speak of the hunting of other big game. To the tiger allusion has already been made. Wild elephant is to be found in a very few places. But of other jungle game there is the cheetah, that dog-like leopard, to be added to the panther. ‘The big game likewise includes the yak, the gayal (wild oxen), the arna or buffalo (in appear- ance the same as the tame variety), while amongst the deer must be numbered the sambur, hangul or Kashmir stag, shoo or Sikkim stag, the cheetul or spotted deer, nilghai, black buck, and other varieties. One must not forget to mention also those two most coveted of Indian trophies, Ovis ammon and the snow leopard. So it will be seen that the sportsman whose taste is for the gun is provided with an almost inexhaustible variety of game in India. But if other phases of sport in India are to be touched upon one must continue. ‘The hunter of big game must of necessity be either a man of means or leisure, or one whose business has placed him in some lonely and wild station where game abounds. But it must not be sup- posed that the man of moderate means and less opportunity is unable to enjoy sport in India. The man who is confined to the towns or the stations gets plenty of fun, for he is able to take part in all (and more) of the sports that he can join in at home. Hunting, racing, and polo, for instance, are to be had at most stations. Hunting, it is true, is carried on in a some- what spasmodic manner in the East. Packs appear and disappear, according to the varying wealth of the regiments at.the stations. But there are several well-known hunts permanently established, with which much excellent sport may be obtained, such as the Peshawar, the Ootacamund, and others. Owing to the fact that neither the Indian fox nor hare are possessed of much scent, the jackal is hunted instead of the more “legitimate” beasts of the chase. The jackal is a remarkably good substitute for the fox. He is higher on the leg, and conse- quently gets over the ground at a greater pace, and if not too closely pressed he will keep it up for a long distance. Contemptuous references are sometimes made to hunting in India as a rather poor “imitation of the real thing, but occasionally one gets a run which compares favourably with a run in England; a ten-mile point on the map is by no means uncommon, though not frequently heard of. It is not

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SPORT because the jackal is not a stout performer that long runs are rare, but because the im- ported fox- hounds cannot keep up the pace owing to the ex- haustion caused by the hot climate. Hunting takes place as a rule 1n the early hours of the morning, when the air is still cool; and hounds usually give a good account of them- selves until the sun rises higher and the heat in- creases. As the sun rises so the pace of the pack decreases, with the result that the jackal very often runs them out of scent. Nevertheless, if a jackal can be found without delay, it is quite possible to have a rattling good run, ending possibly with a kill, before the sun is powerful enough to exhaust the pack. These remarks do not so much apply to stations in Northern India, where there is real cold weather in the winter months. Many a good run has there been with the Peshawar hounds over the “gridirons” and mud walls that abound in that district. The so-called “gridiron” consists of a succession of ditches or watercourses divided from each other by a harrow strip of ground, usually about two feet wide, the obstacle being one that only a clever horse can negotiate with safety. The Ootacamund hounds hunt over a country which is very similar to Exmoor, hunted by the Devon and Somerset staghounds, except that the riding is over turf instead of heather. But the bogs and steep hills, which are the chief hindrances, recall the characteristics of the home district. The Bombay hounds run over a sporting country where rice-bunds, as well as jungles, and those worst of all pitfalls, melon- beds, have to be negotiated. The Poona hounds bunt over a black cotton soil which is full of IN INDIA. : 479 Hounds drawing for a jackal sometimes disturb « wild boar. holes, and, when they get out of the low ground, over hills covered with long grass and stones— blind and rough. The area hunted by the Ootacamund fox- hounds contains some very wild country, in which are to be found panther and wild boar and sambur deer, all of which are apt to make hounds riotous. The incident depicted in the illustration reproduced above is of hounds rousing a grim old boar when drawing for their jackal. On one occasion the hounds got on the trail of a panther and treed him—like the cat that he is! It will be perceived, therefore, that hunting in India is not altogether plain sailing, though the obstacles are of a different character from those encountered in the hunting-field at home. But in either case the man who means business will be there. If he cannot fox-hunt at home, a run with the jack-hounds is not to be despised. Horse-racing is pretty much the same all the world over, but in some respects racing in India is of a more sporting nature than at home. In the old days racing in India was almost entirely carried on by amateurs; the “sky” races and gymkhanas were entirely run by the military

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480 : THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A Nasty Smash—" C: element, and the jockeys were invariably gentle- men riders. Nowadays, however, all that is changed, and racing has become much more of a business. The native chiefs and wealthy merchants have taken it up and employ European trainers and jockeys, with the result that the competition is now much greater than it used to be, and the cost has also increased, there- by driving the impecunious officer from the field. Instead of the country-bred and the Arab, the Australian and the English thoroughbred now furnish the most important element in filling the card. Although there are still plenty of races (chiefly pony-races) for Arabs on the Bombay side, most of the best prizes are for English or Australian horses, which are so superior, from a racing point of view, to the Arab or country-bred that practically’no weight will bring them together. To the frequenter of English racecourses a race-meeting in India will seem a very mixed entertainment, for he will find every variety of race on the card ; first, perhaps, a hurdle-race for Australian and English horses, then a race for Arab ponies fourteen hands or under, and perhaps another horse-race on the flat—in fact, a card framed to suit all sorts and sizes. Sometimes curious incidents are witnessed. That which the artist has depicted under the title “A Nasty Smash” took place at a military ing into him with terrific impetus came the field of runners.” A -mounted Hussar trooper, unaware that the race had started, proceeded to cross the course in order to quell some disturbance in the crowd opposite. Crashing into him with terrific impetus came race-meeting at Secunderabad. the field of runners. All but one were brought down. One horse was killed and two riders were severely injured ; but, curiously enough, the trooper and his horse, who caused the accident, though thrown down, were not hurt. The Viceroy’s Cup is ¢he great race for horses. It is run in Calcutta during what they © are pleased to call the cold weather, and it attracts the best animals from Australia and some very fairly good ones from home to compete for it. The Civil Service Cup, run at Lucknow, is the great pony-race, while the Army Cup is the chief military race. Racing of a sort goes on at most Indian stations, but of late years the really high-class meetings have been restricted to a few important centres, such as Poona, Bombay, Calcutta, and Lucknow. Meetings such as these are little different from what one sees at home, but for the sportsman who would like to run or ride a few crocks of his own, the less pretentious up-country “sky” races will probably give him all the fun he wants. The gentleman rider can have plenty of riding, and at the same time enjoy the festivities which are usually crammed into the race week.

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From a) [ Photograph. PHAULKON’S TREASURE. By WM. WHITFELD FEGEN, OF BANGKOK, SIAM. The story of a hunt for buried treasure. “Its chief peculiarity,” says the author, “lies in the fact that the search was made nearly a dozen years after the clue to the existence of the golden hoard first came into my possession in 1887. During my years of wandering in the Bast I have discovered that the world is very small; but it is no smaller than I felt when the main facts of the affair first came to my friends’ knowledge.” The measter binna to ’E goa’d away this marnin—somew’eres furrin, they A do say.” ~ “Has he gone to France?” inquired my uncle. “Noa, doctor; ’e binna gone to France. ’E told me afore ’e went to tell them as called as ’e be gone to Par-ris,” was the enlightening reply of the ancient lodge-keeper. We kept ‘our countenances until the gig was turned and a few yards on its homeward way, and then, I am afraid, laughed aloud at the sweet simplicity of the old rustic’s reply. I asked who the “ measter ” was. “Oh,” said my uncle, the-country medico with whom I was spending my holidays, at Withington, Herefordshire, “he’s a bit of a mystery. Nobody knows much about him, except that his name is Halliwell and that he seems to have lots of money. He appears to have spent most of his life abroad, in all sorts of queer places. Anyhow, when the Harnetts came to the end of their tether, and The Croft had to be sold, he bought the old place. And what do you think the fool did? You remember the quaint old gable roof, with its dozens of dormer windows? It seems that it was leaking —timbers rotten, or something—so he pulled it down and had a modern mansard abomination put on. Fancy, old black beams and plaster with a mansard roof! It’s about the funniest Vol. xxiii. ~6L. thing-in the county. But whatever his archi- tectural tastes may be, he’s got a magnificent cellar qf wine, a rattling good stable, and the finest billiard-table I ever played on. And the walls of the house are like a museum, with elephant tusks and gods and Malay krisses and swords and spears and things, while the floors are a regular menagerie of skins. But he’s a queer fish—yes, a very queer fish.” “You must have seen a good deal of him, living so near?” I hazarded. “No, not a great deal, and mostly pro- fessionally. He’d got a bit of a liver—as many of these Eastern chaps have—and sent for me. I, knowing he was fond of a good horse, recom- mended a stiff ride two or three times a week. Bless me if he didn’t start off the next day to break in a regular terror of a colt. Of course, he got a tumble and a broken collar-bone, and I had to put him right. Oddly enough, though he’s been here about a year, I believe I’m about the only man he has spoken to—except the tradespeople and servants, of course. The vicar called, but he got such a reception that he’s not likely to yo there again. As I said, our friend Halliwell’s a queer fish. Still, all his servants like him, which, is a good sign. One could forgive him for utterly squashing the parson, but a mansard roof on an Elizabethan manor-house has been too much for Herefordshire even in these days of progress.” It was in the later ’eighties that the above

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482 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. conversation occurred. I thought little at the time of what I had heard about the new owner of Harnett Croft, but I was rather curious to see the architectural atrocity he had perpetrated. So one day, after a couple of hours’ rabbit- shooting, I strolled through a coppice and over towards it. I was prepared for a bit of a sur- prise, but hardly for the one I got, for I was suddenly grabbed by the arm and the back of the neck by an extremely tall and gaunt but peculiarly muscular individual, who burst out :— “Well, Im hanged! Not content with poaching my rabbits, you’ve got the cheek to come within sight of the house look- ing for my phea- sants!” And with that. Mr. Halli- well—for I had guessed rightly that it was he— let go of me and, putting his hands to his sides, laughed _ heartily. When his merri- ment subsided, I endeavoured to explain. I am afraid I was not very lucid, for I was young, and it is a trie awkward to be caught with a gun in another man’s preserves ; but, after hearing me out, my captor suddenly asked :— “What's your name?” I replied, told him with whom I was staying, and added that I had heard of the “im- provement ” to the house and was only wishing to see it, as I had known the old place since my infancy. This seemed to satisfy him, for he at once became quite friendly, and asked me to come upto the house with him. On my way there I took stock of the “queer fish,” as my uncle, a retired naval surgeon and a good judge of men, had called him. Mr. Halliwell was certainly one of the most “He burst out, ‘Well I'm hanged! Not content with poaching my rabbits. you've got the cheek to come within sight of the house looking tor my pheasants!" curious-looking men I had ever met. Tall, with regular features ; grey, almost white, hair, and the darkest of grey eyes, with deep-furrowed, tropical sun-wrinkles about them—he might readily have been taken for an Indian military man, were it not for a sort of loose swing in his gait and a trick he had of hunching up his shoulders. His facial symmetry was somewhat marred by a long, livid scar, extending from the left temple to the mouth, but in certain lights this was not plainly noticeable. Arrived at the house, my new acquaintance at once proceeded to do the honours. Horrible as was the present exterior of — the place after its Original aspect, within it was, as my uncle had said quite a museum , and it was not long bgfore I had realized that the collection there gathered was of great value, and that it mostly con- sisted of Siamese antiquities, with here and there objects from Cam-* bodia, the Shan or Lao States, or from the Malay Peninsula. There were Buddhas and carvings, elephant swords and tusks, quaint fire - arms and brocade, Court dresses, models of floating houses and queer- shaped boats, be- jev.clled lacquer ware and count- less similar things, while sporting trophies were everywhere hung about. I was so interested in look- ing at these things that I had almost forgotten my host, until I saw him looking at me with an air of quict amusement “You seem quite interested in my little collection,” he temarked. I admitted that I was, and he then proceeded to give me various details of the things I had

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PHAULKON’S TREASURE. 483 been looking at, and time slipped away so rapidly that it was not until he suddenly switched on the electric lights that I recollected that I had a good four-mile tramp between me and home. Upon my saying as much Mr. Halliwell suggested that I had better stay to dinner. It so happened that my uncle and aunt were dining out that evening, and so I thankfully accepted the invitation. Before the evening was out the “queer fish” and the seventeen - year - old schoolboy were fast friends. Daily during the remainder of my holiday did I see Halliwell ; we rode, shot, or played billiards together, and bit by bit he told mea considerable amount about himself. It was all simple enough, although a mystery to his neighbours and the county at large. As a young man of good family, but poor, he had gathered together his few worldly goods and gone to the Far East. After a few years of knocking about he had been employed by one of the big teak export firms as up-country agent and buyer, and had thus been stationed in the remote hill districts of Northern Siam. Instead of occasionally taking trips “home,” as most dwellers in the Far East do, he had stuck to his work, his sole recreations being big-game shooting and the study of the wonderful archeological remains with which the entire region is dotted. Meanwhile all his remaining relatives “at home” died, and as years went on he commenced trading in teak on his own account, eventually acquiring a very considerable fortune. He had been so long in the jungles that he was somewhat bashful of attempting to mix with county society, and, as he said himself, he was quite content with his books, his horses, his gun,.and his dogs. His treatment of the vicar he attributed to the latter’s inquisitiveness. It was not until the following winter that I saw my somewhat eccentric friend again. My uncle had invited me down for Christmas, and almost the first intelligence which greeted me was that my friend was ill. ‘Foolish man,” said my uncle; “he went out hunting, came From a) The Author, Mr. Wm. Whitfeld Fegen, of Bangkok, Siam. (Photograph. back wet through to the skin, and then, without changing his clothes, sat up all night with the old lodge-keeper, who was dying. And just home after thirty years in the tropics, too. No wonder he’s on his back himself now !” Of course, I went to see him as soon as I could do so, and during his lagging convales- cence he told me a number of things about his former life and a good deal about Siam. By some chance or other the con- versation one evening turned on buried treasures. “Yes,” said Halliwell, ‘one hears of buried treasures of all sorts nowadays, but I fancy most of them are imaginary. Still, there is one which is not, and which | I think it would not be particularly hard to find.” Of course, youngster-like, I wanted toknowall about it, and Halliwell continued :—- “T know you have read up Siamese history a bit and know all about Con- | stantine Phaulkon, the Greek adventurer who played such an important | part in Siam during the middle and close of the seventeenth century, and who was killed in the course of a revolution there in 1685 or thereabouts. This man certainly did a lot of good for the country, and appears to have gained the utmost confidence of King Phra Narai, who be- stowed upon him the title of Chow Phya Wicha- yen, as well as enormous wealth. Shortly before Phaulkon, as we will call him for short, met with his death he built for himself a palace at a place called Louvo (nowadays Lopburi), the ruins of which stand to this day. Now this Phaulkon was notoriously covetous, and accord- ing to contemporary chroniclers had removed all his wealth to his Lopburi palace just before the grand smash came. He was taken out one fine morning to a large reservoir some three miles from the town and there chopped up. Directly this had happened Petracha, the Siamese Master of the Royal Elephants, who had usurped the throne, went to search Phaulkon’s palace, not only for the treasure it was supposed to contain, but also on account of an ivory Sedan-chair which King Phra Narai had given

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. 484 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to his favourite, and which was regarded by the usurper as having magical attributes. Strange to say, although Phaulkon had only just left the palace, no vestige of either throne or treasure was found. Afterwards other searches were made, with similar result. The ruins are still there and in fairly good preservation, considering everything.” “Somebody must have yot ahead of the Master of the Royal Elephants,” I suggested, “or else Mr. Constantine Phaulkon must have ‘planted ’ his valuables somewhere else.” “No,” said Halliwell, “that’s just what I think didn’t happen ; and if I wanted to: I think I could find that treasure now.’ “ And you don't want it?” “Well, you see, I’ve got as much cash as I want,” he replied, “and to get Phaulkon’s hoard I should have to go back to Siam and do a lot of damage to one of the most interesting ruins in the country. No; I may bea bit of a vandal as regards mansard roofs,” he added, laughing, “ but I’m not quite such a vandal as to spoil poor old Phaulkon’s ruins. Probably the Government would object to that.” “ But what makes you think you know where the treasure is?” I asked. “Well, it’s a queer thing, but, if you remember, Ayuthia, the capital of Siam, was looted by the Burmans in 1767. They were quickly chased out of it and sent back home again, and on their way they dropped quite a lot of their booty. Amongst this was a box con- taining what were supposed to be State papers, and later on these got into the hands of a peasant, who gave them to the priests at a temple. The papers turned out to be mostly iragments and of no special value except as curiosities. ‘The chief priest gave them to me t> look at, knowing I was fond of such things, and amongst them I found this.” So saying, Halliwell went to a cabinet and returned with what looked like a piece of thin black cardboard, on which were some queer characters, apparently inscribed in white ink. “T suppose,” said he, “you'd like to know what this says? Well, here goes: — “*But the magnificent Chow Phya Wichayen knew all of these things and more. Wherefore he took steps to hide the wealth he had, and more especially the great palanquin of ivory which the martyred King Somdet Phra Chow Yu Hua Muang Luovo had given to him. And so, because he knew that they would not disturb the altar of his ancestral god which he had erected in his palace, for fear of arousing the anger of the spirit (A417) which dwelt therein, he caused to be made a vault of a good as “ By Jove!” I ejaculated. “Is that really what it says?” “Yes, as near as I can translate it.” “ And you mean to say that with that in your possession you never had a try for the ivory throne and all the wealth of the Indies?” -“No, I didn’t. As I said before, I’d made enough to see me through my old age, and I certainly didn’t want to spoil the interesting ruins, But you can try it if you like ; only look out for the pA which the writer mentions.” “What is that?” “Oh, there are countless At, or spirits, in Siam. But it seems that Phaulkon, who was, of course, a Greek Christian, built a chapel in his palace, where the Jesuit Fathers, who were sent out by Louis XIV. of France to convert the Siamese, used to officiate. As some of the good fathers were skilled astronomers the Siamese would naturally fancy that they were astrologers also, and from astrologers to everyday magicians is not a far cry. Why, even nowadays the Chinese, who are the next-door neighbours of the Siamese, are continually accusing the missionaries of witchcraft.” “1 wish,” said I, “that I had that black document. By the way, why is it black?” My companion laughed. “Oh,” he replied, “all the old Siamese documents were written in white ink on prepared palm-leaf, stained black. But as for this, if you really want it you are welcome to it.” And with that he handed me the thing. The years sped on and I adopted journalism as a profession, and, after acting as a war corre- spondent during the American occupation of the Philippines, I paid a visit to Siam. For at least. a dozen years I had had the old Siamese document with me in all my wanderings, as I rather valued it as a memorial of Halliwell, whe had died in 1890. Of course, being in the country renewed my interest in its antiquities. I was in Bangkok, the capital, one evening reading some extracts from works by ancient European writers on the history of the country, when I found that the Abbé de Choisy, who accompanied Louis XIV.’s embassy to Siam in 1685, writing of Phaulkon, said, “I would never have trusted myself to him in matters in which he’ was not to make his profit,” while the Count de Forbin, a naval lieutenant and “ Major of Embassy,” described him as possessed of ‘an insatiable avarice, which was often sordid.” “So,” said I to myself, “that treasure may have been hidden after all.” And on referring to a description of the ruins of Phaulkon’s house I found that the remains of the chapel were still there, its shape being that of a Greek cross. That decided me. What was an old ruin

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PHAULKON’S TREASURE. 485 compared with an ivory palanquin and the hoards of the famed “‘M. Con- stance,” as some of the old French writers call him. And I determined to go and inspect the place next day. Now, Lopburi is only a hundred and thirty-four kilometres from Bang- kok, and, apart from my quest, proved quite an interesting place to visit. You may be sure that the house of the famous Greek fort-builder was one of the first places inspected. Yes, there was the cross - shaped chapel, sure enough, and, better still, at the eastern arm the distinct traces of a Christian altar, nowadays bearing emblems of quite a different faith. And so I returned to Bangkok to mature my plans. One thing I speedily discovered, and that was that the Siamese Government has a very ‘decided objection to having its antiquities spoiled by human hands or pickaxes. The elements may do their worst, the ever-growing tropical vegetation may over- : The Author standing by the altar in Phaulkon's Chapel. From a Photograph. The ruins of Phaulkon’s Chapel. throw walls and under- minestupendous temples ; but one must not delve under foundations, even in search of historical ivory palanquins. And then, how could I go to work by myself? As luck would have it, however, I came across just the sort of man with whom I could work in cpmpany. He was—or said he was—an Austra- ‘lian miner, and he re- galed me with stories of some wonderful dis- coveries -he had made me in Tierra del Fuego, or somewhere of the sort. I do not know whether a scent for the more precious minerals has any correlation with-that for alcohol ; but, if it has, Bill (for that was his name) ought to have discovered whole Klon- dikes daily. Bill was out of a job, and there was trouble brewing between him and his land- lord, so when I offered him a third share of the treasure, and five pounds a week and expenses supposing it did not eventuate, he expressed himself as quite willing to join in; and so we

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486 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) held a council of war. himself a strategist. “Look here,” he said, ‘ Lopburi’s a place where you can’t go monkeyin’ around without drawing attention, especially since these blessed ruins are in the town and close to the railway. It’s a full moon about the 16th, and this is the gth. We'll get tents and things and camp in the hills about three miles out and come in and get to work each night. If anyone spots us we can square ’em with a few ticals. They’re a hard-up lot in Lopburi. See?” I saw, and when he came back next day triumphantly waving what he said was a licence to prospect for monazite, or rubies, or radium, | considered our fortunes made. Well, we camped as close to the town as possible and commenced opera- tions. For a week or so we toiled nightly, but found no sign of a vault, and it seemed to me that the ground was softer than it should be in places. Progress was slow, for we had to cover up our tracks as neatly as possible every morning before retreating to camp, and the moon had taken to rising so late as to be of very little use to us. My hands were fairly skinned, Bill was uncom- panionable, owing to a sudden affection he had contracted for native spirit, and even our Chinaman, an old mining hand, was heard several times to ejacu- late, “What kind fool thing this? All b’long catchee nothin’.”. Then our spirits were suddenly raised. We had He certainly proved Phaulkon'’s House, in Lopburi, as it is to-day. The metal hand dis- covered by the Author during his search for the treasure. - re | (Photograph. got down to water when suddenly a lump of some- thing extra heavy in the shovelful of dirt thrown up by Ah Kwei struck my foot. I picked it up. Yes, we had struck it at last. It was a metal hand, obviously of gold, judging by its weight, and between four and five inches in length! But daylight was shortly to break, and we were compelled to postpone further operations. And so the three of us set to work to fill in the excavation we had made, and Ah Kwei was sent back to camp with the tools, while Bill and myself went to the river and there removed as much as we could of the traces of the night’s toil. Before the sun had risen over the hills to the east the little town was astir, but the only working jeweller in the place seemed to be the last to open his estab- lishment. Bill, who spoke Siamese of sorts, went in, and I followed. The jeweller took the hand and said some- thing. Ball seemed to grow angry ; the jeweller became apologetic. I asked what the man had said. “Said?” ejaculated Bill. “Why, the old fool says this is only heavily gilt brass —-and he is right, too. Blow the bloomin’ treasure!” And he threw the hand down angrily. I picked it up and was following, when I was accosted with :— “Good morning, gentlemen! Fine morning, isn’t it? Any prospects yet?” It was only the officer of gendarmerie ; a Dane, and a genial, hospitable fellow. I think we must have looked rather foolish, but he continued, politely :—

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TREASURE. 487 “He threw the hand down angrily.” “Better come round to my place and have some coffee. It'll be about ready now.” We went. I really couldn’t swallow anything, but Bill had got through a respectable meal when our host said: “I’ve been wanting to see you for a week or so. You see, the Government don’t mind folks digging unless they endanger what is left of the ruins. I was afraid you might do that, and then I’m afraid it would mean a Consulate job. And if you had started inside the chapel area I should have been bound to interfere. But I’m afraid you haven’t been any luckier than the others.” “What others ?” I gasped. “You see,” said the lieutenant, “I’ve only been here for about fifteen months, but during that time that same place has been dug out at least half-a-dozen times. energy, isn’t it ?” I have heard people swear, but Bill at that minute was terrific. “It’s a bit of a pity,” went on the policeman, “that nobody seems to know that the Master of the Royal Elephants took all Phaulkon’s property on the day he took his life. But it is an historic fact, gentlemen. He had to use it to pay his troops. You remember what Dumnorix said to Cesar What, going? Good-bye, then.” Rather a waste of I have not been treasure-seeking since, either in Siam or elsewhere. But I keep that hand— which is apparently that of a standing Buddha, in an attitude suggestive of preaching—as a memento of the time when I wasa first-class fool.

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VERY much doubt whether anyone in this country could say offhand where the Island of Bali is located— whether, indeed, anyone has ever heard of it. Let me explain, therefore, that Bali lies in the East Indies, in the neighbourhood of Java, and, like its sister isle, belongs to the Dutch. But, unlike the Javanese, who became Moham- medans, the natives of Bali remained true to the religions of their ancestors, and are still ie AND THEIR WAYS. By PAULINE AGANOOR. A chatty article, dealing with the East Indian Island of Bali, a ‘terra incognita” to most of our readers, but possessing some very curious manners and customs, as the article and accom- panying photographs show. followers of Buddha and Brahma. They have, therefore, many customs totally different from those practised by the islanders of Java, which I have already described in this Magazine. I propose now to give a short account of the Balinese and their curious ways. As a race they are better built and of lighter skin than the Javanese, with more regular features, but they are not so clean in their habits. In regard to the cultivation of their country, they are equally expert. Amongst the From a) A scene in the rice-fields. [Photog raph.

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THE BALINESE AND THEIR WAYS. 489 A team of oxen bedecked for a gala occasion—Observe the extraordinary wooden bells and the plumes of feathers. * From a Photograph. chief products ot the island may be mentioned rice, maize, coffee, tobacco, indigo, cocoa-nuts, and cotton. The ploughing of the flooded fields is done in a strange manner, the patient oxen squelching their way through the mire, dragging the ploughman along on a sort of outrigger affair equipped with teeth. The photograph reproduced on the previous page depicts a typical ploughing scene. The oxen used for agricultural work often have extra- ordinary wooden bells strapped under their necks, the purpose of which is quite in- comprehensible, as the poor creatures are simply made to appear ridiculous and uncomfortable. The note given by these bells, which are for- tunately not so heavy Vol. xxiii —62, From a) A typical Pe" nese ox. as they look, is soft and melodious, and perhaps the idea is to cheer the ploughman during his monotonous labours under the blazing tropical sun. On gala occasions, as depicted in the above snapshot, these long-suffering, bell- bedecked oxen are also decorated with plumes of feathers, givine the whole turn-out an appearance calcu- lated to severely shock the ploughmen of more prosaic lands. The rearing of cattle, particularly of pigs and oxen, is car- ried almost to perfec- tion in Bali, and thou- sands of head of stock are annually exported to the surrounding islands. ‘The animals are transported to the steamers, lying farther . Out to sea, in ingenious ferry-boats, seen in the picture at the top of the following page. The natives of Java, (Paotegraph. being Mohammedans,

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49° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. are forbidden by their religion to eat pork, but are allowed to eat beef, and the Balinese, on the other hand, never touch beef, but almost live on pork—a highly-convenient arrangement for both parties. If a white calf happens to be born on the estate of a native cattle-owner his co-religionists envy him greatly, looking upon him as having been specially favoured by the gods. The animal gets a very good time, being brought up in great luxury and treasured as something sacred. Shipping cattle to neighbouring islands. From a Photograph. The native superstitions about animals are, however, not con- fined to white cows and bulls only, but are also concerned with dogs and tigers. Dogs, for instance, are never destroyed, and, much to the annoyance of the European residents, the pariahs are allowed to increase to an unlimited extent. According to Balinese ideas dogs are the reincarnation of those of their poorer brethren who were buried after death instead of being cremated, which is the more luxurious method of getting rid of the dead. To killa dog, theretore, is as great a sin as killing a poor fellow-creature. With regard to the tiger, the natives believe that that animal is also the reincarnation of another caste of the community, and nothing will induce them to shoot it. ee SO ~P&- > A

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THE BALINESE AND THEIR WAYS. 4g From a Photo. by) Balinese dancing-éirls. 10. Kurkdjian, Java. They tell, with great impressiveness, the story “What have I done to thee that thou lookest so of an old Balinese man who once came face to ferociously at me? Have I ever done thee any face with a tiger in the jungle. Gazing at the harm; and art thou not my brother clad in the monster fixedly he addressed it as follows: skin of a tiger? I pray thee go thy way in

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492 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. peace, and leave me alone.” Thereupon, it is said, the tiger turned tail and walked away majestically into the depths of the jungle. Then, again, there is a legend to the effect that a young Balinese mother left her infant for a moment outside her hut in the woods, when it was immediately pounced upon by a tiger. Loosen- ing her long raven hair, and covering her face and shoulders with it, she cried pitifully, begging the tiger to drop her infant, which request “Stripes ” at once obligingly granted. The women of Bali are considered more attractive-looking than those of Java. In the way of garment they only wear a “sarong” (skirt) without the additional “ kabaya ” (jacket), as the Javanese women do. So long as they are unmarried the upper part of the body is left entirely uncovered, or merely covered with a thin silk “slendang ” (sash) thrown across one shoulder. By married women, however, the “sarong” is worn as high as the arm-pit. The ladies have a curious way of showing that they have reached a marriageable age—they hang a lock of their black hair down to the nape of the neck, whereby these born coquettes convey to eligible young men a silent invitation to come, woo, and be won. As earrings they wear a piece of folded “lontar” leaf in the lobe of the ear, which eventually expands into a long slit; the longer the better, says Balinese fashion. A quaint sight to be seen in Bali is the periodical procession of men, women, and children, carrying baskets of fruit, vegetables, Carrying food to the temple to be blessed—After the ceremony it is taken away again and eaten. From a Photograph. and cooked food, shaded by long-handled paper umbrellas—as shown in the above picture—on their way to the temple. Do not run away with the idea that the food is intended as an offering to the gods, for it is nothing of the kind. On the arrival of the procession at the temple the eatables are deposited on the floor in front of the altar. Then a kind of circular dance is performed by the worshippers whilst the priest besprinkles them with holy water, at the end of which ceremony the baskets contain- ing the food are once more replaced on their heads and taken home by the processionists—to be eaten up by themselves after having been made sacred by the gods, as they believe. No other race pays greater respect to the dead than do the Balinese, and the sole aim

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THE BALINESE AND THEIR WAYS. 493 From a) and object of their existence seems to be to save enough money to do honour to their dear departed by cremating their bodies instead of burying them once and for ever. ‘The idea of cremation is to purify the soul before it reaches heaven. But a dead person is not necessarily cremated immediately ; sometimes a body may be buried for years before it is exhumed for the final ceremony in the crematorium, which is a most costly affair. When—to the vast joy of the family con cerned—sufficient funds have been collected for the event, a “wadah,” or richly-decorated bamboo pyramid, must be built. The “ wadah” Balinese dancing-men. They spend considerable sums of money on their elaborate head-dresses. (hotegraph. may stand as high as twenty feet, and on the roof of it there is a platform where the body is placed, the whole being draped with expensive “sarongs” and flowers. When this is ready the priest washes the body, and it is his duty also to put certain necessary articles upon it, such as a gold ring on the tongue, a piece of steel between the front teeth, some flowers in the nostrils, a piece of wax in the ears, and a tiny mirror over the eyes. ‘These things are supposed to protect the dead man against evil spirits and to furnish him with some property for use when he enters Paradise. The priest next gives absolution to the

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494 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. departed and heads a long procession to the crematorium, followed by native musicians and the bamboo “wadah” itself, carried on the shoulders of coolies. The coolies receive in- structions beforehand to pretend that the body they are carrying is unwilling to leave his village, so, before entering the gates of the crematorium, they take a few steps backward, and then a few forward, until at last they are persuaded to go right in and deposit their burden on a chosen spot. ' The priest next chants prayers to a noisy musical accompaniment ; then the “wadah” is set on fire and instantly blazes up. When the whole construction has been consumed and turned into cinders, the ashes of the body are collected, taken to the sea-shore, and there scattered to the winds with renewed praying and chanting. ‘This-does not actually end the cere- mony, for a number of dinner-parties are given in From a) A Balinese nobleman and hia little son. = _ the village by the deceased’s relatives, enlivened with the performance of a “topeng” (troupe of dancers) and the inevitable “ gammelang” (native orchestra). The Balinese dancers and actors are more handsomely dressed than those of Java, and spend large sums of money on head-dresses of gold or silver, studded with precious stones, similar to those shown in the various illustrations. 7 The photograph below depicting a Balinese nobleman with his little son will convey to Wipe Wor -p readers an idea of the curious garments worn by the male sex of the island. As will bé seen, even a nobleman wears what look like white bathing-drawers, with a long “sarong” bound once round the hips, its folds trailing on the ground—quite different from the Javanese style of wearing that garment. On festive occasions these folds must act as a train. og A 4 o, ret z ped: [Photograph.

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but, instead of it being at the back, in Bali the train is worn in front. On ordinary days, and for comfort’s sake, the folds are taken up between the legs and tucked in at the back, where they are kept in place with the usual number of ornamental “ krisses” (daggers). The Balinese—like his Javanese cousin —is inseparable from his ‘“krisses,” without which his toilet would be in- complete. The shape of a Balinese “kris” - is also somewhat dif- ferent from that of Java, the blade being much longer THE BALINESE AND THEIR WAYS De fearsome monster forms a fay Krom a) rite model for the desi handles. (Phe Sorting coffee-beans for the European market. ign of kris stograph 495 and more serpen- tine. The handle, too, is much more costly — made of gold, silver, or ivory, after the pattern of some grinning Hindu god, a favourite model being the fearsome- looking creature shown in the accom- patiying photograph. Asa family heirloom the Balinese “kris” is almost priceless, particularly if it has been used asa means of killing an enemy during a battle or in self-defence. The very fact of its having been used in drawing human blood is sufficient to greatly enhance its value. (Photograph.

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496 THE On one occasion a murderer was condemned to be “krissed,” and the nephew of a rajah at once offered to act as his executioner, for the simple reason that it gave him the chance to use his “kris.” In striking the wretched criminal, however, the weapon hit his collar-bone, bending the blade, and thus destroyed the charm of that particular dagger at once. An onlooker, with an ordinary “kris,” promptly sprang for- ward and finished off the hapless mur- derer, thus increas- ing the value of his weapon a_hundred- fold. It is said that the Balinese think more of their game-cocks than of their wives, and there can be no doubt that cock- fighting is the favourite sport of the island, ‘lhe cocks From: a) used are splendid creatures, with long spurs, to which a small sharp knife or a_finely- pointed bamboo-stick is attached before the duel commences. When everything is ready the owners of the game- cocks stroke their animals softly, speak- ing encouraging words to them. High bets are taken, and then fighting begins between the two proud birds, who, judging by their appearance, seem to fully understand their own importance. Should the weaker of the two show signs of decamping, it is imme- diately seized and placed in a cage to continue the fight till WIDE WORLD A Balinese temple. The “ Royal Mail’ of the island. From a Photograph. MAGAZINE, one of the birds drops down dead or is put hors de combat. It is said that good sporting cocks are sometimes paid for at the rate of their weight in gold. As in Java, tra- vellers in the island of Bali need never fear being short of food during — their journey, for there are -many ‘warongs,” or native restaurants, on the road, and even in the woods. Here, for a penny or two, a hearty meal can be obtained. Then, again, there is the “passer” in every village, where pro- visions in the form of fish, fowls, meat, exquisite tropical fruit, and vegetables can be bought. The European inhabitants find Bali very plea- sant to live in. Most of them are mer- chants dealing with Manchester, Glas- gow, and other cities, while others send the products of the island to the European markets. The last photograph reproduced shows the primitive-looking “ Royal Mail” of the island— the Government postal boat which conveys letters, papers, parcels, and magazines to the island, “wind and weather —_ permitting.” Wipe Wor -p readers with money and leisure might do a great deal worse than visit Baliand the surrounding islands of the Dutch East Indian possessions, where they will find magnificent scenery, an amiable, _ interesting ‘people, and a_ kindly and agreeable climate.

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TROOPER: LOVELACE, T.T.P. SOME REMINISCENCES OF THE JOHANNESBURG MOUNTED POLICE. By Mrs. FRED MATuRIN. Mrs. Maturin, as readers who have enjoyed her former contributions are aware, has resided for some considerable time in South Africa. In this series she deals in her usual entertaining fashion with the varied adventures which fell to the lot of the members of the Johannesburg Mounted Police in the stormy years following the war—adventures amusing, curious, and often wildly exciting. I.—HOW I MET TROOPER LOVELACE. AAI HE old “Gentlemen’s Corps,” the 1 ap) Johannesburg Mounted Police, is ») | F now no more. The force has been Fas reorganized by the Dutch, and the new conditions of service caused four hundred of its British members to resign in a body in June, 1908. They were a gallant, untiring band (foot as well as mounted), and of invaluable service to the Rand throughout its most troublous times. Perhaps nowhere else on earth could a police- man acquire such strenuous experience as these fine young fellows got during the years following the war. As fast as one public trouble and menace finished another began, and the mounted men often spent sixteen hours on end in the saddle, in as much danger of their lives as any soldier in war-time. I saw the members of the Johannesburg Mounted Police mostly in their leisure hours, but during these I would hear many of their experiences, some of the most amusing and exciting of which are here set down. Trooper Lovelace—the name, of course, is fictitious, but the character is real—gave me many of them, and the way I met him was typical of life on the Rand and of the curious mixture of stern manhood and schoolboy-fun that you got in turns with many of the younger members of the famous T.T.P. (‘Transvaal Town Police). During my residence on the Rand I changed my abode several times, but it was always a cottage far out upon the lonely veldt—in situations, as I was often told, which no other woman in her senses would have selected, for times were very troublous. What with the marauding and rioting Chinese, half-civilized Kaffirs, desperate white strikers, liquor-sellers, out-of-works, and other wandering criminals from every nation under the sun (who have made of the Rand the dust-bin of the world), it was considered quite mad of me to insist upon living in the places that my fancy always somehow fixed upon. I got quite well known at last at the offices of the Commissioner of Police in Johannesburg, by reason of my frequent visits. Vol. xxiii.—63. “Yes, madam?” a fat sergeant would say, - bowing deferentially to me and Nellie, my maid, just arrived breathless from my veldt cottage. “Is-Colonel Dash in, please? Some men tried to break into my cottage last night and have carried off my meat-safe, which was hanging outside. A large, expensive joint was in it, and I must have police protection at once for myself and maid.” “Certainly, madam. This way.” And Nellie and I would burst in on the O.C., who would forthwith telephone up to the fort “to place Red Riding Hood Cottage, in the township of Tin, under special police protection at once, and issue immediate inquiries for a green meat-safe with a whitey-brown top which was feloniously purloined from said cottage last night in the small hours.” It was at this period that I first made the acquaintance of Trooper Lovelace, who, after our visit to Colonel Dash, was, with others, told off to specially patrol Red Riding Hood Cottage. That was the romantic name bestowed by me upon my tiny abode, because the first time I saw it, surrounded by woods, I declared that it looked exactly as if little Red Riding Hood should be trotting down the path, and a wolf be knocking at the door for admittance. The police liked what they called “the lady patrols.” Dotted all over these queer little veldt town- ships were lonely females of all ages and con- ditions, and it was a common thing for messages to arrive at head-quarters from them, and these were written up in the charge office with instructions underneath. “Mrs. Tomkins, of The Shanty, Tin Town, had some washing stolen while hanging out to dry. Items: One petticoat and various other articles. Is to be given special call.” “Miss Brown, The Chestnuts, Orange Grove, heard a breathing in her stoep in the night. Fears it was a Chinaman. Saw a pigtail in the gum-forest at dusk. Call twice on patrol.” “Jan Van Dam, of Wacht-ein-Beitje Farm, refused an Englishman a drink of water. Was cursed. Englishman supposed to have poisoned

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498 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. well. Van Dams all vomiting.’ Case for Criminal Investigation Department.” “The young Misses Roseberry, of the School House, township of ‘Thirst, demand revolvers and instruction in use of same. Trooper Lovelace will proceed thither and spend three days teaching the young ladies the use of a Browning revolver, reporting proceedings upon his return.” It must be understood that I have put these police notices into my own language and they may not be quite orthodox, but that’s how ‘Trooper Lovelace briefly described these inter- esting notices to me, though no doubt not quite in the official terms. Trooper Lovelace spent a delightful three days at the young Misses Roseberry’s School House, township of ‘Thirst (so-called because water there costs two shillings and sixpence a bucket), but whether his “ Report of Proceed- ings ” was entirely and fully correct or not, history does not relate. He told me that once a Doctor Slaughter called on the Commissioner of Police to com- plain that he had a pretty English servant who attracted men to his house in such vast numbers that at last they crowded the kitchen and the dinner could not be cooked! One young man in particular was most troublesome and, being good-looking, there was no getting rid of him, for he sat all the others out. “Tve no wish to get any young fellow into trouble,” said the good-natured doctor, “ but it can’t go on.” The Commissioner told the doctor he would see to it at once, and would dispatch to. his homestead that same evening young ‘Trooper Lovelace, who would keep the pretty maid at arm’s length, and be warranted to expel with violence all or any of the followers who had caused Dr. Slaughter such annoyance. “And, by Jove,” said young Lovelace, when telling me this story, “ picture my feelings when I was told to go and chuck the fellow out who insisted on sitting there every evening, for— would you believe it ?—it was myself!” But I set out to tell you how I first met Trooper Lovelace; and this is one of the pictures of “the light side” - of police life. The heavier side will follow. One standing notice pasted up at the fort (police barracks) was : “ Mrs. Maturin and maid, of Red Riding Hood Cottage, to receive per- manent police protection.” ‘This saved trouble, for the O.C. was getting rather worried at receiving three visits a week . from Nellie or me to say something had happened. On our return that day from seeing Colonel Dash about the meat-safe Nellie and I spent an hour in* fastening and nailing up the place for the night, and finally retired to rest. It was about 1 a.m. when we were awakened. From nine onwards every hour mounted policemen had come up the garden path and awakened us with a violent rat-tatting on the glass door of my bedroom. It was comforting in one way—one felt so guarded and safe and all that—and the deep “ Police!” when Nellie from her room quaver- ingly inquired from under her sheet, “ Who’s there ?” was certainly soothing, but all the same I began to ask myself, “Shall we ever get any sleep again now we are under special police protection ?” We couldn’t say, “ Please don’t come any more and wake us up.” It seemed so ungrateful after all the trouble taken, so we always replied politely, and dropped off again, and then in about an hour another trooper would arrive, and so it went on. The rat-tat at 1 a.m. was terrific. “Yes; who's there?” “ Police !” “Oh, thank you so much.” “Everything all right?” asked a deep and musical voice. “Quite, thank you.” “Not nervous, I hope?” “No, thank you; we were asleep.” There was a pause, and then the voice said, “ Have you a piano here, by any chance?” “What an extraordinary thing to ask!” I whispered through my open door to Nellie. “What have pianos to do with police protec- tion?” and Nelhe wondered, “Had news been received of some desperate criminal hiding in someone’s piano?” Aloud I replied, “No; why?” “Oh, nothing ; only I thought if you hadn't all gone to bed, and as I’ve been told off to take care of you for the rest of the night, I might come in, if you're fond of music, and give you the See-Saw Waltz, don’t you know, or a comic song or something. It’s beastly dull out here in the pitch darkness.” “Well, I never!” ejaculated Nellie. “Thank you very much indeed,” said I, “but we have gone to bed.” “Oh!” “Yes,” “Well, good night.” “Good night.” And we heard his steps retreating, with a sort of disappointed sound in them. I wondered very much what he was like, and I cautiously got out of bed and tried to peep at him through the blind, but all I could see was a

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TROOPER LOVELACE, T.T.P. 499 # 7: “ What is your name, please?” “Qh, certainly. I ought to have given it. ‘Trooper Lovelace.” : And we finally did get to sleep. 1 was walking across the veldt in the morning to get some meat at the little butcher's under the kopje, when I passed, on horseback, a very tall, stalwart, good- looking young fellow in the becoming uniform of the T.T.P., evidently on duty. I stopped him, and he saluted. Nellie and I had talked over the events of the ; previous night, and I had begun to feel rather vexed at the visit of the unknown Trooper Lovelace, with his mad suggestions of waltzes and comic songs at 1 am. Of course, Trooper Love- lace had never seen me and I had never seen him, and as there are gay people in and around Johannesburg he probably imagined mine one of those ultra-Bohe- mian homesteads where comic songs and waltzes do go on till all hours. “However,” thought I, “Tl send him a message to show him that at Red Riding Hood we don't dance and sing all night, but prefer to sleep.” “T think you belong to the T.T.P.?” I said to the trooper. “Yes,” he replied, smil- ing, “I do. Can I do anything for you at all?” “ Well, yes, you can, if you will. Does a young fellow called Love- lace belong by any chance to your division ?” “Certainly he does. I know 2 cell? “ What is he like? A nice sort of man?” “Oh, ripping | What of him?” “Will you give him a message from me?” said I. “Of course I will. I know he'll be delighted to receive it.” “J fear not,” said I, dryly, and I dark form and the glint of the moonlight on the looked down and poked holes in the veldt with “1 cautiously got out of bed and tried to peep at him through the blind.” brass spike of his helmet. my parasol, However, I called through the window:— “Really? But why not? Has he offended “Oh, I say!” you?” “Yes?” replied he. “Not exactly ; and yet he has.”

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500 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Do tell me what he has done! He'll be in an awful stew, for I’m sure he never meant to !” “Well, please tell him from me that at my house—Red Riding Hood Cottage—we don’t carouse and sing comic songs after one o’clock in the morning. He called last night when on patrol, and offered to come in and sing my maid and me a comic song and play us the See-Saw Waltz, and it was much too late.” I looked up, and was distressed to find the trooper’s handsome face flushed crimson, “Are you the lady who lives at Red Riding Hood?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. “Well, I shall give Trooper Lovelace your message, and I hope it will make him feel ready to cut his throat for his confounded imperti- nence. It’s just like him,” he added, in a hopeless tone. “But isn’t he nice? His voice sounded so nice and refined. He’s a gentleman, I’m sure.” “Oh, yes; he’s a gentleman! Only that’s Lovelace all over—mad as a hatter! Has been over and over again all but chucked out of the force! His spirits run away with him.” “Don’t distress yourself so much. You can’t be responsible for his actions.” “T-somehow always feel I am. He’s my great chum. My second self, I always call him. I’ve known him—yes, all my life. I’m really ashamed of him.” With that he saluted, and slowly and rather sadly rode away. Six months later I was at the police sports at Langlaagte. I stood watching the V.C. race, a mad, breakneck gallop which made me hold my breath. The neck-or-nothing rush was just over, and several young troopers, flushed and panting, had thrown themselves off their horses and stood about, laughing and discussing the race. I was talking to Sobersides, a young relative of my own in the force, who had also just competed. “There,” said I, point- ing suddenly to the police group near me —“ there is the trooper who was so upset at hearing of Lovelace’s conduct that night. What is his name?” Sobersides glanced round. “Which one?” he said. “The big fair one with . the blue eyes. He was so upset about it, and said he'd have to give Lovelace a good talking to. And which is Lovelace? I am anxious to see him too.” Sobersides stared hard; then he burst out laughing. “What’s the matter?” said I.

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TROOPER LOVELACE, T.T.P. 501 “Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that that chap, lighting a cigarette and laughing, told you he’d haul Lovelace over the coals ?” “Yes,” said I. “Why?” “Well,” said Sobersides, drawing a long breath. “Of all the cool cheek! Why, that’s Lovelace himself!" I wrote the next day and told Mr. Lovelace to come and call and he should be forgiven. He did so, and a fast friendship between us thereupon began. The more I saw of him the more I realized what an excellent fellow the T.T.P. man was, even when as wild as any Dick Turpin. Lovelace and my own young relative, Sobersides, often spent their leisure hours at my pretty cottage, and one story they told me, and which they called “Mr. ’Lizer,” showed that their police experiences were of many kinds. One night, starlit as African nights always are, with the moon gleaming up in the dusky sky like a silver sickle, Sobersides and Lovelace trode back to barracks feeling somewhat battered, and looking it too. Early that morning they had been dispatched post-haste, seventeen of them, to one of the largest of the mines which form the Rand reef. The mine manager had telephoned that he had barricaded himself in his office, which was sur- rounded by a howling mob of six thousand Chinese, bent upon dispatching him instanter if they could get at him. ‘So come quick,” said he. “What is it all about ?” asked the sergeant at the other end, after yelling his orders to someone else. “A beast called—let’s see; what’s his name? —Ling Foo, says he was put down for one inch less than he drilled. We said no. The com- pound rose. Another savage, Wah Chang, took up an axe and has deliberately chopped his hand off at the wrist (was seen calmly doing it, luckily for us!), and is going to swear his shift-boss did it, because he was innocently drilling into a misfired hole. That Chow we reported to you as missing a long time has just been found crucified to two planks down at the bottom of a disused shaft. Horrible sight. Every evidence of his having been nailed up there alive. They’ve no more regard for human life than you or I have in stepping on an ant. So come quick, for I’ve a wife and family in the hut outside the mine, and God knows what their fate may be. Send two troopers to them, too, post-haste.” The troopers had had a terrible day of it. They were drawn up in line, a handful of them, facing hordes of pigtailed savages, who stood in front of them, yelling, shrieking, and charging, darkening the air with “jumpers,” rocks, and detonators, which went off in all directions. Every day now, almost every hour, the Chinese on the Rand were up and doing. Not a week passed but marauding bands of the most desperate amongst them broke away from the compounds ahd roamed the country, committing fearful crimes. ‘They attacked lonely farms, murdering the inmates in a few minutes, and then, setting fire to the buildings, decamping with what small plunder—sometimes only food— they could find. On one occasion, finding the premises strongly barricaded and the inmates refusing to come forth, they poured paraffin on the walls and roof and then put a match to it. The police got no rest or peace, and the chasing of the gentle Chinese over hundreds of miles of veldt (the troopers being often absent for days together) was varied by pleasing interludes of mine riots, and long hunts over kopjes and dongas for the head belonging to some legs found loose somewhere, or the trunk which should rightfully have been attached to the head and pigtail accidentally discovered by a trooper on his patrol. So Sobersides and Lovelace were tired—very tired—and tumbled into bed as soon as they reached the barracks and had groomed ‘their weary horses. _They were drearhing’ -fitfully, when “ting-a-ring!” went the telephone,’ and they were told to get up again at once. | “What's up now? This will finish me!” said Lovelace. i “A Mrs. Smith has sent in from Sweetfontein in an awful state. Demands police protection. Here’s her note. Two of you had better go, ’cos that last band of Chinese are somewhere out that way, and you may catch them, too. No one else we can spare to-night. Take hand- cuffs ; Mr. Smith appears to be a caution.” Mrs. Smith’s note (brought in by a Kaffir) ran thus :— “DeaR PERLICE,—Plese come out to me quick. My Husband has gone off to get some- think hevvy to murder me and my Darter with. I’m expecting him back any minnit. Oh, come and save my life!” ; Such was the missive. Sobersides and Lovelace started off, yawning, stiff with fatigue, armed to the teeth, and swear- ing at matrimony generally, for it gave them almost as much trouble as the Chinese. It was a bitter cold night in the middle of the Rand winter, and as they rode along, leaving houses and civilization behind them, they speculated, almost groaning, upon what sort of ruffian the husband would be. “Woman’s some wretched expect,” growled Lovelace. little dwarf, I “They always

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502 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. marry burly giants of six foot two. I dare say we're in for a tough tussle. Have you got the handcuffs? Ah, there’s the house!” ‘They rode up to the door. | It was a lonely spot, and it was quite under- standable that a timid little, downtrodden wife would be very nervous in it at the mercy of some drunken brute of the poker-beating variety. Rat-tat went the police at the cottage door, and as they did so a howl, fit to wake the dead, burst forth from within. “Oh! Ow! Ow! Jemimer!” wailed a womian’s voice, “he’s there! He’s come! Lord, ‘ave mercy upon us!” ; “And,” responded “ Jemimer,” from some more distant quarter, “incline our ’arts to keep this lor.” “They think it’s the husband,” whispered Sobersides. “Open!” called out Lovelace. “Don’t be frightened! It’s the police come to your aid. No one else here !” “Quite sure?” said someone’s mouth at the chink —“ or is he with yer?” “No; it’s all right! We're alone—only the police! Open the door, for goodness’ sake ; it’s jolly cold!” “All right, Pll trust yer.” And the door was very, very cautiously opened, and a glimpse appeared of a very ponderous female, garbed half in night clothes and half in day attire. “Come, let us in!” said Lovelace, and the two young troopers gave the door a push and walked into the usual kitchen- sitting - room common in veldt cottages. Instead of the trembling little wife they had anticipated seeing, their eyes were regaled with quite another sort of vision. A huge female stood ‘there in motley array ; her hair was in curl-papers. She had a large and crimson face, and huge leg-of-mutton fists hung at tne end of her powerful arms. The man who could terrorize such a woman, thought the policemen, must be something quite out of the common —something between a gorilla and a Sandow, perhaps. Sobersides and Lovelace foresaw a terrible tussle. “Where is this husband of yours?” asked Lovelace. “Oh, sir,” weeping noisily, “he’s gone to fetch somethin’ to finish me and Jemimer, my darter, with. He said there was nothink big enough in the house.” © 1f Jemimer is half your size,” murmured Lovelace to himself, I don’t wonder.” Aloud he inquired, “What is your husband like? Has he a bad temper?” “Oh, str!” cried the lady, lifting her eyes and hands, “you should see him! The Old Gentleman ain’t in it! When he gets in his tantrums, me and my Jemimer, we're all of a tremble! Me heart's weak, and I reely can’t bear much more. I'll have to have a divorce, and I must ask you gentlemen to please see to it for me to-morrer without delay.” “The police don’t give divorces. All we can do is to protect you to-night. I suppose he’s likely to come back at any minute?” “Any minute, sir, And he'll finish the lot of us if he gets ’arf a chance. Jemimer’s in bed and her door locked.” “Well, you must be out of the way, too. Ve manage him. Don’t you be afraid. He sha’n’t hurt you,” interposed Sobersides. “He'll murder you, sir!” “Oh, no, he won’t! There are two of us; and we are going to be ready behind that door to spring upon him unawares. As for you Where can we put her, Lovelace? Halloa! here he is, I expect.” Soft footsteps were heard outside. The tuffian was evidently approaching stealthily. Seizing the lady of the house by the arms, the two policemen ran her hurriedly into the next room and into a large cupboard in the wall, which proved to contain coal. “You stay there till we’ve got him tight. Don’t you move.” And they slammed and locked the door on the lady, who subsided upon the coal with a thud. “Now,” said Lovelace, in a whisper, “be ready for him. Don’t give him a chance. Let's get behind this door, both of us. You take the handcuffs. I'll be ready to spring on him as he comes in. Now! Ready?” They got behind the door. A soft tap-tap first sounded on it ; then it opened a very little. ‘The policemen remained still as mice “?Lizer ?” said a husky voice. There was no reply. Lovelace and Sober- sides looked at each other. Then there appeared a very small, very white, and very frightened face, pushed cautiously round the door, the body to which it belonged being kept carefully in comparative safety on the other side. Could this be the ferocious husband? Surely not! “Now, ’Lizer,” said the new-comer, in a wheedling tone, ‘let a feller get to bed, and let bygones be bygones, there’s a dear! Ton’t go fur me from behind that ‘ere door. Why—who—who——?” And a very diminutive person entered the house nervously and gazed blankly at the policemen. “Are you the gentleman,” said Lovelace, stepping out into the room, “ whose murderous

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TROOPER LOVELACE, T.T.P. 503 threats to your poor little better half have brought us here to-night?” “T am, sir—at least, 1 s’pose Iam. I see you're the police, and glad I am you're ere; now I'll be safe! She” — jerking his little sleek head towards the rest of the house — “she nearly did for me two hours ago. All but battered in my skull; blackened my eye, as you see; knocked out a front tooth; and then sent me flyin’ through the door an’ wouldn’t open 1t again at any price.” ¥ | eS “Then there appeared @ very small, very white, and very frightened face, pushed ‘cautiously round the door. “She says you went to fetch some implement to murder her with.” “J did lose me temper, sir — a-shiverin’ in the cold outside — and ‘said I'd go and fetch someone’s gun and teach her who’s master here, or somethink of that sort. But what was a feller to do? My life ain’t worth living. Where is she?” “Tn the coal-cellar.” “Teave her there a bit, sir. ing-time ! Give me breath- And let me offer you somethink this cold night.” At this juncture ’Lizer commenced battering at her prison gate. “T hear yer! Yer wretched, lyin’ _ little rascal! Zef me get at yer! ‘That's all! Open this door, perlice !” But the police quietly shut the door between the two rooms, and ’Lizer howled in vain. As for “Mr. ’Lizer,” he produced some com- forting cordial and enter- tained his two new-made friends with a few graphic descriptions of his ex- periences of holy matri- mony. At the end he remarked, “I sup- pose you are both bachelors ?” “We are,” said Love- lace. “Then you remain so,” said “ Mr. Lizer,” earnestly. “And now, as its got to be done, *Lizer had best be let loose.” Lizer was “let loose,” and at the finish the handcuffs had to be used for her. Towards dawn the two young troopers rode away, sincerely com- miserating the ferocious “Mr, *Lizer” on_ his bad bargain, and firmly determined to remain bachelors for the rest of their lives. (To be continued.)

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My Most Exciting Ballooning Experiences. : By THE Hon. Mrs. ASSHETON HARBORD. In this article the Hon. Mrs. Assheton Harbord, Lord Suffield’s daughter-in-law—who holds many ballooning records, in addition to being the first lady to cross the Channel in her own balloon— tells of some of her adventurous aerial experiences. On several occasions Mrs. Harbord has been within an ace of being killed, ‘but, all the same,” she says, “I never feel nervous, and shall always adhere to my opinion that ballooning is not so dangerous a pastime as motoring.” } SHOULD like to say at once, in defence of my favourite pastime, ballooning, which I have long since | come to the conclusion is the most fascinating hobby in the world, that it is not the dangerous undertaking that so many people believe. Indeed, 1 am perfectly certain that nearly all experts on flying in the air will agree with me when I say that motoring is’ infinitely more dangerous than ballooning ; and although I lay no claim to be well versed in statistics, yet there can be no manner of doubt that acci- dents by motor are farmore numerous in proportion than are mishaps by balloon. Still, while in competent hands ballooning is more or less free from those terrible moments of fear- ful apprehension which occur in other dangerous pursuits, it is at all times full of interest, and by no means infre- quently of excite- ment; and there have been many moments since I | to made my first ascent when the thought has crossed my mind that—well, “things were going to happen.” One of the mos exciting and thrill- ing experiences that I have en- = . a countered since lee \Y I became a bal- iar | loonist happened | \. iS : tome in myown | = a The Hon. Mrs. Assheton Harbord. balloon, the Valkyrie, which has a capacity of sixty thousand cubic feet. I was making an attempt to win the Northcliffe Challenge Cup, offered for the longest distance travelled during the year by a member of the Aero Club, unac- companied by a professional aeronaut. We left the Battersea Gas Works shortly before ten o'clock at night in a strong north-westerly wind, with Mr. C. F. Pollock as the pilot. We had some difficulty in getting away, but, finally, taking advantage of a momentary lull, orders were given for “hands off,” and we shot up straight to a height of two thousand feet. At half-past ten we found ourselves in a stiff squall which made the balloon sway from side to side just as if it had been hit by some heavy object. These somewhat terrify- ing oscillations occurred through the envelope of the balloon and the car striking two opposite cur- rents, and, in con- sequence, we had considerable diffi- culty in keeping inside the basket —an experience which is far from pleasant when you are several thou- sand feet from the earth and know quite well that there is no springy | netwaitingtocatch you if you are thrown out. How- ever, we managed to keep our places somehow or other. iades| => : nk by Langfier.

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MY MOST EXCITING BALLOONING EXPERIENCES. 505 Xi B ry a were passing through # storm of sheet lightning.” particular interest happene! the French coast near Le Touquet. At 1.30 p.m. the inky darkness of the night suddenly changed into light, so intensely bril- liant that it completely dazzled us. We were passing through a storm of sheet lightning, Lay d until we reached arted we sighted English coast, and, although we were nearly four thousand feet up, We could see below us the tiny twinkling lights of a fishing fleet. The actual passage ‘of the Channel was the least exciting part of this trip, as nothing of Vol. xxiii ust over an hour after we st the lights of the

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506 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. which illuminated the car, hoop, and neck of the “balloon as if by electric light, and when I touched the ropes my gloves seemed to be alight with phosphorescence—a strange effect indeed ! All night long we experienced strong vertical air-currents, which drove us swiftly upwards and then brought us down like a log. All around us, too, through the speaking silence of the night, the wind whistled and howled in the most mournful fashion, while after passing through the lightning area it became so pitchy black again that we could not even see each other. On and on we went—now ascending rapidly, now descending for some distance as if our balloon were a stone dropped from the heavens, through the impenetrable blackness. All the time we were travelling at over fifty miles an hour. Suddenly the silence—we had neither of us spoken a word for several minutes—was broken by the sound of a violent crash, followed by a series of heavy thuds and bumps. — The Hon, Mrs, ‘Acsbetoa Harbord Preparing to From a) make an ascent alone in her balloon, the Valkyrie. (Photograph, “What is that?” I asked, quickly 3 “what has happened ?” “We must be on mountains,” said Mr. Pollock, after seeing that we were still fifteen hundred feet up. Our trail-rope then began to catch somewhere below, giving us a series of shocks like miniature earthquakes. Hurriedly we threw down a bag of ballast, then another and another. Within four minutes we got rid of five bags, but still we bumped, and as we had only three bags left and the heavy thuds still continued in most per- sistent fashion we had to make up our minds to do something drastic at once, for the slightest delay might have meant disaster. “1 don’t know where we are, but we must go down and chance it. Do you agree?” said Mr. Pollock, quietly. “Ves,” I said. My fellow-passenger then opened the valve, while I crouched low down in the car, wondering what was likely to be our next sensation. Indeed, for all we could tell we might have been descending into anything—a fiery furnace, a swiftly-running stream, a thickly-populated city. In fact, we knew just as much about what awaited us in the regions below as does a Chinaman of the ‘‘ Binomial Theorem.” Immediately after the valve was opened down we crashed with tremendous force straight into some trees. Mr. Pollock opened the “ripping-panel” at once, but the wind carried us up again. Down we came once more, this time with the basket almost completely over- turned. “Are you inside?” I heard someone say. “I think so,” I replied, as I clung grimly to the side, devoutly wishing that I had been securely tied in ; for, believe me, it is no easy matter to remain inside a basket which the wind has suddenly turned upside down and almost inside out. We were swept through the trees at such a speed that, on a dozen occasions at least, I thought that nothing but a miracle could save us from being thrown out, as all the time the basket was per- forming antics of the most grotesque and alarming kind. Now its sides were parallel with the earth ; now it seemed to do a most effective somersault ; now it righted itself. Crashing into heavy branches, rebounding off the trunks, and skimming lightly over thick foliage, we were dragged headlong—the trail-rope sometimes getting entangled, sometimes

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MY MOST EXCI TING BALLOONING to earth like a tired a haven of rest. When we had attended to the wre to get some rough idea as looked around to try to where we were, and, after that we had come -out bird which finds at last reconnoitring, to ground in a dense forest far away from any habitation, so that there was the rs. Harbord is seen while descent in inky~ not the remotest are going to land on. ‘That experience was exhilarating enough to ckage We found satisfy the : - oe - <? 2 dragging aimlessly : \ hipid if along as if it were Ae a e f wondering what part it AN \ f pelt was supposed to play in \ : , { ballooning, and why it was SN i } there at all. | I am not well versed in \ / bookmakers’ odds, but I fancy jib dh that while we were being carried NN Bef along at whirlwind speed over RE j those tree- tops, completely and 6 atid utterly at the will of the gale, it . oy | must have looked, in the language \ } Y/; of the Turf, “the National Debt ‘ ’ to a hayseed” that both of us ’ would be burled to the ground and killed outright. Happily, however, < the fickle Goddess of Fortune must have been smiling in our direction —_ on that memorable morning, for at . last a tree caught the envelope, ; Rare bringing us to a sud- er an den standstill, and _—— 2 then, by the happiest chance in the world, " a asia the basket found a ‘The first ascent of clear opening Works The Hoe 1S through the branches basket, Mr. Grifith Brewer and heavy foliage, From a Photo. by Argent Archer. andsankgently down famous balloon Mercury from in me that it requ but I think the EXPERIENUDS- nothing for it but to wait tll dawn. ‘AAs soon as it was light enough to dis- covera pathway through the woods we started walking, and after two hours’ hard tramping wecame upon a woodcutter who told us that we were three kilometres from the village of Haudiomont. Later on the same woodcutter unearthed a ramshackle cart, and on this our now sadly-dishes elle -battered balloon was n, a drive of some and much taken to Verdu three miles. 1 have already remarked that ballooning is not a dangerous pas- at particular adven- ture I will say nothing more, except to remark that, in my humble opinion, the greatest credit was due to. Mr. Pollock for having got us out of as tight a corner as any balloonist is ever likely to find himself in. You may take it from ires iron nerves to make a dark blackness when you have the world of what you time, so of th Battersea Gas the left of the » the Hon. idea in “thrills” of most people, appetite for ; most exciting five minutes gle

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508 have ever had in my life occurred last year, when, with Princess di Teano, Lord Royston, and M. Jacques Faure, I made an ascent from the Parc d’Aerostation at Suresnes, Paris. A strong gale was blowing when we started at six o’clock in the evening, but in spite of the rain and wind we resolved to attempt the ascent, although several friends tried to deter us, as we hoped that by rising above the clouds, with a little luck, even if we did not find a comparative calm, we might at least escape the discomforts of a drenching, pouring-cats-and-dogs night. Writing of “rising above the clouds” reminds me that when it is cloudy spectacles of the most transcendent beauty are to be seen “above cloudland,” while I can imagine no more entrancingly gorgeous sight in the world than to see the sun rising above a cloud-bank. Indeed, those who have not tasted the pleasure of ballooning cannot possibly realize what an incomparably sublime vista they have missed by not making an ascent one morning just to catch a glimpse of the sun getting out of bed and shedding his first rays above the clouds. The balloon ascended rapidly, but on attain- ing a height of about four thousand feet we found ourselves still in the midst of the clouds, and, in consequence, giving up the attempt as hopeless, we remained at the same altitude, though all the while the balloon was being blown away in a north-easterly direction at the rate of quite seventy miles an hour, which, of course, is a tremendous speed, though, if one crouches down in the cage and shuts one’s eyes, practi- The Hon. Mrs. Assheton Herbord making an ascent from the grounds of be r pour: The Hendre, Monmouth. (c. From a Photo. by) 32> THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. = cally no movement whatever can be felt. A little later on we descended to two thousand feet, when, still travelling at the same pace, we presently sighted the blinking lights of a large town below us, which we recognised as Antwerp by the broad Scheldt—which, as a matter of fact, we at first mistook for the sea. A descent was attempted at once, but as there was immi- nent danger of our being blown into the sea we threw out more ballast, and went up again for a time, still travelling at terrific speed. Not long afterwards the hazy coast-line came into view. Surely we could not be mistaken? "No; it was the coast-line of the North Sea, beyond all manner of doubt—and we were approaching it at a fearful rate ! Something had to be done. There was no time to discuss calmly what one ought or ought not to do ; so, inwardly blessing its inventor, we turned our attention to the ripping-cord, and M. Jacques Faure, timing the psychological moment with wonderful accuracy, half ripped the balloon. Down, down, down we went. And as we descended I began to wonder—you know how, in anxious moments a thought flashes across your brain with lightning - like rapidity and vanishes altnost as quickly—whether we should reach the earth before we got to the sea. ‘This may perhaps seem rather an Irish way of expressing things, but it conveys exactly what I felt during those three hundred intensely exciting seconds. It was a case of touch and go; happily, we touched, and the balloon—practically severed in half—collapsed like a bird in full flight shot on the wing, quite close to the dreaded sea. As it came down, however, the car turned completely over, throwing Princess di Teano and me out on to our heads ; so I think we have every justifica- tion for our claim that she and I are the only women in the world to arrive in Holland with our feet pointing towards the heavens. The rain was coming dowr in torrents, but we were encouraged by the sight of a house in the distance, which gave pro- mise of shelter from the storm. But it was not to be. French, German, ‘Harris, Monmouth. ‘Italian, and a mixture of

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MY MOST EXCITING BALLOONING EXPERIENCES. “As it came down the car turned completely over.” Indo-Japanese-Chinese- Esperanto all failed to Another exciting experience of mine occurred make our meaning plain to the people, who during my second trip across the Channel in the refused to open their doors, and it was only after Lotus.’ At one time it looked very much as if plodding along for over two hours in the pelting we must miss the French coast, and the pros- rain, with the wind blowing in a manner pects of reaching any land at all began to grow reminiscent of a budding typhoon, that we unpleasantly remote, but happily by ascend- reached Villen Stadt, all, | fear, looking more ing we caught a favourable current and reached like drowned rats than human beings. terra firma in safety—this time near Cape There, however, we fortunately met a courteous Gris-nez. douanier, who showed us to a little inn, spot- And now I have little further to add lessly clean, where Princess di Teano and I about the exciting side of ballooning. I think rested in a room with two dear little beds hung it is the exception rather than the rule for any- with the whitest of curtains. In the morning one to say good-bye to nerves unless they have we took train to Dordrecht, and thence to Paris, actually been badly hurt in an accident. True, and thus ended a memorable day—or rather when I landed in Holland on my head I was night. We had been in the air from 6 p.m. to hurt ‘‘some,” as the Americans say, but then ten minutes past ten, and had thus covered two the accident had the saving grace of creating a hundred and forty miles in, roughly speaking, = new record which completely healed any pain four hours, which, even in these record- that I felt at the time. So I never count that breaking days, is, I think, pretty good going. undignified arrival as an accident.

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Through the Rocky M untains on a Raft. :; By Frank Vrooman, F.R.G.S. The stirring record of a notable achievement in the far northern wilderness of British Columbia. With winter and its dread ally, starvation, hard upon their heels, the author and the men of his prospecting expedition essayed a feat that had never before been accomplished—they built a raft and sét out to drift down the Finlay and Peace Rivers to the borders of civilization. Terrible rapids barred the road, but there was no other alternative; they must either risk this voyage into the unknown or share the miserable fate of so many other daring pioneers in the Northland. This narrative tells the story of their manifold adventures. * _ IIL VERY morning our first consideration was to see how hard the frost had bitten us the night before. Every morning that we arose and found the river still open meant that there was still some chance of getting out. If the ice caught us on this side of the Great Canyon there was little hope of survival for us. Our anxiety may be imagined, therefore, regarding the particular complexion and variety of mystery that lay in wait for us beyond each unknown bend in the river. We had learned to dread the white-caps and the roar of the rapids. These meant delay, and delay meant starvation. But we never let it worry us more than we could help. *Yet the succeeding night, near those “small hours ” when, as physicians tell us, our vitality ebbs nearest to low-water mark, I lay awake, for the first time on the trip, oppressed by a feeling akin to dismay. It was almost certain now that we should have to kill one of the cayuses, or all of them—if they had not already starved to death—before we could reach Fort St. John, which was still, as we judged, a good two hundred miles away, although in reality it was not so far, and the only possible route thither lay by the capricious waters of this ill-named Peace River, which we were following perforce without a guide. The fact that we had already been ship- wrecked —and indefinitely delayed thereby— twice within a few miles was not reassuring ; for in both cases we had come to grief on uncharted rocks and rapids where we were not looking for trouble—on rocks brought up from the bottom of the stream by the very lowness of the waters ; and what had happened twice might well happen again, for the utmost vigilance and foresight could not avail to keep us clear of rocks and shoals which we could neither see nor hear. We were determined, however, to risk starva- tion rather than drowning ; for if we lost our outfit the six cayuses and the mule would be drowned also, and then we should no longer be able to eat them, especially if we ourselves were also drowned. With the utmost care our food might be made to keep us alive during part of the coming winter ; and we could kill the cayuses before they starved. So we determined to build new rafts every few miles rather than take chances of losing our very last chance of a meal. We finished our new raft at last. This was number three already, and it must be con- fessed that things looked ominous. But we turned out early with the best spirits we could muster, swallowed an apologetic breakfast, and got away by 7.20 a.m. Within an hour our raft was sitting serenely on another sand-bar. We drove the horses ashore to lighten her—this was always the first part of our shoal-drill, and they were probably getting used to it—and succeeded this time in pushing her off into the main current, taking the horses on board lower down, as usual. Then we continued our progress in some trepidation, and with such circumspection as the steering-gear of our craft would allow. Sometimes we saw the danger lying ahead in time, and there followed moments of desperate energy at the sweeps and a universal gasp of Telief when the danger was past. Often we would bump into the shore, the raft turning around end for end. Sometimes it was a brush heap or an island. We knew that worse lay in wait for us in the dreaded Parle-Pas Rapids. So we watched constantly, knowing that our very lives depended upon our vigil. We watched till we were tired with the pure exasperation of it. The whole miserable river was full of waves and ripples which looked as if made by rocks and shoals, but which mostly must have been an expression

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a __" i i i. §° THROUGH THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT. sit of pure “cussed- ness” on the part of the stream. Where the rocks and shoals really lay they were often ingeniously . : hidden. It was : ? | _ an awful river for rafting. A strong gale had sprung up a week before, and it was still blowing s0 strongly that we could scarcely hear each other calling from one end of the raft to the other, much less the warning roar of broken waters. Happily, the wind blew in = therightdirection — Froma) Drifting down the river. (Photograph, —from behind. We watched particularly for the appearance the Fates alone could tell. The issue of life of the long red cut bank on the port bow and the and death would be decided within three short deserted cabin on the starboard, which Flemand, minutes, anyway 5 and I must decide my course our faithless guide, had described as the danger- in three seconds. We were spared, in some signal to warn us of proximity to the Parle-Pas. sort, the torment of suspense. I said it was our So long as we saw no cabin and no long red cut, one chance of life to make that opening—a therefore, we felt comparatively safe. We drifted feeble chance at that, for who could tell what on, keeping well in the middle of the stream to danger lay beneath even so fair and innocent a get the utmost benefit of the current, and probably surface, as we had found by wearisome ex- making a few extra miles a day thereby. We perience ? needed them! The wind continued to howl But this was our only chance, and I recognised around our ears, and rain fell in sheets, when it it quickly. I set our graceful prow dead ahead did not sleet or snow; but we were thankful for that opening by the north bank. Here, at enough to be moving at all. least, was no creeping death, thank God, but Suddenly, about three in the afternoon, as we death in arms, if death must come, with all were floating down unconscious of the approach hands alert and ready for the final grip. We of danger, the high wind effectually drowning had no time for anything but action, and that all unusual and premonitory noises ahead, was lightning swift. I think now, when I recall disaster befell us. I was standing at the sweep those inconceivable three minutes, that we aft, when I saw, a few hundred yards ahead, a worked instinctively, while every man aboard was . long, black reef of ugly rocks stretching right as cool as the proverbial cucumber. We had across the river, looking exactly like the remains _ feared _ this situation ever since the desertion of a ruined dam and rising, perhaps, 2 dozen of Flemand; it had haunted our dreams and feet out of the water. It was the North Spirit’s disturbed our waking thoughts ; but now that it trump card ! I called the alarm: “ There’s the was realized, and we were face to face with Parle-Pas !’ death in a peculiarly uninviting guise, all fear Flemand had played us false. But we had no had gone, atid we found something in us akin time to think of him, or to curse his murderous to the generous glow of battle. At hand-grips perfidy ; we had no time for thought at all. It with Death, we had no time to fear him. looked as though the reef had fallen across the There before us lay the reef —long, low, and whole river—and all the way across. But, no; wicked, threatening the swiftest smash and scat- there was an opening hard by the left-hand bank, teration, and a short and futile struggle in the but whether it was wide enough to let us through boiling rapids beneath ; and here were we, on

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512 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the raft in mid-stream, drifting helplessly down upon it. At the outset, as the realization of our danger flashed into my mind, I had called two of my heaviest men to add their weight to mine at the after-sweep, and the other two raced for the bow. I remember shouting :— “If we go to pieces, every man for himself! We must make the opening yonder to the left!” Dead ahead lay the rocks, stretching across the angry waters; then came a slope, and the whole river racing down it. And in this un- wieldy craft we must go tobogganing down it, too, for there was no power in the whole North country able to get us to either shore. It would be a miracle if we reached the opening. We Strained at the sweeps. Now, by a desperate trembling, over that tumultuous inferno. We all lurched forward, and caught ourselves, and held on, while the water poured over us. Almost within reach of our hands great rocks rose up- lifted above the tumult on either side, beating back the spray which leapt twenty feet above our heads and fell on us. So we hung there—-for how long it is im- possible to say—while the stout timbers of the raft groaned like things in pain, and the horses in their strong pen quaked with fear, the flesh on their bones quivering like jelly. The waters poured headlong over everything, but their rush was not strong enough to carry away man or beast: so we hung and waited, impotent, to learn the will of the North gods. One way or From a) effort, we guided her between two rocks. Safe so far! The wind blew behind us, from the south- west. With all our might we dug those mon- strous, bucking, blundering, thirty-foot oars into the swirling water, scooping out great chunks of it with each deep, slow sweep, bringing the raft slowly nearer the Arctic shore, where lay our one chance of life. The current was running very swiftly now, and we with the current, but a little across it. Nearer the reef we went, with merciless rapidity, but nearer the gap of safety too. Faster and faster ran the current, until it was running swift as a millrace, fast as a galloping horse, and the sombre, wooded banks sped past us like the wings of some weird, uncanny bird. . . . Chunk! The dream dissolved There was a rock beneath the water in the very middle of the opening of the reef, and we had hit it full and fair. The raft bounded like a stricken moose, bent like a bow, then hung there, “ Packing" the stores ashore below the Parle-Pas rapids. ‘the other, it must soon be over. (Photograph But I shall not easily forget the duration of that suspense, nor yet the fact that not a man of us but was as cool as frozen muskeg until the stress was past. These observations and trepidations all came when it was over. Here, by the way, it was that the mule played false at last to his democratic professions, and vindicated the essential altruism of his better self, proving himself indeed ‘a mule and a brother ”—in spirit, of course. In the wild rush of the waters my bedding got adnft and was carried into the pen, and the mule (doubtless surprised into sincerity by the suddenness of the opportunity) suffered instinct to triumph over policy, and put ‘his foot on my bed and saved it for me. The terrific force of the impact when we struck had sent the raft sliding a good way up the rock ; and now the force of the frantic stream behind edged it gradually, doubtless inch

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THROUGH THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT. 513 - From a) by inch—for we shall never know how long we hung there—farther forward, until the centre of gravity was beyond the rock on which the raft was hanging. As it dipped forward (for we were hanging on the verge of a veritable water- fall, though at an angle of about forty-five degrees) the water caught it underneath from the rear and lifted it, and down we went into the whirlpool below. Can you imagine a drunken raft—a raft reel- ing and staggering? Here for another indeter- minate period we were tossed like a chip and carried round and round in this charming maelstrom of green and white—this merry-go- round of the wilderness. How could we get A scene in the mountains. (Photograph, out? I did not know. How did we get out eventually? I do not know. All I know is that we pulled hard enough to get out of the pit of Tophet, and then we went easily over another lower fall perhaps ten feet high, and found quiet water at last. We were not drowned. The cayuses were not drowned (nor our penitent mule—bless him!). We didn’t break up. The raft remained whole—and this fact doubtless saved all our lives. But I could not help thinking, as we hung over the fall—‘ What if the water below the fall is shallow? What if there is a big rock there? The raft will strike it head on and turn over like a pancake on top of us.” But there From a) Vol. xxiii.—65. The raft nearing Cust's House. (Photograph.

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514 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Down we went into the whirlpool below." EEE: SO

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THROUGH THE was deep water there, and so the catastrophe did not happen. We were in the midst of felicita- tions, when I saw a bear standing in the river by the bank a long way below. He looked the size of a musk-rat. I tried a long-range shot at him with the Mannlicher, whereupon he scampered out of the water. I fired again; he turned and smelt the ground just where he had been standing. Then one of the men shouted. “ Never mind the bear,” he cried; “there are rocks ahead.” : And in a nasty place they were, too—just in and around a big bend where the river turns sharply to the left. I threw the gun down on the logs and sprang to the sweep, and we passed Mr. Bruin trying to climb a perpendicular bluff on the right bank, and from the gallant effort he was making he also had evidently seen rocks ahead. We got into a nasty mix of water and rock, but saved our remaining stuff and some of the logs of the raft. But we had passed the last rapid, and joy was in our hearts. Here we were, through the Rocky Mountains. Dividing the party, I took two men and the horses with part of the outfit, having heard there was an old Klondiker’s trail from about this point to Cust’s House. We were lucky enough to find the trail, which stops short where the mountains begin in dead earnest. We awoke the first morning on the trail to find it covered with snow. We were able, however, to follow the “blazes,” and in two days arrived at Cust’s House, a tumble-down old shack filled with débris, including someone’s block and tackle, a boat, nails, screws, bolts, a horseshoe, and many empty whisky bottles. I found near by a few Saskatoon berries dried on the bushes, and was glad to eat them together with the red seed- pods of some wild-rose bushes—a poor substitute for a tomato salad. At Cust’s House the river is a mile wide. With a sudden flank movement, as it were, it turns sharply to the south and leaps downward between precipitous and ugly walls only about sixty yards apart. Here this leviathan prepares to take her last leap from the mountain to the plain. Down, down, with a thunderous roar that can be heard for miles around ; down into the shadows of canyons deep and black she charges angrily over ragged bastions that have = Hudson's Hope, where the Author's race ROCKY MOUNTAINS ON A RAFT. 515 ith starvation practically came to an end. From a Photograph. The natives hold the Canyon of the Big Bend in vast awe. A hundred years ago Alexander Mackenzie tried to ascend this canyon with picked men, but after getting a little way in he abandoned the tried to hold her back in vain. terrible waters. No one has ever gone through here alive, up or down. It has never been explored by Indian or white man. In primeval mystery the waters of the Peace seek this route of seclusion and death, and we know no more ‘of its mysteries now than they did a hundred— a thousand years ago. Below the Bend, at Hudson’s Hope, the river sweeps round, and while the current is swift it is peaceful, and there is no suggestion of what lies above. A tradition prevails throughout the Peace River district that when the floating trees come through this canyon they arrive in match-wood, and that the ice, on the break-up of spring, comes out in ice-cream. I planted a pack cover on a pole on the point of a tongue of sand-bar running far out into the river a mile or two above Cust’s House, upon which was inscribed with a piece of charcoal this suggestive legend: ‘Better Land Here.” Spending the night at this old camping- ground, we were lulled to sleep by the roar of the stream—fitting climax for a summer and fall with the “ River that Goes into the Mountain.” Twelve miles of easy portage—as “easy” goes in the Northland—and we made Hudson’s Hope, and were fairly in the great mid-conti- nental plain again. Our race with starvation was at an end.

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THE WIDE WORLD: In Other Magazines. YOUNG SPA TTHE above interesting photograph, which was taken in the market-place of the old Moorish town of Toledo, shows an ingenious method adopted in order to teach a baby to walk. * The child was moving so , quickly and waving its arms with such energy that the photograph was not obtained without much difticulty.— MISS H. J. HARDY, IN ‘THE STRAND MAGAZINE.” THE DUTCHMAN'S CLOCK. N Holland all private and unofficial clocks and watches are kept twenty minutes fast. When it is noon in the railway station, st-office, and other Government build- ings of The Hague the timepieces in the shops and the watches of the sturdy burghers show 12.20 p.m. Nobody can give you any reason for this. It is a custom that has been handed down for generations, and the Dutch are too conservative to change the ways of their progenitors without some very great inducement.—FROM ‘' TIT-BITS.” THE MOUNTAIN LION. ARVELLOUS tales are told of the prowess of mountain lions, pro- bably by those who have never hunted them. Ihave ever. read of a cougar dis- puting a carcass with a grizzly and coming off victorious. Such stories are the merest rubbish. As a matter of fact, the cougar is too arrant a coward to dispute with any- thing of its own size, and this in spite of its being extraordinarily lithe and powerful. The only time when mountain lions really become dangerous is when they are wounded or cornered and when they are defending their young. Then they are, next to the grizzly, the most deadly animals on the North American Continent. — LINCOLN WILBAR, IN ‘ FRY’s MAGAZINE,” JAPAN FOR TOURISTS. H1ERE are few places that can offer more delights to those who love a ramble o’er hill and dale than the Hakone district of Japan. Its lovely woodlands and mountains, ringing with the sound of rills and rivers, cascades and waterfalls, make it a veritable paradise for a holiday. The surroundings of Lake Hakone are very beautiful. It nestles among the hills, with the long street of low kaia-thatched houses of Hakone village at one end, near which is the summer home of the Emperor, while in the north Fujiyama’s shapely crest towers above the surrounding mountains, crowned with a diadem of dazzling virgin snow.— HERBERT PONTING, IN ‘COUNTRY LIFE.” £ SLAVERY IN KOREA. anes exists in Korea, and the system is restricted to the possession of female slaves whose duties are concerned with the rough work of the house. A slave attends to the washing—an exacting and continuous labour in a Korean household—carries water from the well, assists with the cooking, undertakes the marketing, and runs errands. She doves not carry out any duties of a superior character ; her place is in the kitchen or in the yard, and she may become neither a lady’s-maid nor a favoured servant of any degree. In the fullness of time she figures in the funeral procession of her master.— FROM ‘THE SUNDAY STRAND.” ;

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Odds and Ends. The Public Wash—A Remarkable Tree—‘ Trial by Rice,” etc. ‘TRANGE as it may seem to our readers’ eyes, the scene represented | in the annexed photograph is to be | frequently met with in the poorer-class streets of the principal Italian cities. It is to be presumed that the laws there existing ° with regard to the creation of obstructions are less stringent than those obtaining in this country, although, as a matter of fact, a similar state of things on a somewhat smaller scale is to be found in many of the mean streets in some cities in’ the north of England. The houses shown in the picture are most probably decayed palaces, which have sunk so low nowadays as to be used as tenement buildings. ‘The grounds in which these noble- men’s residences formerly stood have long since been used for building purposes, which accounts. for the necessity of hanging the washing in the street—a practice which has its drawbacks as well as advantages, for a gale of wind often results in the dispersal of the garments over a wide area and subsequent heated disputes as to their ownership. 4 1 3 ; \ \ th The Public Wash—A street scene in the lower quarters of an Italian town. From a Copyright Stereogragh by H.C. White & Co., London.

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518 The tree trunk shown in the next photograph has stood for the last sixteen years entirely severed from its base! The stump is fifteen feet in diameter, and the trunk towers seventy-five feet in the air. This remarkable freak islocatednearthe Sequoia _ forest reserve, in Tulare County, Cali- fornia, and was sawn off by THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in the picture, withstanding some of the severest wind storms that the State has known, held in its natural position by its great weight. We have pub- lished in this sectionon several occasions photo- graphs showing® the expeditious . moving of build- ings bodily from one site to an- other by means lumbermen for of traction timber. Through engines, power- some miscalcula- ‘he cae ee ful teams of tion, when the this seventy-fivefoot tree has stood for sixteen years entirely severed from its horses, and so cut was finished = From a] base! [ Photograph. on, but the the tree still removal of a held its position, and dynamite was resorted to to bring it to the ground, which accounts for the deep gash shown in the picture. After the first charge of the explosive had been ignited the tree still remained standing, and it was discovered that the entire trunk had been shattered by the discharge, and was therefore useless for lumber. Accordingly, the work was stopped, and the giant has remained as shown House-Moving in the W structure in its entirety by a party of men is something new. The quaint snapshot here re- produced was sent by a South African reader, who writes as follows: “This photograph was taken at Ginginhlovu, Zululand, and is a strik- ing instance of the makeshifts one is compelled to fall back upon in the wilds. The house seen in the picture had to be moved about two hundred yards, and, in default of any other a ‘orty Kaffirs picked the hut up bodily and carried it two hundred yards to its new site, From a Photograph.

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ODDS AND ENDS. 519 means of transport, it was finally picked up bodily by a gang of forty Kaffirs, and, -with much shouting and yelling, removed to its new The employés assembling for the ordeal. site, where it is now used as an office by the local trader.” In these days of West- ern civilization, bomb outrages, and so forth, it is strange to find how some of the old customs still remain among the people of Bengal. ‘“ Not long since,” writes an Indian estate-owner, “ my Office was broken into at night—thanks to a sleeping watchman — and some two hundred rupees taken from the desks of various clerks. A night or two previously a fine fat goat had disappeared from below the same offices, and as J was absent on a shooting trip in Assam, the matter was put into the hands of our local Police, with the usual result—nothing. On my return I was requested to allow the old-time ceremony of ‘Trial by Rice’ to be performed. I gave my consent, and this is what happened. After a priest had been consulted as to an auspicious day, every person suspected and those who were usually near the place at night were ordered to be present at ten o’clock that morning. On that date all turned up. First the people were made to sit in a semicircle, and a ‘plate’ (a square of plantain leaf) was set before each. Then a priest walked up and down chanting and scattering flowers. These The ordeal in progress. said flowers, by the way, must be picked by a Brahmin, and they must be those which are facing the sun. This ceremony over, one of the clerks went to each man and gave hint about two ounces of dry raw rice and told him to chew it . toa pulp. Then commenced what looked like a chewing match. After about ten minutes had elapsed they were told to stop and eject it into the plantain leaf. All did so easily with the exception of three men. In the case of these three the chewed rice had in two cases become slightly moistened, but not sufficiently so to allow of its being easily ejected, and they had much ado to get rid of it. The third man had chewed his into flour and it came out as such, perfectly dry. One of these three men promptly commenced to cry and begged for mercy, con- fessing everything, and stating that man number three, who had acted as a kind of flour mill, was the chief instigator. It is a curious fact that fear, arising from an evil conscience, pre- vents saliva coming to the mouth, with the result described. What is declared to be one of the finest roof- (Photographs. from) The three culpri gardens in the world is that owned and managed bya lady, Mrs. Blackwell, of Seattle, Washington. It occupies a space of twelve thousand square feet, and, in addition to well-laid-out grass lawns, flower-beds with beautiful blooms, shrubs, trees, and climbing vines, there is a charming tea-

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520 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) house and a pagoda. The whole of the work in this aerial garden is done by Mrs. Blackwell and her two daughters. In addition to fruit trees, there are a number of ash and birch trees, six holly bushes, four hawthorns, a few evergreens, two laburnums, and several Arabia trees, together with one small apple tree, which bears enormously large fruit. Besides this there are large shrubs, like the ~ A wonderful roof-garden constructed and tended by a lady and her two daughters. (Photograph. lilac, and quantities of roses, there being three hundred or more bushes. The climbers, which add softness and grace and give the flowing lines needed to complete the picture, are jasmine, Virginia creeper, grape, three varieties’ of clematis, wistaria, ivy, and climbing roses. The photograph reproduced above gives a good idea of the beauty of this unique garden. += ee i @ THROUGH THE ON A RAFT AWonser fel hoof ba arden Remarkable Tree ‘ “Tie CASTAWAYS OF SGUADALUPEMSLAND - A House Buitt IN A DAY wt ‘AND TH IGBEAR 7 _ BULSTRODE ~ CReas fms msoee “TROOPER LOVELACE Sth ~\, SPORT IN INDIA PHANTOM TIGER ‘THE BALINESE AND THEIR WAYS The map-contents of “The Wide World Magazine,” which shows at a glance the locality of each article and narrative of adventure in this num!

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Digitized by Google

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“I SHUT MY EYES AND-LET G9," (SEE PAGE 525.)

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THE WIDE Vol. XXIII. WORLD OCTOBER, MAGAZINE. 1909. No. 138. Gum-Hunter. By D. W. O. Facan. Trapped in a tree-top! the “gum-hunter”’ That was the extraordinary predicament in which Mr. Robert Imrie, of this story, found himsclf. How he got into such a plight, and how he escaped from it, is told in the narrative. Bal’ horse casting a shoe on the stony “road, I dismounted and turned into Imrie’s smithy to get it replaced. I had not seen “ Bob” Imrie since his school-days, fifteen years before. As a boy he promised well, and had now grown into a fine, athletic young fellow, broad of shoulder and brawny of arm. I noticed, however, that he halted slightly, 2 as he went about his work route. I knew that the trees, never having been worked, must be full of gum, and the value of some of it, when got, would be well worth the trouble. I wanted money badly. During the winter I had met a girl in Whangarei, and after a bit we got engaged and agreed to marry. .But I wasn’t going to make her the wife of a wander- ing gum-fossicker ; she was a deal too good for that. So we concluded —a result, doubtless, of one of those accidents inseparable from a rough life on the frontier of civilization. In response to my queries, to the musical clink of hammer on anvil, he told me the following story :-— It was in September, 1907, that I set out on a gum-climbing expedi- tion in a Government kauri forest situated right in the wilds, forty miles beyond the settle- ment line. It was a difficult track to follow, but a year before the surveyors had gone through with a . Mr. Robert Imrie, whose extraordinary predicament, train of pack-horses and, while gum-hunting in New Zealand, is here related. From a Photograph. in a manner, blazed the Vol. xxiii —66. to wait till I’d knocked up two or three hundred pounds, so as to buy a bit of a farm and stock it. I calculated to do it in eighteen months at the outside. But man _ proposes and God disposes, and here I am, back at my old trade of blacksmith- ing, which I learnt as a boy, married and happy as a king. I started out from the nearest settlement with two horses, two months’ “tucker,” and my gear loaded on a pack-saddle. My idea was to get together, say, half a ton of gum, and then come into the village for a train of pack-horses and fetch it out.

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524 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “*T started out with two horses, two months’ ‘tucker,’ and my gear loaded on a pack-saddle.” My word! The trees were full. Gum was worth money in those days—from a shilling to three shillings a pound-—and I was doing famous. Lonely? Well, it was a bit; but I had old Gyp, my dog, for company. He and I had been chums since he was a pup. He was not much for pedigree—just a half-bred collie, but sharp as a needle and wiser than many humans. Towards the end of October—the 24th, to be exact—I decided to try my luck deeper in among the trees. It was heavy going, and I had to cut a way through the undergrowth, in many places, with the tomahawk. A little after midday I came to a bit of a natural clearing. In the centre stood two magnificent trees. Their trunks must have been ten feet in diameter, and both of them rose full ninety feet without a break till they branched out in the crown. It was a bit late, but I decided to mount them and, knocking off the gum, bring in the pack-horse next day to fetch it out. At the third cast the lead line went well over a horizontal branch, and I soon drew my climb- ing rope over, knotted the two ends, stuck the tomahawk in my belt, and shinned up. This is the only method of getting into a kauri. There is no way of ascending the huge vertical bole, with bark smooth and slippery as asphalt. Dangerous? Well, I don’t know; but I tell you you've got to be careful. There was nigh on to a hundredweight of gum in the first tree, and I soon had it down. But it was the sight of the great lumps in its neighbour that made my mouth water—splendid amber-coloured stuff sticking in the forks in big chunks. Late as it was, I meant having that gum before supper. I ought to have slid down the rope and, hauling it after me, made a fresh cast. But, though the trunks of the trees were full a hundred feet apart at the base, their small outer branches interlaced, and, to avoid delay, I decided to swing from tree to tree. I calculated that by fixing my rope well out and high up on a limb overhead, standing back, and letting myself swing, I could manage to catch a branch in the other tree strong enough to bear my weight. No sooner thought of than done. Swinging out in a grand curve, I caught a good hold and landed safely. Lord! I was glad I’d come. There was

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THE GUM-HUNTER. - 525 more gum than I’d thought, and grand quality. Twenty pounds cash I put it at, as I sent it flying to the ground. Another step towards Dora and the farm, I thought as I worked. As the last lump fell it was getting dusk, so I made a move to get back to earth. On reaching the branch to which I had swung, however, I got a shock that nearly knocked me out of the tree. Where was the rope ? Good heavens! In my hurry, I had forgotten to make it fast after swinging, and it hung full thirty feet away from the limb of the other tree. - And now I was properly trapped by my own neglect. I tried crawling to the utmost limit of the smaller branches, in the hope of making a spring to catch the rope in mid-air. But it was no use; the branches, bending with my weight as I went, only served to increase the distance. Once a rotten stick broke under me, and for a horrible moment I swung, a hundred feet in air, by one hand alone. By a desperate effort I recovered myself, but it gave me a fright, I can tell you. Night had now fallen. Below all was dark as the pit, but sufficient light still shone on the tree-tops to enable me to make my way, care- fully and slowly, back to the crown, where, getting astride a great limb, I sat with my back against the trunk to wait for daylight. I could hear the dog scurrying round and whining in the darkness down below. Poor chap; the situation had got a bit beyond his comprehension. He’d sat quiet enough beside the tucker-bag whilst daylight lasted, an interested spectator of my gymnastics among the branches. Now, however, when he could neither see me nor hear me moving about, he got worried, and, coming to the foot of the tree, barked impa- tiently, as who should say, “What the dickens are you doing up there so long? Why don’t you come down to supper? I’m hungry.” Hungry! I was sharp-set enough to eat my boots ; and the thought of that tucker-bag and tea-“ billy ” waiting below, out of reach ! That was a beastly night. A year long it seemed as I sat there thinking. And my thoughts were none too pleasant. I thought of the yarns I’d heard of chaps being “tree’d” before, their bones being found months later— just a little crumpled heap where they’d fallen. I daren’t sleep for fear of sliding off the slippery limb, and every now and again would catch myself nodding and wake with a start to hear the dog howling. My chances of escape were small indeed. I had tried creeping from tree to tree on the small branches, and failed. Descent by way of the massive ninety-foot trunk—its thirty-foot girth smooth as polished mahogany—was hope- less. As I sat there in the silence and darkness I began to despair. There was just one chance —a forlorn hope at best; but, as I thought of my girl and what she'd do if I died, I resolved to have a try at it in the morning. At last the dawn came. It got light enough to see things below, and there was faithful old Gyp still whimpering beside the grub. As the sun rose and its rays beat on the tree-tops, the heat fell on me heavy and solid. The thin foliage cast no shade. A ray of sunlight flashed on the tin “billy” below. Jove! how thirsty I was! How I longed for a swig of the cold tea it contained ! Faint and exhausted, I was afraid of becoming light-headed. Something must be done quickly, and I set about making a rope of my clothes. Shout? You can bet I shouted. But what was the good? There was no one to hear in a month of Sundays. As well start cooee-ing on a desert island. Barring the forest ranger, who visited the place once in six months, nobody came within a day’s march. The nearest in- habitants were the timber-men twelve miles away. I was in light working trim of strong shirt and moleskin trousers—the boots didn’t count. These, cut in strips, sufficed, with my leather belt, to form a rope of twenty feet, It’s manu- facture occupied some time, as I carefully tested each strand, having no fancy to lose a foot or two of handhold by its premature breaking. About twenty feet out from the base of the trunk, immediately under the limb on which I was perched, grew a nikau-palm, perhaps fifteen feet in beight. If I cold fix things so as to drop on its spreading top, I thought it might act as a cushion to break my fall. Fixing the rope plumb centre, I lay flat along the branch to collect my courage, which was at pretty low ebb. My poor line hung down such a little way, and the gap between it and the palm top loomed so terribly deep, that, though I knew it was my only chance, I hesitated to take the risk. I was in an awful funk. At last I pulled myself together. ‘Come, come,” I said. “ There’s a fighting chance, any- way. You can but die once if the worst happens. As well that as drop starving from the tree a few hours later.” With that I slid off my branch, went hand under hand to the end of the line, steadied myself for the centre, and then, with a muttered prayer, shut my eyes and—let go. A rush through the air, a crash among the palm leaves, a thud, an agonizing jar, a red mist before my eyes, and the world went dark.

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526 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It was about noon when I dropped. When I awoke, slowly, to a sense of life and pain, to find the dog licking my face as he lay beside me, the sun was low and the trees stood around dim in the early bush twilight. I must have lain as I fell, without sense or motion, for many hours. From the position in which my left leg was doubled under me I knew the thigh was broken, and the sharp stab in breathing showed trouble to the ribs. In such a condition a man’s wits work dully, but as the power of coherent thought returned I realized that my attempt at escape had landed . me in a worse fix than that in the tree. There, at least, my body was whole. Miles deep in the bush, far from even the least-frequented track, there was no possibility of attracting attention. A death of misery, of lingering pain and slow starvation, a white heap of bones to be found months, years later, as the line of settlement advanced--that would be my fate unless help came quickly. There was the dog. I might make him understand. Looking into his eyes and telling him my troubles, I whispered, “Home! Go home !” For a while he refused to leave me, but when, as near to shouting as I was able, I repeated the order he ran whining a little way, turned, came back, licked my face once more, and was off like a shot, but—in the wrong direction. Off hunting on his own account, no doubt, and I fell back, groaning. His desertion ‘was the last straw, and I gave way to despair. My body was one huge ache. But worse than the agony I endured was the torture of thirst. It gripped my throat like a red-hot band. The bright tin of the “billy ” glinted through the dusk, a bit to the right. I must drink, if I died for it, there and then. Oh, that year-long crawl of twenty yards! The loose ends of my thigh-bone gritted together as I clawed along by the tree-roots. Fainting and creeping by turns, it was black night before, groping in the dark, I found the “billy,” wrenched off the lid, and drank—and drank. I’ve a nightmare recollection of dark forms, dim and indistinct, murmur of voices, sounding very far away, the glimmer of a lantern, and the “* Groping in the dark, I found the ‘ billy.”**

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~ THE GUM-HUNTER. 527 neck of a bottle between my teeth, but re- member nothing clearly till I woke in hospital three days later and saw Dora with her arms thrown across the bed and her face buried in the bedclothes, whilst her body shook with long sobs. Word had reached her in Whangarei two days before, and she rode through the night the forty miles to Dargaville to be with me. The doctors had said there was no hope; that I should remain unconscious to the end. Poor girl, she blamed herself that, through her,’ for the sake of a little money, I had gone to my death. I could not lift my hand, to lay it on her head, but whispered low: “Heart up, pretty! I’m a long way from dead yet.” I think it was the sight of the joy that sprang to her eyes, chasing the misery from her face, as she heard me, that set me fighting hard for life. It was a weary tussle, but love won out at the end and I cheated the doctors. Barring this limp I'm as fit as ever. It was some fellows ‘from the timber- camp who found me. They told me after- wards how the dog had rushed into their shanty at supper-time. They booted him out, but he answered their kicks with beseeching whines and refused to go. There were two fellows that knew him. They’d been out examining the timber a few days before and put in a night at my camp. From his behaviour they guessed something was wrong, so eight of them started out to follow the dog’s lead. Across the river, up the valley, over the scrub- clad ranges, along the great plateau and through the forest he brought them, straight to where I Mr. Robert Imrie and the dog that saved his life. From a Photograph. lay. They stagted at sundown ; it was midnight when they reached me. On a litter of poles and the canvas of my tent they started out to get me over the twelve miles to the river. If you’ve ever followed an un- beaten track through the bush, you can realize the work they had. Across deep gullies, through swamps, over rocks and great trunks of fallen trees, down cliffs where, even with hands free, a man needs hang by his eyebrows, they got me safely. Six- teen hours it took them through the bush, and thence by boat to Dargaville, and I lay like a log all the time. But what beats me is the way that dog found the help nearest. I'd sent him home to Whan- garei, but he went one better, making straight for the timber-men. He had not been that road before, and must have followed their old trail, swimming the river and picking it up again the other side. Instinct? Pshaw! Don’t let anyone tell me dogs can’t reason. Look at him now, below the bench. He knows what we're saying. From out the shadow of the tool-laden bench came the soft swish, swish of Gyp’s wagging tail on the coal-dusty floor as he lay regarding us sheepishly. He had a bashful look, as who shouid say, “You men are making altogether too much of what was, after all, a very simple matter.” “That's the yarn, sir,” concluded Imrie, ‘and if you'll wait five minutes till I straighten this coulter, we'll go inside and get a cup of tea from Dora. She'll be very glad to see you.”

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A Himalayan Arcadia. By LizuTenant-CoLoneL R. H. TyackeE. A description of the Kulu Valley, in the Central Himalayas, which might well be called the land of laziness, for the men-folk have ideas of their own on the subject of work, and allow their women and beneficent Nature to do most things for them. The Kulu people have some very curious customs, which are here described and illustrated. The Eastern boundary of the valley. From a Photograph. HE Kulu Valley, the interesting region with which I propose to deal in this article, lies in the Central Himalayas, a hundred and twenty miles due east of Simla. It runs due north and south, and is about fifty miles in length and from two miles in the broadest to half a mile in its narrowest part. Issuing from the main valley are several lateral valleys called “ nalas,” running back to the higher ranges which surround it. The longer of these valleys lead up to the eternal snow, the smaller ones to an un- dulating plateau, above the limit of forest, which is also snow- covered, generally, until the end of June. The country, excepting the central portion, which is culti- vated, is covered with dense forests of deodar and firs, with several natural clearings called “thaches,” where sheep are folded in the summer months. ‘There are two entrances to the valley from the south, one by the Dulchi Pass, six thousand feet, and the other by the Buboo Pass, ten thousand feet. There is only one entrance from the north— namely, by the Rohtung Pass, fifteen thousand feet. A typical Kulu village—The cattle are housed on the ground floors of the houses, From a) the people living above. (Photograph,

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A HIMALAYAN ARCADIA. 529 Unfortunately, the inhabitants have not much in their favour. ‘They are an effemin- ate race and hate work, as all natives do who can use the soil to provide them with their material wants. They are an agricultural people, working ‘“‘small hold- ings.” The fields are arranged in ter- races, cut out of the hillsides around the villages, which: are built on the crest of spurs, or wherever a minute area of level ground can be found. ; The men, generally speaking, have no pretensions to good looks, though the women —or, rather, the girls, for they are old and wrinkled at five-and-twenty —are often pretty. Their religion, if they have any at all, is a debased form of Hinduism, but there is no fanaticism about them. Each village has a oe Ed A temple, dedicated to a tree which is supposed to harbour a From a’ demon. [Photograph. Vol. xxiii, 67. A Kulu village in winter—The verand From at raph. e boarded in for the storage of grain. “deota,” a kind of local god, to whom the people appeal through the “hela,” or guardian, for rain, fine weather, the fixing of a pro- pitious day for the commencement of their harvest, etc., but this is done more as a matter of form than from any feeling of trust in the power of the “deota,” and is often only an excuse for a big feed. It is usual to propitiate the deity with the gift of a sheep, which is, of course, eaten by the people themselves. If their supplications to the “deotas” are not attended to, they not infrequently proceed to administer punishment to the unhceding god—- take him out of his temple and leave him out- side at the mercy of the elements, turn bim upside down, or even beat him with shoes! The people of Kulu are extremely superstitious, and go in extensively for demonolatry. Many trees are held to be sacred, and have tiny temples dedicated to them. The demons are popularly supposed to live at the tops of trees, and if a tree falls in such a way that it is possible to pass under it, as is often the case on the mountain sides, every man before going beneath the trunk will place on it a stick or a stone to propitiate its guardian spirit. Certain streams are also sacred, and no one is allowed to wash dirty clothes in them. During 1908 some strangers came into the valley, and happened to pollute the water of a river in this manner. It chanced to be a year of extraordinary rainfall, and the people implicitly believe that the exces- sive rain was sent by the outraged “deota” of the stream as a punishment. The houses in Kulu. are all built after the

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530 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Kulu girls. From a Photograph. same pattern, consist- ing of one storey and one room, without windows or any other Opening than the door. The cattle are housed on the ground floor, which is cleared only once a year, in the spring, when manure is required for the fields. The people have absolutely no idea of sanitation, and were it not for the pure mountain air that penetrates into their ill- made habitations they would surely be visited by terrible epidemics. There is a veranda round the living portion of the houses, in which the crops are stored; in the upper portion of the valley, when the snowfall is heavy, these verandas are shielded by planks during the winter months and opened up again in the spring. The dress of the men-folk is a tunic-shaped coat of homespun wool called “ pattoo,” fastened at the waist with a cummerbund ; pantaloons of the same material, tied with a string and tight below the knees, are also worn, but these are discarded altogether in the warm weather. A cap of homespun, shaped something like a railway travelling-cap without a peak, is also worn, and a flower is usually carried behind the ear by way of ornament. the quaint headdresses. From a Photograph. Women of the Upper Valley—Notice The dress of the women is a warm “ pattoo” blanket only, put on in such a manner that the ends come over the shoulders, and are fastened across the breast by two brass pins, and bound round the waist with a cummerbund. Their arms and legs are bare, and excepting at the countless “melas” (fairs), and in the winter, they wear no other clothing. ‘lhe children wear no _head-dress at all, but on arrival at more mature years they cover their heads with a kerchief of cotton, silk, or velvet, or, in some villages, a grotesque erection of twisted wool rising to a point, and ornamented with a spot of red cloth ora tassel of tinsel. The ladies have a great love of jewellery, and when dressed for “ melas” are literally covered with bangles, rings, necklets, earrings, and nose-rings. A crescent- shaped band of silver filigree work, edged with a fringe, is worn over the fore part of the head and covers half the brow. This jewellery, except in the case of the richest, is of silver enamel, for which work the neigh- bouring district of Kangra is renowned. As in all Eastern countries, the field-work is per- formed by the women, who are, as a matter of fact, simply the servants of the men. Poly- gamy is thecustom of the country. ‘The richer a man is, of course, the more fields he possesses, and the more labourers he needs, for which reason he acquires a large number of wives. There is no marriage cere- mony beyond the giving of presents by the man to the girl’s parents and the drinking of a cup of “loogree ” (rice beer), with a feast for all rela- A Kalu bride—the marriages! age is eleven or twelve. From a Photograph.

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A HIMALAYAN ARCADIA. 531 Winnowing the corn. From a Photograph. tions and acquaint- ances. The marriage- able age for girls is eleven or twelve, and married women have unlimited freedom. The agricultural methods in vogue in Kulu are those of ten thousand years ago ; the fields, frequently too small to plough, are laboriously dug by hand. By way of harrowing, a heavy board, with a_ big stone or a child on it to lend weight, is dragged over the field by a man or woman, or both. The harvest is gathered by the tedious process of cutting off each ear of corn separately, except in the case of the rice, when a tiny reaping-hook is used. New grain is trodden out of the husk by cattle, the winnowing being performed by a woman on a platform dropping the grain and allowing the wind to blow away the refuse. Time seems to be of no account at all. Nobody hates work more than the Kulu man. His one and sole idea is to amuse himself. The country is not over-populated, and the soil produces sufficient for his food and drink. All cereals flourish, and there is an abundance of Rolling the fields. From a Photograph. rice with which to make “loogree,” the native © beer. What does the Kulu want more? His chief delight is a “mela.” A “ mela,” trans- lated into English, means a fair, and the original meaning of a fair is a “market” held at stated times. There is, however, no buying, selling, or exchanging at a Kulu “mela.” The inhabit- ants of two, three, or more hamlets join together at a certain place, bring the village idols, place them in a ring, and the men dance round them occasionally. Large quantities of ‘‘loogree ” are brought out, and drunkenness and debauchery follow. The women and girls of all castes have absolute freedom on such occasions, and they enjoy themselves hugely. It is on these occa- sions that they wear all their jewellery, but their garment is the same, though it is sometimes— not often—washed for the occasion. Women of other countries like to wear fine clothes . on _ festive occasions, but the Kulu woman knows nothing of clothes, though she has a distinct longing for jewellery—not plain gold or silver, how- ever, for the gold must be studded with coloured glass to represent precious stones, and the silver must be heavily enamelled. From a) Women pounding rice. (Photograph. The men, when attending “melas,” like to wear a coloured cap, and invariably carry a flower behind the ear. Sometimes a garland of flowers, made in the shape of a daisy-chain, is worn round the neck, and a very large pro- portion wear continually a necklet of coloured bone beads made to represent coral. Lucky fellows they are, living in an ideal climate, growing sufficient on their own fields to support themselves and their families with food and drink, having enough sheep and goats to furnish

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532 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ' them with clothing, free grazing for their flocks and herds, as much fire- wood as they can burn from the forest sur rounding their holdings, as many women as they want for wives and servants, and as much amusement as they re- quire in the “melas,” which are held, at some place or other, almost weekly throughout the year. It is interesting to compare the lot of these people with that of the poor in our own over - populated towns and cities. The Kulu people are extraordinarily immune from any serious disease; they suffer in the lower valley during the autumn from malarial fever, as the rice-fields breed the mosquito which is now supposed to be responsible for that malady, but it is not of a severe type, and readily yields toa couple of doses of quinine. Kula girls—the one on the right is wearing all her jewellery. From a Photograph. A procession bringing in the village “* deota,"'or god, at a Kula “mela.” From a Photograph. In the upper valley rheumatism is the chief trouble, which is not to be wondered at, con- sidering that they have only one garment, which they never change, and which, when wet, they allow to dry on their backs. There is, however, one disease which is very prevalent throughout the whole valley, and that is goitre, the cause of which remains a mystery. The advantages of life in such a favoured region as Kulu are so readily recognized that in the winter it is visited by hundreds from the surrounding countries—Lahoul, Spiti, Bushahir, Bhutan, Ladakh, Tibet, and even Nepaul. Driven from their own countries by the snow, they flock into Kulu, and live in dilapidated tents or shelters by the banks of the river, or wherever they can find a level camping-ground. Usually accompanied by small herds of sheep, goats, ponies, and donkeys, they live in peace until the snow melts sufficiently to allow of their returning to their own countries. These visitors are generally Buddhist by religion, and are a peace-loving, harmless people, but excellent traders, as one soon finds when endeavouring to purchase curios from them. They know the value of them all, and invariably commence by asking three times as much as they expect to get. The habitation of these nomads, when sojourn- ing in the Kulu Valley, is a shelter made of rags ‘and supported by poles, which, I presume, bears the courtesy title of a tent. They are, however, neither waterproof nor windproof, and but for the look of the thing the people might as well remain in the open. A portion of one of these shelters is usually fitted up as a temple; an old box is covered: with a dirty rag, and on this is

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A placed a prayer-wheel or bell and other symbols of the ‘Tibetan Buddhist religion. . I say Tibetan Buddhist advisedly, because it differs greatly from the Buddhism of Ceylon, Burma, and Japan. It is in reality a hotch-potch of mysti- cism, magic, and demonolatry, with only a thin veneer of Buddhism. The essence of their belief is that the air is iffpregnated with demons and that the chief object of one’s life must be to ward off their malig- nant attacks. For this purpose their dwellings are covered with flags bearing mystic signs; spears and tridents—on which the spirits are expected to impale themselves —surround them, and the lamas, or priests, are armed with daggers and bells to frighten them. More- over, every man and woman Carries an amulet. There is a great deal of the out- ward show of religion in the country. Monasteries, or “ lama- serais,” as they are called, are numerous, and are always pictur- esquely situated on some com- manding position. There are simply hundreds of “mani panés” on the road - sides, which must always be passed by believers on the right hand. These “mani panés ” are long huts of stones, twenty or more yards in length. On each stone is cut the mystic sentence, “Om mani padme hum!” the correct meaning of which is doubtful, but the interpretation gener- ally accepted is, “Hail! the flower in the Lotus,” and in some form or other it is met with every- where. It is in the prayer-wheel carried by the devout ;. in the prayer - drums turned by water; On From a) HIMALAYAN ARCADIA. 533 A Lahoul lama. A Kulu temple. the prayer-flags seen flying from every “lamaserai”; in the amulets carried by the people everywhere ! The stones for the “ mani panés ” ate carved by the lamas in the winter and sold to the people. The lamas, practically speaking, are the religion, and so popular is “lamaism” that one in every six of the inhabitants is a lama! There are several sects of them, but those generally encountered are of the “Gelugpa” or yellow sect, or of the “ Nin-ma-pa ” or red sect. Kulu is an ideal country for Europeans, for it is possible to get a climate suitable to all conditions of men and their many diseases by moving up or down the valley only a few miles; and there are places where hot sulphur and mineral baths can be had, all free to the world, where one can undergo a “crre” under one’s own condi- tic s. For sport there are bears, black and brown, panthers, ibex, and tahr (wild goats), burrhel (wild sheep), barking deer, musk deer, six kinds of pheasants, three kinds of partridges, wild duck, woodcock, and snipe, so that the sportsman can have shooting _ practically all the year round. Living is cheap, too, and it is possible for a man with a very limited income to have a winter resi- dence at four thou- sand feet, a house in which to spend the rainy season at seven thousand feet, and tents to camp about for sport on the mountains dur- ing April, May, and June, and from the 15th of September - till the rst of November. Where else on earth could a man keen on sport find such a (Photograph. country?

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THE JEALOUSY OF PEPE: An Adventure in the Pyrenees. ToLp By FELIPE SANCHEZ y ARROYO. In this exciting wey: a Spanish gentleman relates the nerve-trying experience that befell him among Pp the mountains of per Aragon, where he was spending a holiday. The hillmen were smugglers almost to a man, and suspected him of being a police spy. Furthermore, a rejected suitor of the innkeeper’s pretty daughter took it into his head that the girl had fallen in love with the stranger, and vowed vengeance. The upshot was that the author underwent a particularly unpleasant ordeal, from which he barely escaped with his life. BN the summer of 1902 I turned my back on Madrid, bound for the north j] of Aragon, where I intended to spend my annual holiday. It had been, and still is, my custom to pass my vacations in those regions of Spain with which I am unacquainted ; thus I have been able gradually to add to my knowledge of my country and countrymen, and to study history, geography, folk-lore, and archzology on the spot instead of out of books. On the particular occasion about which I am going to write I had chosen as the field of my research that part of Upper Aragon which lies to the north of Saragossa and Lerida, in the heart of the Pyrenees. After spending a few days in the old-world town of Jaca, I wandered farther afield, the call of the mountains being too strong to resist, and one morning took my seat in the rickety old stage-coach which, if the mules and their driver be willing, rattles the traveller from Jaca to a mountain village called Satardu. I decided to make this pic- turesque hamlet—a congrega- tion of huts surrounding a fortress - like church — my head-quarters for the summer, and I accordingly engaged a room at the village inn, which was the strangest. mixture of old-fashioned ways and dis- comfort it has ever been my luck to behold. I managed to secure the largest room in the house, which had two magnificent views—one towards the west, up the valley in the direction of St. Béat, whicn is the first French village on the other side of the Pyrenees, the other towards the north, to where the hills rise into mountains, the cap of Mount Vallier being just visible in the distance. Now, it is well known that these Pyrenean valleys and villages are infested with smugglers, Felipe Sanchez y Arroyo, who here tells of an alarming experience that befell him in the mountains of Upper Aragon. From a Photo. by Bauset, Madrid. who carry on their nefarious trade fo and fro across the frontier into France. The usual object of contrebande is tobacco, though spirits also play an important part in the illegal transactions. To most of the mountaineers smuggling is not only a means of subsistence, but at the same time a form of sport in which practically one and all indulge, though they carry their life in their hands while engaged in it. Though it was by no means my intention to join in any of these expeditions and run the risk of a brush with the French gendarmes or the Spanish guardtas, I never- theless wished to learn as much about the smugglers as 1 could. Thanks to the peculiar friendliness which character- izes my countrymen, I was soon on speaking terms with most of the male inhabitants of the village. Though I found them more reserved than most Spaniards, we got on very well together and talked about all manner of tural topics, rarely, however, broaching the subject of smuggling, which I perceived they avoided carefully. During the first few days of my stay the weather was good, and I spent practically the whole time roaming about in the mountains. This was fol- lowed by aspellof bad weather, which kept me indoors. With the change in the weather it struck me that the attitude of the villagers towards me changed also; they seemed to avoid me, to dislike my company, and to answer my greetings curtly, as thovzh anxious to escape from my presence as quickly as possible. It was on a wet July day, towards evening, that, somehow or other, matters came to an unaccountable impasse, as the French would say. Leaving my room, I walked downstairs into _wh-t for want of a better term, I will call the

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——— THE JEALOUSY OF PEPE. 535 “* Putting on a bold front, | walked into the room.” assembly-room of the inn—the dining, smoking, gambling, and visitors’ room and public bar combined. A wood fire was burning on the hearth, thick clouds of tobacco-smoke hung in the air, and the room was full of men vehemently discussing some topic or other. No sooner did I appear at the door, however, than an inexplic- able silence fell upon the gathering, and I noticed looks of hatred and suspicion thrown in my direction. To go back, closing the door behind me, would have been folly; so, putting on a bold front, I walked into the room, dropping some careless remark about the weather, and lit my cigarette at the counter. The innkeeper’s daughter—of whom more anon—was serving the men, and I ordered a glass of spirits, asking the man next to me whether he would join in, to which he grunted a negative reply. I tossed off my glass of aguardtente, feeling anything but comfortable, and asked the girl if she thought the village priest was at home. “Yes, I think so,” she answered, simply, and then I noticed that the smile with which she was wont to accompany her words was conspicuous by its absence. Without more ado, and convinced that retreat was the better part of valour, I threw my horse- blanket—which serves one as an overcoat in the mountains of Spain—over my shoulders and went out into the street in the direction of the church. My reason for wishing to visit the cvra was that I was longing to have a chat with some educated person. The kindly old soul who welcomed me into his stuffy parlour, however, and offered me tobacco and spirits—both of them smuggled, I feel sure—belonged to that category of men who have forgotten, either wilfully or unconsciously, what they learnt in their youth. He was a garrulous individual, on all questions except smuggling. Whether he was in league with the men who practised it I cannot say, but, at any rate, he evidently did not wish to disclose the secrets of his flock, and for this he must be admired. In the course of our conversation I mentioned to him the scene at the inn, asking if he could give me any inkling as to its meaning. “You had better not remain too long in these parts,” he said, shaking his head. “But why not? What harm am I doing?” He shrugged his shoulders.

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530 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “You say you are here to pursue your studies, but—well, perhaps everybody does not believe you.” I could not get him to say another word on the subject, excepting a cryptic remark to the effect that I had been seen prowling about the Castillo. This castle was an imposing ruin on a hill not far from the village, and, as a matter of fact, I had, on the day previous, visited the place between two showers. I now remembered that two individuals had emerged from the building at my approach, had scowled un- pleasantly at me by way of greeting, and that one of the men was the same I had invited to drink with me at the inn. Wondering what on earth it all meant, I walked back to my lodgings. The parlour downstairs was now empty, save for Juana, the innkeeper’s daughter, who stood behind the counter. A feeble oil-lamp flickered painfully from the ceiling and a glow of light spread hesitatingly around the room from the fire- place. Now, Juana and I had become the best of friends. Had I not been so engrossed at the time in my own pursuits it is likely I should have noticed that she seemed rather attracted by me, this circumstance being due, I fancy, to the fact that I was a little out of the ordinary— that is to say, a little less rural than the men she was accustomed to talk to. So she paid me small attentions not included in my bill, such as smiling with pleasure when 1 spoke to her, placing flowers in my room, and chatting happily. As I entered the inn I greeted her—perhaps over warmly, for at the moment I was pining for a friendly word. Then I observed that her face was drawn, and that a look of fear had replaced the usual happy smile. “ Hush!” she said, in a semi-whisper. ““What’s the matter ?” “Go up to your room—now, immediately— and don’t come down again. You have told me you want your supper in your room and the servant will bring it up to you. Later I shall come up, but don’t come down until you’ve seen me.” “But—_—” “Go!” she whispered, fearfully, and disap- peared behind the counter into an adjoining room. This mystery was beginning to be decidedly unpleasant. I don’t think I am a greater coward than most people, but there was cer- tainly something uncanny about the whole proceeding. What on earth did the girl mean? At a loss to understand the matter, I crossed the room towards the stairs, resolved to take the girl’s advice, at least until she had told me where and what the danger was. Just as I reached the stairs the street door on the opposite side of the room creaked and opened ajar. From where I was it was difficult for me to be seen, whereas I could easily observe anybody who came into the apartment. But no one came in, and 1 was just going back to shut the door, thinking I had left it unlatched and that the wind had blown it open, when I saw a head appear round the edge and a pair of black, fierce eyes gaze around the room’ as though in search of something. In an instant I recognized the face. It was that of Pepe, the individual whom I had invited to drink with me a few hours earlier. I had often seen him previously, as he was in the habit of hanging round the inn, attracted thither, I naturally thought, by the charms of the inn- keeper’s daughter. Apparently satisfied with his survey, Pepe came into the room, closing the door behind him. He walked up to the counter and gave a peculiar whistle. Almost immediately Juana appeared. “Well?” she asked, impatiently. “Has he gone upstairs?” “Do you see him here?” sarcastically. The man did not answer. “ And, in case you want to know,” continued the girl, “he’s not coming down again to-day.” “ How do you know that ?” “He told me to have his supper sent up to him.” “Then I suppose you'll take it up to him?” sneered the man. “Look here, Pepe, none of your cheek with me, or you will repent it.” Pepe seemed to cower before her wrath. “T say, Juana,” he asked, changing his voice to a whining whimper, “why are you always so cruel to me?” “Is that all you’ve got to say? If so, you’d better just turn round and go where you've come from. I’ve no use for lying——” He interrupted her passionately. “By Heaven, you vixen!” he whispered, hoarsely, “(1 know what’s the matter with you. You're in love with that man upstairs, and he’ll suffer for it, or. ” “Will he? You'd better take care that you don’t suffer for your dirty tricks first,” she retorted, angrily. “Thwart me, and you'll find out who Pepe the smuggler is,” he hissed, savagely. She laughed, shrugged her shoulders, and left the counter. For a moment, Pepe stood baffled, glowering she retorted

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THE JEALOUSY OF PEPE. 537 “* Thwart me, and you'll find out who Pepe the smuggler is,’ he hissed, savagely.” about him. Then he strode stealthily to the door, opened it, and went out into the night and rain. Bewildered, I made my way up to my room, vainly endeavouring to unravel the mystery that surrounded me. Was it because this fool Pepe was jealous of me? Of course not ; there must be something else in the air to account for the general hostility of the villagers. Perhaps Juana would explain things to me. Before lighting the greasy lamp with which I was honoured I went to the window and looked out. Down in the street a solitary, half-drowned lantern, with no thought of seriously challenging the blackness of the night, sent forth a dim ray or two, and on the opposite side, hugging the wall, I could just discern a man wrapped in his horse-blanket, and as the light fell on his face for a moment I recognized the evil features of Pepe. His black eyes were gazing up in my direction, and I almost started, but managed to disguise my surprise in time by stretching out my arms and giving vent to a sickly yawn. Then I drew the blinds, as though I had seen nothing, and lit my lamp. Supper came at last, brought in by the servant, the only other female in the house besides the innkeeper’s daughter. Vol. xxiii, 68. “ Juana says,” she told me leisurely, “that if your head is aching the light is very bad for it, and you ought to go to bed early.” I grasped the meaning at once ; Juana wanted me to put out my light as quickly as possible and pretend to retire for the night. “Thank your mistress,” I said, ‘‘and tell her it is my intention to lie down immediately after supper.” Hoping I should be quite well again in the morning—was the woman sneering? I wondered —she left the room, slamming the door behind her. I got through my supper quickly, carried the tray out on to the landing, and re-entered, my room, closing and locking the door noisily, though I unlocked it again very softly. A few minutes later I put out the light and waited impatiently for Juana’s arrival. As I suspected, I had to wait a long time. To dis- tract my thoughts I occasionally peeped out of the window to see if Pepe was still lurking in the street. At first he was, but at last I caught sight of him sneaking away in the rain. Suddenly, ‘Don’t make a noise,” said a woman's voice beside me, and I started. It was Juana, and so silently had she come into the

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538 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. room that I had neither heard the door open nor her step.as she came up to me. “What is the meaning of all this?” I asked her. “That fool Pepe is jealous because I speak with you,” she replied. ‘He has told the others that he knows you are a police spy come to catch smugglers, and so they have decided to kill you the first time you go out into the mountains for a walk.” “ But is Pepe anything to you?” “Nothing; only he thinks I ought to love him. The fool! But you must not stay here, for they are a dangerous lot, and now that Pepe has set them against you it is not safe for you to remain.” “ But I can tell them he’s a liar.” “They won’t believe you. I tried to tell them so myself, but they said I most likely had —er—hidden motives for shielding you. That was when you went out this afternoon.” “Cannot I inform the police?” “No, no; not that! If you did you would not be safe even after leaving this place. As @ police informer you would be tracked by every man in Upper Aragon. Besides, my father would also be drawn into the net, and—— No; I cannot be guilty of that. Save yourself. Go away to-morrow, and never come back here again.” “But what about yourself? They'll guess you warned me.” “They won’t dare to touch me, though I shall be suspected. Then in about a month’s time I shall leave this wretched place and go to Madrid. I’m sick of the people round here. So don’t think—— Hush! What is that?” Surely there was somebody on the broad landing outside my room? I could hear the boards creak as the person—or persons— moved. Quietly, with my revolver—without which I never travel—in my hand, 1 made a movement in the direction of the door, when Juana inter- cepted me. : “No, no; don’t go,” she whispered. “ You'll be killed. Pepe must have managed to get into the house. If only father were here, the -villain would never have dared to come.” “Where is your father?” I asked. “On an expedition. He won’t be back until to-morrow.” “Never mind. and——” “But he won't be alone. He'll be there with others, in an ambush. You——” Pushing the girl aside, I strode towards the door and opened it. There was nobody. At least, I saw no one, for it was pitch-dark ; but I’m not afraid of Pepe, I heard a creaking, which seemed to come from the stairs. So, like a fool, I advanced a step or two—and walked into the trap laid for me. In an instant I was seized by several strong arms, and in such a perfect manner—due to years of practice, I suppose—that I had not even the chance of a struggle. A gag was clapped to my mouth, the revolver wrenched out of my hand, my arms pinioned, my ankles shackled, and all with such lightning-like rapidity that within ten seconds I was lying on the ground bound hand and foot and as helpless as a mummy. As for Juana, who had come running to the door, I could hear, though I could not see, that her demeanour towards me had _ changed - completely. “ Pepe, is that you?” she asked, anxiously. Aman beside me growled assent. I expected an angry scene of jealousy, but evidently the fellow was reserving that for a better occasion, when he should find her alone. “Have you got him?” she continued. “Yes, we have; but it’s not your fault he didn’t escape.” She laughed. “No, it’s not. I didn’t want you to catch him; I wanted father to do that. Don’t kill him here, though. I don’t want father to be accused of murder.” “He won't be killed,” chuckled Pepe. “ He'll kill himself—by walking over the Garganta” (a precipice in the neighbourhood). Drops of perspiration stood out on my fore- head as I realized the fate these cruel ruffians had in store for me. “hat’s safer,” agreed the girl. better keep him until father comes. would like to see the fun.” The wretched creature! playing with me as well ! “Tt’s too risky,” said another. “Oh, is that you, Juan?” cried the girl. “Father'll be glad to know that you also sneaked into his house at night with Pepe. But he'll be angry if you don’t let him take a part in dispatching this miserable spy.” “ But you needn’t tell him anything about it ; and we sha’n’t tell him you had fallen in love with the fellow,” sneered Pepe. “Hold your tongue!” growled another individual. “Is that you, Paco?” said Juana. ‘“ Well, you all know my father. Cheat him of the fun his daughter had in store for him, and you'll see what will happen. Some of you won't be feeling happy soon.” In the meantime I had been ruthlessly slung on to the shoulders of two of the men. Next a horse-blanket was thrown over me, and I was “But you'd He also So she had been

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THE JEALOUSY OF PEPE. 539 borne down the stairs, followed by the others and Juana. We crossed the general room and made for the door, then out into the street. And I could hear Juana’s last words, before she locked and bolted the door behind us, ringing in my ears :— “Oh, well, I don’t care what you do with him. But remember my father will be angry.” Then it was that hope practically deserted me. What a cunning, deceitful vixen that girl was! Never should I believe one again, I thought; and then I smiled bitterly at the irony of the thought. For certain it was that these ruffians would never give me the oppor- tunity of trusting either man or woman again. They meant to hurl me over that terrible precipice, and when my mangled body was found—perhaps weeks afterwards—my death would be put down to the result of an accident. A moment more and we began our silent journey through the deserted streets of the village. Once past the last huts my captors’ walk sharpened, and we went up into the hills. I knew where the Garganta lay, having already admired it, and I knew that on the way we should have to pass the castle of which mention had been made at the priest's that very after- “Pepe made a furious lunge at me with his knife, bot was stopped by Paco.’ noon. Would they make away with me at once, or would they delay my execution until daylight ? My speculations were soon set at rest. Halting at the Castillo, the men entered one of the cells of the old ruin and threw me’ none too gently on some bundles of straw in a corner. ‘Ihen they began discussing whether they should dispatch me to the other world immediately or wait until Juana’s father should return. ‘The girl's words had evidently had their effect—not that I cared much, for the end in store for me was the same in both cases—but a man likes to hang on to life, even if it be merely by a thread, as long as possible. Pepe showed himself very obstinate, wishing to get me out of the way as quickly as he could. At last, after much angry debating, it was decided to make me walk over the precipice at noon on the following day, whether Juana’s father had returned or not. The gag was now taken out of my mouth, and I was warned that if 1 made as much as a sound I should be instantly knifed. In vain 1 tried to persuade them that 1 was no police spy and that they had been deceived by Pepe, who was jealous of my having chatted with Juana. But they would not believe me. “Shut up and don’t whine,” said one of them. “Take your fate as a man. When you catch one of us, do we plead for our life?” “But I’m not a spy, I tell you.” “Pepe knows you are.” “He's a liar; and he knows it, too.” At the words Pepe made a_ furious lunge at me with his knife, but was stopped by Paco, who said, surlily : “Enough of that. We’re not in the habit of _ killing folk in cold blood, Pepe. Let the fellow have his say till to-morrow ; you can have yours for weeks afterwards.” With a curse Pepe _ retreated. As for me, I saw

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540 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. it was absolutely useless to continue defying them to prove I was other than what I said I was, and ‘so I lay sullenly awaiting the hour of my doom. Shortly before dawn my captors decided to continue their march to a cave situated near the precipice, and accordingly I was again hoisted on the shoulders of two men, having been previously gagged. Strange to say, the thongs and ropes with which I was bound, and which were eating their way into my swollen flesh, caused me no pain at the time. I was, how- ever, perspiring freely at the thought—ever present in my mind—of my approaching fate, and the terrible mental agony I was suffering seemed to deaden my nerves to physical pain. It was already daylight when we reached the cave, where I was unceremoni- ously thrown down on the sand. As far as I could make out, the hollow was either the mouth of an abandoned mine or else a natural grotto. The farther end was buried in the deepest gloom, and the cave seemed to extend indefinitely into the in- terior of the mountain. Of the ruffians who were going to make me “walk the plank” within — six hours, all but Pepe and Paco—the latter probably remaining because he did not trust his companion— went off to the village to get food and drink and to reconnoitre as to where the guardias or gendarmes were prowling that day. ‘ My two custodians sat smoking and yawnin, until the sun rose, and then went outside’ to stretch their limbs and get a breath of fresh air. They did not so much as throw a glance in the direction where I lay gagged, bound, and as helpless as a babe. Oh, the torture of those long hours !—or were they only minutes? The stupid things that crossed the mind for a moment and then fled away, to be succeeded by the realization of the imminent danger one is in! As I was thus quivering at the thought of death, and at the same time picturing my friends at Jaca shaking their heads wisely when the news of my death—by “accident”—reached them, I felt a light touch on the shoulder farthest from the door and heard a voice whisper :— Juana, the innkeeper’s plucky daughter, who rescued the ‘Author from the hands of the smugglers. From a Photograph. “Don’t move ! It was Juana! Now I understood why she had pretended to be indifferent as to my capture, and had told the men that she had been keeping me at the inn until her father’s return. What a fool I had been not to see it all before! And I also comprehended why she had threatened them into waiting before killing me; it was in order to give her a chance to save me without informing the police, which would in all proba- bility have meant her father’s ruin. To think that for an jnstant I should have doubted her —this brave, fearless, and quick-witted Juana! With a strong knife she was cutting the thongs that bound me, at the same time warning me not to make a movement. Finally the last lash was cut, and I was, relatively speaking, a free man. But how my arms and legs ached! At first I could not move them at all, and it was only after a time, that to me seemed ages, that they lost their numbness. As for the gag, it was the last thing she cut, thus giving an- other proof of her wit and cunning. Finally she thrust a revolver into my hand. “Kill Pepe!” she hissed into my ear; “not Paco, for he is a good man.” Her ideas of good and bad may have been primitive, but I was not there to argue that point with her. It was clearly my duty to get her away and myself as well, whether I had to shoot down one man or two. I motioned her to get back into the farther end of the cave—a suggestion, however, that she flatly refused to carry out. Then I lay still for a moment or two, enjoying the sensation of returning strength. Slowly I got on to my hands and knees and crawled towards the opening. I had not made up my mind as to how I was going to act, when Fate, which plays such an important part in the lives and doings of men and women, came to my help. For Paco got up and walked slowly away. “T'll just go and see whether they’re coming,” he remarked to his companion. Pepe grunted. “Perhaps you'll not find him alive when you

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come back, you idiot,” he muttered to himself, and a murderous smile crossed his evil face. Evidently he was waiting for Paco to get some distance away ; then he meant to come in and give me a knife-thrust. It was time to act. So I advanced cautiously, my eyes fixed on the ruffian, who sat a few yards away from the open- ing of the cave. I could not have been more than a foot from the opening when I paused. “Shoot him!” whispered Juana, hoarsely, behind me; and it flashed across me how much she hated him. Just then Pepe turned and saw me. He shouted a terrible oath, and his hand flew to his pocket for his revolver. We were so close to each other that it was a matter of “first shot”; we could hardly have missed at that range. All I remember is that there was a sharp report, and that I saw my would-be murderer fall. “Run!” said Juana, as we both scrambled out into the blinding sunshine ; “into the bush!” We had no time to lose, for we could hear Paco coming back to the cave. He walked sharply and there was a dangerous look on his face, as we could see from behind the shrub where we were hiding. THE JEALOUSY OF PEPE. 541 “He thinks you’ve been killed, or he would have run,” said Juana. With that she crawled swiftly away and I followed her. I paused again for a moment to look behind me, and saw Paco come up to the cave, start at the sight of his dead companion, and then, looking around, he espied me. Again there was a report, and I felt a stinging sensation in my left arm. I was just going to fire when—— “Paco, it is I!” cried Juana, and she stood boldly up. The man lowered his weapon, amazement written on his face. “You?” “Yes. Pepe was a liar. “That’s what you say.” “Well, if he had been a spy, would Pepe have been so eager to kill him in cold blood and risk the gallows for his hastiness? He was simply jealous of him because I spoke to him. That’s all. And a nice lot of fools he made out of you fellows !” Paco stared at her irresolutely. “And what are you going to do now?” she asked, after a pause. “Tf it’s as you say, a love quarrel, I’m with This man is no spy.” “I saw my would-be murderer fall.”

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542 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, FIR, 6 fe we Ber OX Bs eee iect See toes Pen oa Bi AE gigs aa. az 5 Facsimile of the narrator's letter to the Author (with translation) vouching for the authenticity of the story. TRANSLATION. - Madrid, April 27th, 1900 Dean Cuanias,—I read with great pleasure the MS. you sent me, in which our mutual friend Juana de Miguel plays an heroie part, and, in case it should be of any use to you, | have no ol Aragon, in 1902, is in every way true to the facts of the case, jon in asserting that your account of the events that befell me in Upper T take pleasure in signing this certificate with my name and signature for its publication in Tur Wine Wortp Macazine. Address—Calle del Castillo, 15 pral, Chamberi. you, and so are all the boys,” replied Paco. “I had my suspicions all along.” “T know you did, Paco.” “But, by Heaven,” he went on, “ were to breathe a word to the police—-— “He is no spy, I tell you,” said the girl, fiercely. “Won't you believe me, or do you want a bullet through you, like your friend there?” This bluff evidently had the desired effect, for Paco shrugged his shoulders. “ Let him promise, then,” he said. Needless to say, I gave the desired assurance gladly—the more so considering that in no case could I have breathed a word about the affair on account of Juana’s father. Then I must have fainted, for when I upened my eyes I was in my bed at the inn and the village doctor was dressing my injured arm. I got rapidly well in the bracing air of the moun- tains, and made many friends among those who had previously suspected me. Though I could never be persuaded to join them on their expe- ditions, their smuggling yarns interested me greatly, and I learnt that they had a code of if that man » (Signed) Fetire Saxcuez ¥ ARRovO, honour among themselves stricter even than that which rules more law abiding persons, as for Pepe, it was rumoured—by those who knew otherwise--that he had been shot by a French carabinier, and there the matter dropped. Even his family pretended to believe the story, whatever they may have thought. As for the servant at the inn, who had admitted Pepe in secret, she disappeared, and it was just as well she did, for Juana had a bone to pick with her. Juana’s father was intensely proud of his daughter when he learnt all the details of our adventure from my lips. The good man was always singing her praises to me, probably imagining that he had found his future son-in- law. But Juana knew otherwise, for I lost no time in telling her that I] had a ova in Madrid. This did not, however, affect the brave girl’s regard for me, and when a year later she wrote informing me that she was going to marry Paco, she added quaintly, “Si Vd. noz ve incon- ventente,” which, freely translated, means, “ If you see no objection.” I hope my little wedding gift satisfied her on that score.

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By Isaac Powers KLINE. Down in Texas there is a “ranch whose owner carries on a unique business—the catching and “taming” of rattlesnakes for sale. There are always something like five hundred of the venomous creatures in stock, and fresh consignments arrive daily. This article describes the snake-farmer’s operations, and gives geome interesting information concerning the rattlesnake and its habits. mee OST people would consider the wy) Puigerd : | “taming” of snakes to be im- possible, and so it is; nevertheless there is a man who does it, and who has grown wealthy at this queer trade. This man is Mr. F. B. Anthony, of Brownsville, ‘Texas. and within a mile of the city of Brownsville. The ranch consists of a tract of land surrounded. by a high fence of boards, so tightly fitted together that nothing can get through, not the slightest crack being allowed. There are no doorways of any kind, entrance being effected by means of ladders over the top. Inside, the The exterior of the “ snake-farm,” showing the doorless enclosure in which the “ stock "’ is confined. From a Photograph. His establishment, known by the name of the “Rattlesnake Ranch ”—-everything in Texas is a ranch—is located right on the Mexican border, space is divided into three enclosures for the safety and comfort of the snakes, some species of which are deadly~ enemies; to others. Brush

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544 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. One of the Mexican snake-hunters, with two fine specimens, From a Photograph. and dried grass afford hiding-places and shade. In these pens, and in boxes in which the snakes are shipped, hundreds of snakes, many of them monsters in size, are kept in stock. The snakes are captured by Mexicans all over Texas, Mexico, Arizona, and other States and territories, and are sent in with the certainty of sale, for Mr. Anthony always has a market for them. The treatment of this queer merchandise, strange to say, is simple, and not particularly dangerous. ‘The workers, as the pictures show, handle these deadly snakes quite fearlessly. The man to the left of the photograph re- produced above is a Mexican employed at the ranch. It will be noted that one of the snakes is coiled around a stick, which is rather gingerly held at arm’s length by a visitor who believes in running no risks. This stick is the first piece of stage property with which Mr. Rattlesnake forms acquaintance. At its top is a loop of leather. The Mexican snake-hunter punches the snake with this stick until the infuriated reptile coils to strike, meantime keeping up a rattle which sounds like a clock running down. The loop of leather is then deftly dropped over the snake’s head, and from that time, rattle he never so fiercely, he is a helpless captive. All tales of the distance to which a “rattler” can leap to the contrary, he cannot leap at all, or strike beyond half his length; and if a third of him is off the ground he can neither coil nor strike. His captor next drags him ignominiously to camp, where he is handled with an immense pair of wooden tongs, as next illustrated. It takes a strong man to negotiate an enraged rattler when fully aroused and writhing with his immense power of muscle, for the creatures weigh many pounds, are from six to nine feet long, and sometimes as thick through as a man’s leg. The snake is next put into a box, such as is shown in the photograph, with a sliding lid. This lid is carefully drawn back until the snake protrudes his head, and is then shot forward so as to clench the neck behind the head. The snake is then helpless to strike, but is meantime making things particularly lively with the portions of his anatomy inside the box, thumping its sides until it seems as if he would smash it, his rattles keeping up a whizzing sound

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A TEXAN that can be compared to nothing else over or under the earth. The snake’s head is now forced back over the side of the box until the jaws open; a glass is held conveniently, and the head released, whereupon the jaws close on the rim of the glass just as if the snake had struck. This is done to collect the deadly virus, which runs down the side into the glass and is bottled for sale to physicians and chemists of an inquiring frame of mind for experimental pur- poses. It is supposed to be employed in making antitoxins, and some day we may all be using it, though it is hardly to be expected that rattle- snake virus will ever become a popular beverage or rattlesnakes themselves favourite household pets. Each snake yields one or two spoonfuls of virus, and is then practically harmless until the poison glands have brewed another dose—a matter of some hours. Later the mouth is again forced open and the fangs are drawn out entirely with a pair of forceps, the poison-sacs or glands, which are situated just behind the eyes and at the roots of these fangs, being removed with a knife. The unfortunate snake is then turned loose, for he is now as harmless as any grass-snake, having neither fangs nor poison, since, while the fangs may grow again, the glands never do. ‘he rattler is then ready for shipment. It may be taken for granted, by the way, that any snake in captivity, spite of the show- man’s assurances, is as harm- less as a poodle. He cannot bite, or if he can, when his fangs grow out again, he cannot poison. The “tamed” snake is now fed up until fat, and is finally sold by weight at fifty cents to a dollar a pound, the buyers being snake-charmers or owners of menageries, snake shows, parks, and zoo- logical gardens. The skins of such as die are peeled off and made into leather for ladies’ belts, pocket - books, and similar articles of dress and adornment, and when finished up, by the tanners they are full of colour and very pretty. Some idea of the size of the snakes may be gained from the photo- graphs. One picture shows a Mexican holding up two beautiful specimens at arms’ length. They were all he Vol. xxiii.—69, “ SNAKE- FARM.” 545 could lift, and had they hung limp would have dragged on the ground, being over eight feet in length. When in captivity waiting to be sold the snakes are fed with rats, mice, rabbits, etc., which Mr. Anthony buys from the Mexican boys and turns loose in the pens and boxes. ‘Rie fonds wand athe teres, for apating snatoe: From a Photograph.

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546 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The agility with which the inmates capture them is surprising, though once in a while, if the rat is a big one, he whips the snake. In a case which I saw the rat sat in the corner on his haunches and watched the rattler approach. When the snake struck the rat leapt over him. This was repeated three times. The last time the “rat caught the snake by the neck, right behind the head, and in a moment it was all over—the snake was dead. ‘This settled it, in my mind, that the tales of snakes charming smaller animals are “nature fakes.” The snakes, after gorging them- selves, crawl under the brush and sleep until hungry again. The poisonous snakes of Mexico and Texas are the harlequin, the cotton-mouth, copperhead, Gulf Coast massasauga, ground rattler, banded rattler, prairie rattler, and green rattler. The popular belief that only snakes with projecting lower jaws and triangu- lar heads are poisonous is erroneous ;__ the shape of the head is not to be trusted. Ofcourse, those with a con- trary belief have a right to their opinion, though they are not likely to argue it long after giving it an actual _ personal trial. Mr. Anthony, the proprietor of this curious “snake - farm,” is not the sort of man one would expect to be en- gaged in such an outlandish — busi- ness. He is a From a\ Extracting the poison-glands. straight business man, gentleman!y, and a pleasant talker. He found there was a demand for these creatures, and that to supply it would make him rich, and went into it the proper way. It is his boast that he has supplied most of the snakes of the kinds he handles now in captivity in America and Europe, and at present he has a stock of fully five hundred on hand. Spite of familiarity, he fears _venomous snakes thoroughly, and handles them He has never been bitten, and always keeps on the safe side. Considering the interest which always attaches to snakes, it is sur- prising that more is not known with regard to them. The rattler, for in- stance, is not so eager to strike as has been claimed. He isnota trouble- hunter, and will not attack unless he thinks he is going to be molested. He must coil before he can strike, which re- -duces his power for damage, since to coil, though he does it quickly, takes time, and by that time you will in all probability have removed hastily beyond his striking distance. If a rattler attacks you, go after a stick. If you can find one as big as a whip you can settle him easily. A little tap on the neck will soon do the business. If the stick is far away he won’t be there when you get back, which will just suit both of you. Thetheory that the snake “rattles” thrice with every care. Phgtosrapll

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A TEXAN “SNAKE- FARM.” 547 before striking once may be all right, but person- ally I shouldn’t wait for the second rattle. Similarly the story that he grows one rattle a year so as to be able to keep a record of how old he is, is fiction pure and simple ; he grows two or three a year if he thinks he will. The rattlesnake is a bold — swimmer, and on land travels by night and sleeps by day. He is not society- seeking. In the spring his rule of diet is to eat whatever he can get whenever he can get it, if he can manage to swallow it. I have seen one with a whole quail inside him. In Texas he will climb small trees for birds’ eggs, which, whether fresh or not, he is very fond of. If the parent bird gets it into her pretty head, as other ladies generally do when their broods are at- tacked, that she can improve the situation by mix- ing in the trouble, he simply adds _ her to the menu. That — rattlers abide in amity with prairie dogs is also a slander on both unless the dog is inside, though it is often asserted. The line of argument is that the dog always sinks a well on his premises, and the snake goes there for water. As a matter of fact, a prairie dog has very little “Not afraid of snakes"—A splendid pair- From a Photograpit. use for water, and will live for years in captivity with- out thinking of a drink. He does, however, dig holes in the sand, and Mr. Rattler, being in need of shade, crawls down the hole and remains, despite any re- monstrances of the original householder, who generally con- cludes that the way to get out honourably is to get out quick. Whatever the snake finds re- maining fit for food he probably appropriates. I once saw part of this drama enacted. I was after a snake with a club, when he shot down a prairie-dog hole. In less than a minute the dog came out, as though all the enemies he had ever had were after him. As soon as he felt he was clear he turned back, not noticing me in his fright, and then you should have seen the dirt fly! With all four feet he shovelled the dirt back into the hole and tramped it down. Whenallwasdone he shot away down an adjacent hole, and from his bearing I concluded that he felt that he had performed the proper funeral obsequies, and fixed that snake so he would never again come intruding in Dogtown. I was thus convinced that when a rattlef takes yup| his abode in a

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548 THE From a) prairie-dog village he does it in holes which are” not occupied by dogs. A properly-organized rattler has teeth and fangs. he latter are eight in number, in the upper jaw—four ready for business and the other four embryonic, waiting to take the place of any that may become damaged. The matured fangs lie close to the roof of the mouth, just under the eyes, except when they are required for business, at which time a set of special muscles draws them erect. They are from half an inch to an inch and a quarter in length, of purest enamel, sharp as needles, and perforated with a channel leading from the point to the venom-sac. When the snake strikes they are pressed deep into the wound, and the venom is injected instantaneously. The Mexi- cans have an antidote which they call “ waco,” a sort of wild tuber, which is bruised in alcohol or water and drunk, the wound being also bathed in it. It is said to be a certain and immediate cure, though I have never seen it tried. Another remedy also is ammonia or permanganate of potash ; but the more popular one is whisky, which is regarded as very The proper way to hold a snake, WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. (Photograph. efficacious — either before or after the bite. The venom is a clear, thin liquid, about the consistency of milk. Placed in alcohol, the poisonous portion coagulates and has a musky odour. A mouse or rabbit injected with a drop dies in a minute, a cat in half an hour, a dog in about the same time, in convulsions. I once teased a rattler with a stick until'in bis rage he deliberately bit himself, straightened out, quivered, and was dead in fifteen minutes. Administered internally, the venom seems to have little or no effect on animals, but placed in the circulation it acts almost at once. Rattlesnake oil, made by frying the body, is esteemed as a remedy for rheumatism. Now, I do not mean to give the idea that Texas has more snakes to the acre than any. other State or territory. I am in the State every other week, see as few of them there as else- where, and have seen fewer than a dozen out of captivity there in four years. There are as many of the reptiles in Indiana or Illinois as there are in the State of the Single Star; while the same remark applies to Kansas.

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“NEW YEAR’S DAY, Hore TEMPLE. Concerning this exciting narrative Mr. Temple writes: ‘‘ This story was related to me by a doctor now practising in Birmingham, but on the ground of professional etiquette he declines to allow his name to be published. Both the name, however, and the doctor's personal guarantee as to the authenticity of the story can be furnished for your private information.” HAVE never hunted for adventure @ very much, but occasionally I have had it thrust upon me. Perhaps the most exciting time of my life was one New Year's Day, five years ago, on the West Coast of Africa. I was acting at the time as surgeon on board a steamer trading along the West Coast of Africa. The captain and I were always on the best of terms, partly, perhaps, because we had little to say to one another, and partly by reason that we both hailed from the same town in Perth—Dunkeld. Well, on this particular New Year’s Eve we were lying in the Gulf of Guinea, hard by the mouth of the River Niger, and both the “old man” and I were wishing for some kindred souls with whom we could spend the anniversary. I was leaning over the side of the boat, looking at the low-lying shore—for, as you probably know, the coast round about there is intersected by many channels, mangrove-grown and swampy, but up which a small boat can go. It was just after breakfast, and I had been standing there for about half an hour when the “old man” came up on deck. “ Doctor,” he said, “1 have been contemplat- ing a little trip up the channels to visit my friend Herr Shatz, the merchant, at Asoba. We can get through the channels with the steam launch, and run up and ascertain if he has any cargo for me; it will save taking the ship up the river, and there will be a chance of drinking a happy New Year to another fellow - mortal. Will you come?” As you may imagine, I was glad of the chance of doing something and seeing new sights, so I accepted the “old man’s” invitation off-hand. It did not take long to get the launch ready, and in a short time the skipper, myself, the chief engineer, and a couple of niggers were cutting through the water, making for the most southern channel of the Niger delta. I need not tire you with a detailed description of our journey to Asoba through the horrible swamp channels. Suffice it to say that we finally arrived there, and received a most effusive welcome from the hospitable German, Herr Shatz. After what business there was to be done had been seen to, the good-natured Teuton insisted on our spending the rest of the day with him. He seldom saw any Europeans except the few he had about his warehouse, and his invitation was so warm that we could do no other than accept it. So, to cut a long story short, we toasted and feasted the New Year until we suddenly found it would take us all our time to get clear of the swamps before dark. We were to take Herr Shatz back with us and carry him round to Libreville, our next port of call. I hope never to go through such nights again as I did on that and the one following, for we were not more than a quarter of the way through the mazy channels before night came on. How many times we ran aground I don’t know, and every time it meant kicking the niggers awake and making them splash out into the slimy mud to push us off. The “old man” cursed volubly; for my part I simply sat and wished for morning. It came at last, and with

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550 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in it, thank goodness, the open waters of the Niger. What evil spirit prompted Shatz to suggest it I do not know, but just as we glided out into the Niger he turned to the “old man.” “How would you like to pay old King N——, at B—-—, a visit?” he asked. The captain grinned. “Why, the place is taboo to all white men,” he answered. I must tell you here that, some time previous to the date of my story, an English doctor had unfortunately, through some carelessness, brought about the death of a nigger in this village, and, although the life of a native is not looked upon as of much account in West Africa, yet for some reason or other this man’s death was not only revenged upon the doctor, but upon every white man who had the misfortune to stray into the village. Shatz smiled at the “old man’s” evident wonder at his remark. “TI know that,” he said, “but N—— and I have had dealings together, and I am a privileged party ; I can guarantee your safety.” The skipper was an adventurous person, and the thought of some excitement was too lempting a bait for him to refuse. “All right ; we'll go,” he said, and, turning to the engineer he told him to turn up stream. Alter steaming for about three miles up the river we landed, and I learnt we had a two-mile walk through a mangrove jungle before we reached the village. ‘This was not a very enticing prospect, and my joy was not increased upon hearing that we had to cross a swamp in addition. I may say without being charged with bump- tiousness that I am not a coward, but I must confess when I saw that swamp my heart nearly failed me. I have seen some roughish places during my journeys in the unsettled places of the earth, but never in the whole course of my existence have I beheld such an awful place. Imagine, if you can, a space of some fifty or sixty yards of thick, brown, slimy mud, heaving as if alive, and here and there pools of what appeared to be bubbling slime, giving up a putrid-smelling vapour. Mosquitoes and foul flies wove so close a veil about us that our features were almost hidden, and the sound of their flight made a continual humming. Across this loathsome swamp we had to pass, the only bridge being the trunks of fallen trees, slippery, green, and rotten. The “old man’s? face was as long as mine when he saw the job before us, and I think we should have turned back there and then had it not been for Shatz calling out that the niggers could carry us across with safety. Shatz was carried over first, and I followed on the back of a big fellow with a skin like jet. 1 heaved a huge sigh as I was set on my feet on the other side of the swamp. A Britisher never feels comfortable when he is being carried ; in fact, I think itis the most awkward position imaginable. By and by we commenced threading our way through the undergrowth again, and in about an hour’s time we reached our destination. The old King gave Shatz a most effusive welcome, and though at first he looked some- what sourly at us he gradually thawed, and before long we were being féted in Royal style. Just as it was getting dark the worthy monarch suggested we should witness a dance of his warriors. We had heard of these dances, and knew they were anything but drawing-room entertainments, being extremely dangerous to the participators, and not at all safe for the looker-on. However, it was no use attempting to refuse this mark of honour, and the King gave the order for the function to begin. Presently we saw the warriors preparing them- selves for the dance, and, much to our dis- comfort, noticed that a very fiery spirit—called by the West African niggers “ bhang,” and made from Indian hemp — was being consumed in great quantities. If these men once got mad drunk and took it into their heads to revenge their unfortunate comrade on us, our lives would be worth less than nothing. But we were fairly in for it, and the best thing to do was to sit tight and trust to luck. By the time the warriors were ready the moon had risen, and its light, combined with that from a large fire, made the place as bright as day. The dancers gathered round in a huge circle, and at a signal commenced a series of quick stups, all the time droning a’ monotonous chant. We knew this was only the start and that before long we should witness something much more exciting, and we were not disap- pointed. Presently the steps increased in pace and the droning chant was broken by unearthly shrieks. Several of the dancers had worked themselves to such a pitch of excitement that they foamed at the mouth, and, with the potent fumes of the “bhang” working in their heads, were nothing more or less than maniacs. With frothy mouth and bloodshot eyes, one huge nigger, who, by the extra gaudiness of his painting and head-dress, was evidently the leader, glared at us as he whirled round. Then, with a yell, he turned, and, raising his knife, buried it to the hilt in the back of his neighbour. As the poor wretch fell forward, quivering and heaving, a loud yell of delight went up, and

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ONE NEW YEAR’S DAY. 551 “* Raising his knife, he buried it to the hilt in the back of his neighbour.” immediately stabbing and slashing became the order of things. I looked at the captain. “Things are getting a little too warm for my complexion,” I whispered. ‘‘ Had we not better clear?” “Yes,” he replied, “I wish we could; but the trouble is, I don’t know the track to the river.” “What about Shatz?” I asked. Just then I felt a touch on my elbow, and, turning, saw Shatz, his face white with horror. “T say,” he said, “how are we to get out of this inferno?”

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552 THE WIDE WORLD This was pretty cool, I thought, considering he had made himself responsible for our safety. “With your guarantee,” I replied. “The King is as drunk as a lord,” he answered, “and even if he was sober he would have no power with this horde of devils.” “Do you know the way through the wood?” I asked. “No,” he replied. Here was a nice pipeful to smoke. you find a sober nigger anywhere?” I asked “Can MAGAZINE. hundred yards behind us, and we had still to pass the boiling pit. We plunged on desperately, slipping in the slimy mud and tripping over the tangled roots of trees, bruising ourselves at every step. Presently we came to the swamp; it might have been so much space, for all we could see, so dark was it. Each man had to touch his neighbour in order to keep together, for the darkness seemed to press on us and force us apart. There was no chance him. “Perhaps for enough of carrying now ; it was Sauve qui peut and the money one would guide us through. I'll look for one,” said Shatz. “Can you slip out of the fire- light 2? Go under those trees yonder and wait for me.” We managed to get out of the light unob- served, and took refuge in the shadow of the bushes Shatz had pointed out. Meanwhile the yelling and screaming round the devil take the hind- most ; so down we fell on our hands and knees and groped for the fallen trees. IT was half-way across, almost suffocated by the loathsome smell, when to my horror I heard Malins, the engineer, who was following me, slip and fall into the quagmire. With an effort I steadied myself and crawled back. Reach- fire was increasing in fury every minute, and we waited Shatz’s return ing down my hand I felt for poor Malins. By with a great deal of im- patience and anxiety. Suddenly we heard a rustle in the under- growth behind us ; we all sprang round, thinking some of the savages had discovered our hiding- place. It was only Shatz, however. He had a native with him, and, beckoning us to follow, he slipped along through the darkness. Presently the man who was guiding us handed a torch to Shatz, who lit it and handed it back. Then we plunged on through the slimy mud and undergrowth at our best pace. How long we had been running and falling I do not know, when suddenly our guide thrust his torch into the mud, plunging us into blackest darkness, and listened. Far back through the jungle we could still hear the cries of the savages, but they sounded different now, and, what was more, they were coming nearer! The guide gibbered something to Shatz, who understood his pasors. ‘The German caught his breath. ‘ Heavens!” he exclaimed. ‘“ We are being followed !” And _ followed we were, with a vengeance. Soon the yelling fiends were not more than four Malins, the engineer who fell into the swamp and was rescued by the Author. From a Photograph. great good luck I en- countered his fingers, and, slipping my hand down to his wrist, threw my whole weight away from it, thus managing to hold him up and keep my own balance. The others, who had also heard him fall, crawled back likewise, and after a breathle-s struggle we managed to pull the poor fellow out. All this time, of course, our pursuers were coming closer and closer, until just as we reached the other side of the swamp we saw the light thrown by our pursuers’ torches glint on the slimé of the bog. We fairly rushed on now, knowing the boat could not be very far away, and after a ten minutes’ lung-bursting run we felt the atmosphere grow cooler and drier, and knew we were near the end. The savages were now not more than twenty yards behind us, and it was merely a matter of distance. Our guide had vanished; he had received his payment before starting, and naturally wished to save his skin. At last we broke from the wood and ran to our boat. Madly we pushed at her, trying to get her afloat; but, alas! no. Whilst we had been away the.water had ebbed, leaving her

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ONE NEW YEAR’S DAY. 553 “We turne. on the howling mob with belaying-pins and whatever else we could get hold of.” high on the bank. With the strength of despair we struggled to shift her, and just as the fore- most savage cleared the wood she began to move an inch or two. Before we could shove off we were surrounded, but we had got the craft moving, and whilst Malins and our two black boys pushed her off, we turned on the howling mob with belaying- pins and whatever else we could get hold of, the skipper firing two or three shots over their heads from his revolver. Vol, xxiii —70, Several of us got nasty scratches from their knives and spears, but the revolver kept them at bay just long enough to serve our purpose. As soon as the boat was afloat we jumped in, and though steam was not up we managed to drift out of danger, leaving our disappointed pursuers howling upon the bank. By and by the little engine throbbed and we steamed down river. Ina couple of hours we reached the sea, and by morning we were safe in our berths on the steamer.

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Twelve Hundred Miles . in a Paper Boat. By L. M. WILLIAMS. America has been the birthplace of many strange feats, but none more remarkable than this —a voyage of over a thousand miles in a tiny craft made of newspapers, several hundred miles of the trip being on the open ocean! ] O voyage twelve hundred miles in a | paper boat may sound somewhat | incredible, but, nevertheless, that } unique and hazardous feat has been "accomplished by a veteran member of the Harlem River Rowing Club, U.S.A. Captain G. Johnson by name. In a frail racing shell a little under twenty-one feet in length, ingeniously made by himself from newspapers from all parts o the world, he rowed from St. Augustine, in Flo- rida, to New York, the materially delayed the construction of the boat’ since he had to write to publishers the world over asking for copies of their journals. To collect the papers was itself an onerous undertaking. The method of procuring them was as follows. Johnson sent out a postcard expressing his intention to about five hundred newspapers in all parts, and no fewer than three hundred of them complied with his request for copies of their paper. All the European countries were represented ; also many of the British entire journey being for the most part on salt water, and several hun- dred miles of it on the open ocean. Captain Johnson cannot say precisely what prompted him to construct a boat of newspapers, unless it is the fact that newspaper is made from wood pulp, and that he has been associated with news- paper work for many years. His initial intention was to utilize the sheets of one paper exclusively, but finally, to give his odd craft a cosmopoli- tan interest, he adopted the expedient of using the sheets of as many prominent newspapers Colonies, Egypt, Japan, and the Philippine Islands. In the case of the American papers, every State was repre- sented by one or more journals, | With this immense pile of papers and a quantity of shellac, Captain Johnson com- menced his tedious task, which extended over five months. The keel, gunwales, and bulkheads were, of course, of wood—the two former of yellow pine and the latter of white pine, on account of its extreme lightness. Temporary slats _ be- tween the bulkheads constituted the mould. The foundation work from the principal cities of the world as he could possibly procure. This Captain G. Johnson, of the Harlem River Rowing Club, who performed the remarkable feat here described. From a Photograph. completed, Captain Johnson turned his attention to the news-

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TWELVE HUNDRED MILES IN A PAPER BOAT. 555 ‘The upper part of the craft, showing the headings of the various newspapers of which the boat was constructed. From a Photograph. papers themselves. ‘The first sheets were laid over the slender mould with great care and liberally coated with shellac. ‘This process was repeated no fewer than thirty times in building the hull and nineteen times in making up the deck. The last layer consisted of the headings of as many papers as it was possible to lay on. These latter were clearly visible beneath the last coating of shellac, which was no less than a quarter of an inch in thickness. In all, possibly three thousand sheets of news- paper were used in build- ing the boat. It measured twenty-one feet in length, the 3ame number of inches in beam, and six inches in depth. It had a number of air-tight compartments at either end which rendered it practically unsinkable. When the time came for launching, it might have been July 4th in St. Augustine; everybody From a Photograph. Captain Johnson afioat in his “ paper boat.” Copyright by G. Johnson. turned out to see whether this remarkable “paper boat” would float. Success crowned the captain’s efforts from the outset, and he signalled his intention of starting on his trip to New York there and then. Needless to add, the voyage was condemned by all; no one considered the craft strong enough to withstand the wash of the open seas, while many maintained that the salt water would render the paper absorbent, despite the thickness of the shellac, and that the boat would sink. However, in spite of his three-score years, Johnson had the confidence of his convictions, and, stocking his craft with a suit of clothes, some food, a demi-john of water, and some odd tools, he pulled away from the little harbour of St. Augustine amid a storm of cheers. The initial stages of the voyage were anything but encouraging. He~had not) been out more

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556 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. than an hour when a fierce thunderstorm broke over him, completely filling the cock-pit of the boat with water, and forcing him to land until the tempest abated. Putting off again, he finished the first day’s run at North River, about twenty-seven miles from the start. As may well be imagined, Johnson kept close to the mainland, so that a great part of the journey was on inland waters, the Atlantic sea- board being studded with numerous islands and reefs which are not he not prudently taken the advice urged upon him. From Norfolk Johnson put out for Annapolis, and, keeping to the Virginian shore of Chesa- peake Bay, continued until he reached Baltimore. From the latter place he passed through the Dela- ware and Chesapeake Canal to the Delaware River, then through the Raritan Canal, terminat- ing at Perth Amboy, on the southern extremity of Staten, which placed him in sight of his goal. Thus, with the ex- shown on the map. ception of the short About two hundred miles was rowed on the open ocean, but he hugged the land pretty closely. In \, TINY CRAFT ARRIVES | distance between Savannah and Nor- folk, he successfully accomplished the feat of rowing his paper boat from St. crossing some of the z ON HE SCHUYLKILL sounds, however, he was frequently miles from the coast. Crossing St. Andrew’s Sound, an open stretch of seven miles had to be en- countered. Local seamen did their utmost to dissuade him from crossing it, owing to the strong tides and the lightness of his craft, but he was not to be denied. After having been out about seven days he fell ill owing to drinking Sod Captain Johnson, With Shell) G Constructed of Newspapers, hy Is Oarsmon’s Guest.. ' _— HAD REMARKABLE TRIP!O Ir From Florida to Phitadelphia, Encountering Many Hardships, Was Feat Accomplished. 1! Oarsmen training on the Schuylkil!| © f River for the Fourth of July regatta; we b were treated to a novel sight yesterday. | at Captain George W. Johnson. rowing | het leisurely in a shell mide of newspaper, | the arrivad ait the Malta Boat Club float. | as big reaming was uper -*~ted_by ted? ung Was up br ce Augustine to New York. The journey from start to finish occu- pied about ten weeks, and was a remarkable test of strength and endur- ance in view of Johnson’s advanced age. He is a man of fine physical development, or he would never have been able to sit in his cramped __ posi- tion for hours at a time day after day. At first he experi- enced cramp in polluted water on a deserted Georgian island. This compelled him to rest for two weeks at Savannah to recuperate. From Savannah he was persuaded to take train to Norfolk in Virginia, in order to avoid the long stretches of open sea and the dangers of Cape Hatteras — a point which all seafarers avoid if possible. The heavy seas of this locality would undoubtedly have brought the adven- turous captain’s journey to an abrupt end had A facsimile of a newspaper article referring to the Captain’s voyage. the back and arms, but soon became used to the work and afterwards suffered little inconvenience. He did not carry much food with him—just sufficient to last the day—and he always landed to take his meals whenever possible. At the places stopped at overnight the boat was usually on exhibition, and, needless to say, never failed to create a good deal of interest.

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The two breezy little narratives we publish this month deal respectively with an amusing fishing adventure in South Africa and a puzzling American railroad mystery. FISHING ON THE MOLOPO. By J. C. X. McKenna. HE River Molopo violates all the laws | and traditions that respectable rivers take pride in observing. Even the most wilful river in this country is rarely guilty of a more serious crime than overflowing its banks; but the Moloro leads one long life of perversity. It hasn’t got any banks at all; it hasn’t even got a bed. It flows when the fit strikes it, and often dries up for no imaginable reason. Sometimes, when the water on the top of the ground is rushing furiously and frantically towards the Kalihari Desert, the water below, in the subterranean channel, is lying still and stagnant. At other times the Molopo actually catches fire! The thick reeds and masses of weeds in the dried- up surface-bed blaze for days ata time, but, if youstampthe PEPE fire out and dig a few feet FE below the ashes, you will find | the clear, cold water of the | Molopo bubbling between the sandstone and the dolomite as_ | if ithad nothing tobeashamed | of. If there is such a thing as_ | personal pride amongst rivers, | I am sure that old Father Thames would dry up rather than accept the Molopo as a distant tributary. The Molopo would never have been heard of but for the fact that the town of Mafeking is built either on its banks or in its bed—you can’t be sure which, when dealing with this absurd river. A railway bridge has been built over the valley through which the Molopo is in the habit of flowing, but | several culverts have been made beneath the line to the north and south in case relates his amusing e The Author, Mr. J. C. X. Mckenna, who here that riences while fishing in the Molopo River. From a Photogr the Molopo should at any time change its mind and decide on a new itinerary. Near the bridge some railway employés threw up a dam and tried to make a swimming bath. ‘The offended river dricd up immediately, and a Chinese market-gardener is still using the hole as a manure-pit. During the siege of Mafeking the Boers tried to dam the Molopo, and so cut off the garrison’s supply of water. As a protest the river rose and flooded a fort manned by the Town Guard. Later on it forced its way, by some secret passage, into the beautifully-fur- nished dug-out of an English lady of title. She escaped in a mackintosh, and took a photograph of her shell-proof home with the Molopo rising like a fountain through its chimney. The geography books will tell you that the Molopo rises in the Western Transvaal and tlows westward through British Bechuanaland into the Kalihari Desert, where it ultimately loses itself. Cer- tainly there is a “fontein” (fountain or spring) in the Western Transvaal _ called Molopo Oog (.¢., the Eye of the Molopo), but the river does not get more than a gallon of water an hour from this source. Near by, however, is an extra- *_ ordinary hole called the “ Won- ~ dergat” (Wonderhole), which no human being has ever found the bottom of yet. The theory is that a strong current, running some hundreds of feet below, carries the sinker and ‘the line along some under- ground channel. It may be the Molopo starts its extraordinary career from the 1p) Wondergat) which seems more

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558 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in keeping with its general character than the peaceful spring at Molopo Oog. As for losing itself in the Kalibari Desert, that again is open to doubt. Very few people know anything about it, since very few people have crossed the desert. But I have heard experienced ‘ explorers say that at certain seasons you cannot lose the Molopo; you will find it running merrily wherever you care to dig. At other seasons no one has ever been able to find it anywhere, which, however, considering that we are dealing with the Molopo, doesn’t prove that it isn’t there. What we do know is, that the Kalihari during summer is covered luxuriantly with grass, and, if the Molopo doesn’t supply the necessary water, then there is no other river that does. All this is by way of preamble. It is not of the mysterious geological side of the river that I wish to write. I once had a day’s sport on the Molopo—actually a day’s fishing —and I am inclined to think that I am the only white man who has ever taken such a liberty with this extraordinary river. And this is what happened. My servant in Mafeking was a local-bred Kaffir boy, belonging to the kraal less than a mile away. He was a Baralong, and had drunk of the waters of the Molopo from his babyhood. He had developed a perfect genius for tidying up things, and was everlastingly arranging and rearranging my furniture and my kit. ‘The spare room, in which I kept my saddlery, guns, boots, and so on, was his special pride. Against a piece of green baize, tacked to the wall, were hung stirrup-irons, bits, curb-chains, and boot- hooks, all of which he kept in a high state of polish, One day I saw an old_ brass reel hung up amongst the other gear, and I guessed that “Jacko” had been foraging in an old trunk of mine and had found the reel on an old fishing-rod that I had packed away as useless. The reel took a fine polish, and Jacko could not resist the temptation to hang it up where it could be seen. He came into the room just as my surprised gaze rested on the reel in its unaccus- tomed surroundings, and before I could say any- thing he opened a conversation with “ Baas, what him for, baas ?” “For fishing,” I said, but I saw by his face that he did not understand. Nor is this to be wondered at, considering that Mafeking is about a thousand miles away from the nearest coast, and that all the fish that find their way to that distant village travel up in tins. “This one helps catch fish,” I explained, and, walking to the pantry on the back stoep, I lifted a herring out of a tin and said, “Catch this fellow when him live fish by the water.” “O’ee! O’ee! Yah, baas!” cried Jacko, as he grasped my meaning. ‘(Some day baas come catchum fish by the Molopo?” “Tkona fish in the Molopo, Jacko,” I said, doubtingly. “Yah, baas,” he said; “plenty big « fish darso !” I must say that I had my doubts about it. A river that was frequently dry on the surface from end to end for months at a time, very often on fire, occasionally a roaring torrent, and even at its most likely time nothing more than a chain of water-holes, did not impress me as a spot to pursue the gentle sport. I could imagine a sort of blind frog or a hoary old crab seeking such a habitat, but nothing in the way of fish as we know fish. I never heard of anybody fishing in the Molopo, and had never even heard anyone talking about it; and various people that I asked were equally ignorant. One old transport-rider, however, who had been driving his ox-wagon over this part of the country since the early Kimberley days, did happen to have heard of someone catching a fish something like the barbel you find in the Vaal River. As far as he remembered it was a big, slimy thing, which tasted like decayed mud and nearly poisoned the man who tried to skin it. This information, vague as it was, was enough for me; I resolved to give the Molopo a trial. I hunted up all my old tackle and took with me as bait some worms, some dough, and some bits of meat, besides a fly or two and a spinning minnow. Jacko was in high glee. He brought down the polished brass reel and refixed it to the rod, all the time watching me collecting bait with a curious look on his face. “This fat fellow make fish come ?” I inquired, holding up a mighty worm which wriggled energetically in my fingers. “T no know, baas,” he replied, doubtfully. “Me show you, baas, by and by.” I tried to make him tell me what was the best bait to use, but either my pidgin Kaffir was too bad or Jacko was more dense than usual, for the idea of bait was a thing he could not under- stand. The spinning minnow gave him huge pleasure, but I think it appealed to him more as a charm than as a means of catching fish, With the tin of worms he was frankly disgusted. When I asked him where was the best spot to catch fish, he was in no doubt. He started off for the river at a great pace, laughing and romping about like a great schoolboy. He led the way towards the native kraal, and eventually pulled up alongside a round hole about ten or twelve feet in diameter and, as I found by sticking the butt-end of my rod in, about three feet deep. The water was very muddy, and I must confess>the spot; didn’t appeal to me in

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SHORT STORIES. Reg “I went on for some minutes, gradually gathering a crowd of curious Kaffirs around me."" the least. However, I started off with the spinning minnow, and made what play I could with it in the small pond. I went on for some minutes, gradually gathering a crowd of curious Kaffirs around me, and then I tried a similar hole which, although only about two yards away, was about four or five feet lower down, The Molopo at this point was a sort of cataract of small holes, a tiny stream falling from one hole to the other, until it reached the bottom hole of the series. No water at all ran out of this last hole, as the river dived and ran subter- - raneously to a spot about half a mile away, where it reappeared. I tried each hole in turn, giving a good five minutes to each, and then returned to the: top one again, resolved to try the effect of a baited hook. Getting the worm on the hook was a source of much delight to the Kaffir spectators, who had by now doubled in numbers. Jacko, as a member of the domestic staff of such a wonder- worker, was full of pride. He shared my glory, and when I threw in the baited hook he nodded to the crowd, as if to imply that some sensational white man’s magic was about to follow. But, alas! nothing happened. I waited and waited and waited. My spectators began to mutter amongst themselves. The show was a dull one. Jacko still kept faith in me, and seemed to be explaining that such wonderful magic as I was engaged on could not be hurried. At last, after more than an hour’s patient silence, even he began to weaken in his trust. “Fish no come, baas?” he said.

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560 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “There are no fish here,” I replied. “Yah, baas, yah!” he cried. ‘Plenty big fish in there, baas.” : “Well, what can I catch them with?” I asked. “Worms or flies or what ?” “ Baas want catch fish?” he asked, as if the idea had only just struck him. “Of course I do,” I said, irritably. catch plenty fish —plenty big fish.” “Oaugh! Oaugh!” he grunted, as if he sud- denly understood, and in a minute he had commenced a violent conversation with the spectators. As a result some of them ran to their huts only a few hundred yards away, whilst “T want others moved restlessly, as if they were about to set to serious business. Jacko, who was wear- ing an old pair of trousers, rolled them.up above his knees and commenced to give orders to everybody. Then the messengers returned from the huts, and I saw thit two of them carried spades, whilst one had a large hatchet. Jacko immediately seized the latter and commenced to direct operations with it. He set the two spadesmen to work at once, and they dug with all their might to make a narrow trench, about three feet deep, which, when completed, would let the water out of the top hole into the one below. It was the work of a very short time, ae f Ai “Out of the mud Jacko produced another and another.”’

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SHORT STORIES. 561 and Jacko himself seized the spade to dig the last few sods away which let the water go. The water flowed past rapidly, until, in little more than a minute, the top pool was practically empty. Then I became aware of a tremendous bustle going on in the few inches of water still left in the basin of the pool. Jacko plunged in, nearly knee-deep in the mud, seized some wriggling object in the slime, and flung it out on the grassy bank. Immediately the Kaffir with the hatchet smote it a mighty blow, and it lay dead. Out of the mud Jacko produced another and another ; the Kaffir with the hatchet did the rest. They were long, slimy beasts, quite three pounds in weight, and, as the last few inches of water were drained away, I could see the tails of several more stuck in the mud. They were heading downwards—evidently making for some home in the mud, or below it, in which they were in the habit of living when the water dried up. But our rapid draining of the pool had caught them napping. Accustomed to rapid evaporation in a sub-tropical country, they could not quite adapt themselves to our complete draining, which had lasted little more than a minute. Whenever a tail showed Jacko grabbed, and the bulky Kaffir, dancing wildly on the bank, struck as never angler struck before. It was the most thorough day’s angling I have ever assisted in, for I do not think we left a single fish in the pool. The mangled fish on the bank were not very attractive-looking. I examined them rather closely, so that I should know the barbel when I met with him again; but I gladly consented when the Kaffirs asked to be allowed to take them home with them. Their bones make good medicine, so Jacko told me, and it pleased me to think they were of some use. A little later on I was rolling up my fishing- line on the reel and preparing to go home. Jacko watched the operation carefully. “Him no good catch fish,” he said, con- temptuously. “ Hatchet very good !” And I am inclined to think that the hatchet is the most complete angler there is—provided, of course, that you can drain your river first. LOCATING A LEAK.: By Norman H. Crowe t. Durinc the fall of 1895 grain-shippers along the LC.R.R., in North-Western Iowa, found themselves face to face with a very annoying and surprising state of affairs. Cars of wheat that had been carefully filled arrived at their eastern destination with the actual surface of the grain a foot, and often two feet, below the load-line. | Consignees’ reports disclosed the uncomfortable fact that discrepancies amount- ing to several hundreds of bushels occasion- ally occurred in cars of wheat shipped to the Chicago market. , Beyond a chilly sensation of unrest the shippers contented themselves for a time with the mental consolation that the shortages were the result of errors, and might not happen again. But they continued to appear, with a persistence that finally demanded action of some sort. The matter had reached this stage when my friend Sinyard, in the employ of the railway company at its Storm Lake station, broached the matter to me in confidence and asked my opinion of the mystery. He stated that the local agents had been investigating the trouble quietly for a week or two, but had discovered absolutely no clue to the whereabouts of the missing grain, nor of the manner in which it had been stolen—if indeed it Aad been stolen, which they doubted greatly. A mystery of this nature has always had an Vol. xxiii, —71. attraction for me, and J at once became wrapped up in the intricacies of Sinyard’s story. If grain was being missed it must have been taken from the cars en route. But how? The thing promised to be a first-class detective proposition, and appealed to me strongly. “Have you talked with the freight crews ? What do they say about it?” I asked. “They merely laugh, and ask us if it’s a joke,” said my friend. “Where do you suppose the thefts occur—at the shipping point, on the way to Chicago, or after reaching Chicago?” “On the way, of course. here and Webster City. help us?” “ Well, it strikes me that if we can locate the scene of the thefts we are likely, sooner or later, to discover the parties doing the work. See?” “ By George! I didn’t think of that before,” said Sinyard. ‘‘ But can we do that?” : “Can we?” I returned, with the air of a pro- fessional Sherlock Holmes. ‘“‘That’s easy. By the way, how many shortages have occurred on each freight of late ?” Sinyard studied his papers for a moment. Suddenly he looked up and ejaculated, “ Why, they have all been on Number Seven. It’s queer I have never noticed that.” Having thus opportunely _ discovered the Why, it’s between But how does that

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562 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. curious connection of Number Seven freight train with the shortages, I felt the solution would be most simple. It merely required the “shadowing” of a few cars, viewing a robbery, and tabulating the perpetrators at my leisure. I felt elated, for [ had made up my mind by now to undertake the elucidation of the mystery. I soon found, however, that this was rather more difficult than I had anticipated. Late next evening I entered the caboose of Number Seven, wearing a large oilcloth satchel, a peaked cap, and a look of innocence at least a quarter of an inch thick. Upon inquiry from the brakeman I revealed the fact that I was going to visit an aunt at Webster City. I further advanced the information that my lungs were very weak, and that fresh air was a prime necessity with me ; therefore, if I dashed to the door or window at each and every stop he was not to become frightened or attempt to restrain me. He considered this a great joke on my part, and laughed heartily. Many stops were made, and I kept a strict watch all the time on the wheat-laden car I had under observation. It was five cars ahead of the caboose and comparatively easy to watch, although the night was not of the brightest. No one approached the car, and I began to con- sider my trip as so much time lost. We stopped once half-way between stations, and, judging by the furious blasts from the engine, I imagined we had encountered a wash-out or an attempt at a hold-up. Upon investigation I saw that we had stopped on a bridge, and on such a sharp curve that I could look into the side door of the engine cab from the rear platform of the caboose. We stood thus for several minutes before starting again. The brakeman came back to the caboose grumbling something about “those confounded farmers,” and I gathered that some late-bound rustic had delayed the taggn by tipping a load of hay over on the track at a crossing. Very early next morning we reached Webster City, and I hurried to the agent with my report that all was safe and sound. Imagine my con- sternation, therefore, when he broke the seal of the wheat-car and found the grain level eighteen inches below the mark it had been loaded to! I could only stare in utter astonishment at the phenomenon. Here was a car robbed of a portion of its contents while actually under way, and with a lynx-eyed detective (myself) on hand to guard it! Impossible, I told myself—and yet it had been done! Three nights later I made a bolder effort. Seizing a happy moment, I was safely smuggled into the only car of wheat hauled out by Number Seven. Now, if ever, I would learn things. I did not feel quite so buoyant after an hour’s silent cogitation, for I might be in for a skirmish, with a strong possibility of damage to my person. But, being in, I resolved to stay and face it. I kept alert for several hours, lying prone in the yielding grain. Stop after stop was made and nothing happened. It grew monotonous and wearisome. Finally, I fell asleep — to waken almost immediately, it seemed. The train was standing still and I heard men’s voices, apparently at some little distance. Crawling to the gimlet hole in the side of the car, which I had prepared for observation purposes, I looked out and saw a stream of water bubbling down over a stony dam some distance away. On the other side I saw the stream gliding silently off into the darkness—we were on a bridge! “Well, they can’t rob the car while it’s on this bridge,” I commented, and threw myself back again for further rest. The starting of the train partially roused me, but I soon fell sound asleep, and was not awakened until the Webster City agent’s lantern swung into the car. “Ha!” he ejaculated, sarcastically. “ You're a fine sleuth, you are! his car is short about three hundred bushels of eighty-five-cent wheat ! Where’s it gone to?” I presume I looked about as foolish as I felt. I could not believe my eyes until long staring forced me to do so. Incredible as it sounds, the car had plainly been pilfered’while I was a passenger inside it. My personal opinion of my detective ability at that moment was very low, I will admit. But I was game. I made a third trial—on a different scale. To facilitate observation and “to ensure keeping awake I “tackled the trucks.” I chose the rear tiucks of the car immediately ahead of the wheat-car, and ensconced myself snugly. I had warm clothing, and my pockets were full of food. I could observe without being observed, and the outlook was good for interesting developments providing I retained my senses and my station on the trucks. Station after station went by as we rolled on through the night. The air grew chilly. To keep the dust from my eyes I pressed my face into my coat-sleeve. Occasionally I drew a cracker from my pockets and nibbled at it to occupy my time. And then, suddenly, we stopped on a bridge. S-zzz! went the brakes, and reluctantly the cars groaned to a standstill. Almost at the same instant two dark figures arose at the side of the grain-car behind me and attacked the car—apparently with an auger.

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I held my breath in ex- pectancy as I watched. A yellow light flashed down into their faces, and I knew the brake- man was leaning over the edge of the car, hold- ing his lantern as an aid to the thieves. They seemed to be boring a hole in the car. Sud- denly one man stepped aside and the other slid the mouth of a huge leather tube over the opening made. Five minutes went by silently. I listened for the swish of escaping grain, but could not dis- tinguish it from the purling of the waterfall just above. Then, with a quick motion, the tube was re- moved and a pluginserted into the hole, securely nailed and cleated by iron strips, a big pla- card, which had been removed, being finally re- placed over the spot. The task was finished swiftly, silently, and - skilfully ; then the brake- man swung his lantern, the train jerked noisily, gained SHORT STORIES. 563 Two nights later the rascals were rounded up neatly. They had a unique system of opera- tion. By means of boards a chute had been constructed down one side of a bridge up- right. Below the chute was a board floorabout twelve feet square. By bor- ing a six-inch auger-hole in the car-side they tubed the wheat down to this floor, and later shovelled it into wagons and hauled it home. The plugging of the cars was so neatly exe- cuted that, until the system was discovered by my arduous ride on the trucks, no one had _ even thought of the possibility of such a_ thing being done. Needless to say, the placards were immediately ordered off all cars, and proper repairs made where plugs were found. I may add that the railway company re- warded merather handsomely for‘ my part in the matter. I have been content to “The brakeman was leaning over the edge of the car, holding his lantern as . an aid to the thieves.” let my detective abilities lie dor- mant since then, feeling that the laurels won headway, and went on. I had learnt the secret now, and the rest would be simple. at that time are sufficient for me.

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Two Men im a Cave. By DonaLtp GRay. Mr. Gray went to Spain with the avowed intention of touring the country with a donkey and a barrel- organ, writing up his experiences on behalf of this Magazine. Unforeseen difficulties, however, prevented the realization of his project, and while waiting in Bilbao— where he met a young compatriot, who is here called Bamber—he found his funds running perilously low. At this juncture Bamber, who was also in a somewhat impecunious condition, suggested that they should save expense by quitting their lodgings and taking up their residence in a snug cave he knew of in the adjacent mountains. eel) AMBER, although only twenty-two years old, claims to have some respect for the conventions. I profess to have none, yet I fell in with his suggestion that he should go and order a cab, while I tried to hide myself and our impedimenta behind the doorway of No. 28, La Gran Via, Bilbao. The “cochero,” or cab-driver, looked amused as he helped to bundle in our luggage, which consisted of a travelling rug and my sleeping- sack, packed full of provisions, clothes, and bottles, which clinked unblushingly. But his amusement changed to amazement when we told him whither he was to drive. Still, he had driven us to the bull-fight a few days before ; so, though he may have doubted our sanity, he believed in our ability to pay, and obeyed our orders. . Bilbao left behind, the Misericordia and the fever hospital passed, we reached the village of Basurto. There we disembarked, left the main toad, and took a path that leads straight up the mountain. The night was warm, and neither of us was in the best of training, but notwithstand- ing our load we managed somehow to come within about a hundred yards of the summit. There we paused, and while we smoked cigarettes discussed the exact position of our destination. IT had visited the cave twice before, and Bamber had been there once; but one of its best quali- ties in our eyes was its elusiveness, and it took us about twenty minutes to find it. When we did sit down in our adopted home the trouble we had taken to reach it was soon forgotten. It is impossible to exhaust the catalogue of virtues belonging to that cave. It was the cleanest, the driest, and prettiest little cave imaginable. It had one drawback, how- ever. So far as we could find out, there was no end to it. The cave proper was circular in form, at the most about nine feet in diameter, but at the back there was a passage about two feet oroad and eighteen inches high. Along this I crawled for about thirty yards. At that point it The amusing experiences that befell the two modern troglodytes are set forth below. grew too narrow for farther progress, so I turned back. : . As wolves are not unknown in the Cantabrian Mountains, neither of us felt inclined to leave the opening unblocked, so we spent the evening in turfing it up. We had no implements other than penknives and a walking-stick, and we felt ready for our supper when our task was finished. By"the time our evening meal was over the sun had set and the tinkle of the last sheep-bell had died away in the distance. We watched the stars appear above us, and below us the lights of Bilbao gleamed fitfully, Then we went to our beds, and eventually were lulled to an uneasy sleep by the buzzing of mosquitoes and the croaking of frogs in a pond a mile away. Next morning we rose with the sun and breakfasted punctually at five-thirty. The day proved exceedingly hot, and after we had gone down to the village of Zorozza, on the other side of the mountain, and bought and brought back provisions to the cave, wé were capable of nothing more energetic than basking in the sun till supper-time. While we were eating we had our first visitors in the shape of two charmingly Arcadian. shep: herds. They seemed friendly, but we could only understand a little of what they said. One phrase, however, they reiterated again and again :— “Mal gobierno,” “Mal gobierno” (“ Bad government ”). What they were driving at was more than I could make out, especially as they emphatically denied that they were members of the Basque Separatist Party. We invited them to have supper with us next day, when we expected two friends, who had more command of Spanish, to come and spend the night with us. This they promised to do. Little did we know how they intended to fulfil their promise! The next morning we spent in much the same manner as the previous one. When we had washed and obtained .water—a task which

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TWO MEN entailed a walk of a couple of miles oyer rough country—we explored the adjoining summits, and discovered a farmhouse within a reasonable distance. There we got some provisions and made friends with the occupants. We were invited into the kitchen, which was rather picturesque and very Spanish. It was a large IN A CAVE. 565 thunder and some drops of rain forced us to take shelter in the cave. These signs proved but the prelude to a storm of some severity. For a time we watched the lightning and calcu- lated its distance from us; but the atmosphere was heavy, and while the thunder was still pealing its loudest we both fell asleep. “While we were eating we had our first visitors in the shape of two charmingly Arcadian shepherds.” room—and it had need to be, for it contained, besides ourselves, the farmer, two women, eight children, a donkey, and innumerable poultry. While we were conversing a cow happened to put its head through the doorway. This roused our host’s hospitable instincts, and he asked us if we would like a drink of milk. We answered “Yes” ; whereupon the farmer politely requested us to wait a moment. Fetching a pail, to our surprise he squatted outside the door and pro- ceeded to milk the cow where it stood, half inside the kitchen and half out. He was interrupted, however, by a lad appearing with a pony—both of them entering the room. By this time the smell in the place was more like that which one is accustomed to associate with a byre than a dwelling-house, so we went outside and drank the milk there. Very good it was. The food we had obtained enabled us to make the best dinner we had had since we had said farewell to civilization. We had scarcely finished eating, however, before the roll of When we awoke we found that the weather had changed, that the sun was shining outside, and that two men were standing at the entrance of the cave. Bamber and I were half dazed with sleep, and not a word of what our visitors said could we understand. However, we noticed that one of them carried a gun, and knew that he must be a guardia rural, so we offered them cigarettes. These they accepted and left us in peace. Annoyed at the ill-success of our Spanish, we employed ourselves until supper- time in studying a grammar and a phrase-book. Eight o’clock arrived without either our friends or the shepherds having put in an appearance, — but their non-arrival did not surprise us, as either Wincer or Malley might have been detained at Bilbao, and we had seen our pastoral acquaint- ances walking down the mountain a couple of hours before. By the time we had finished supper the twilight was on us, and we kept a sharp look-out, for if our friends did not reach us before dusk the chances were a hundred to

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566 THE WIDE one that they would not find the cave at all, and would have to spend the night on the mountains without cover of any sort. At last Bamber pointed out two specks at the foot of the mountain. “I believe they are Wincer and Malley,” he said. For the next quarter of an hour they were out of sight. When they reappeared we were surer than ever. “Yes,” said I, “that’s Wincer in his grey suit and Malley in the dark clothes.” “But,” replied Bamber, “they don’t seem to have any provisions.” “All the worse for them,” said I, and we busied ourselves trying to make the cave tidy for visitors. When this was nearly finished Bamber went out to attract their attention and show them the cave. Presently he rushed back with astounding intelligence. “It isn’t Malley and Wincer. The man in black is a policeman, and the one in grey a guardia rural.” It was true, sure enough. But apparently they were not coming to us, for instead of leav- ing the path when they were closest to us they continued on their way up the mountain. We heaved a sigh of relief, for we had no idea what laws we might not be transgressing, and whether or no the ground we had squatted on was private property. But our relief was short-lived. While we were once more gazing for signs of our truant friends a voice suddenly hailed us from behind, and, turning round, we found the policeman with, not one, but four guardias rurales behind him. And there, in the background, were the shepherds we had invited to supper. They had fulfilled their promise, but in a rather uncomfortable way. As far as we could guess they had led three of the guards by a roundabout way in order that all possible chance of our escape should be avoided. The whole squad looked rather dilapidated, heated, and ridiculous, the policeman the most of all, for with him the flush of self-applause was blended with the perspiration of climbing. Nevertheless, they bad a business-like look, for each guard held his gun ready for instant use and the policeman’s hand stayed ominously near his revolver-pocket. Under the circumstances our only course was to bid them a friendly good evening and await developments. “Who are you ?” asked the policeman. “ We are English.” “ Are you living in this cave?” “Ves.” “Why?” Bamber and TI looked at each other. We had found it difficult to convince some of our English friends in Bilbao that cave-dwelling was a sane mode of life. To explain the joys _ proof sheet. WORLD MAGAZINE. of the simple life to a Spanish constable in a bad temper was too much for our knowledge of Spanish, so with beautiful irrelevance Bamber answered : ‘ We have papers of nationality.” “Let me see them.” We did so, and pointed to the signature of the Governor of the Province of Vizcaya. The effect was immediate. “Do you live in Bilbao?” asked our interro- * gator, in a more friendly voice. We gave him our addresses. The next question was whether we had in our possession any firearms. Not satisfied with our denial, a brief search was made in the cave, during which our erstwhile tidy apartment was turned upside-down. Then, having accepted cigarettes and glasses of wine, the disconsolate party wished us good night and made their way down the mountain. Darkness had now fallen, and neither Wincer nor Malley had arrived. The night was perfectly still, without a breath of wind, so we lit candles and placed them on a crag outside the cave. Behind them we held the white water- When our beacon had been burning for about five minutes we heard a faint halloaing in the distance. We answered it vigorously, and, in return, heard the strains ~ of “ Lead, Kindly Light.” When the voice out of the darkness came within speaking distance we discovered it belonged to Wincer. He had come without Malley, and needed assistance to carry up the provisions. J.eaving Bamber to look after the lights, I set off in Wincer’s direction, and came a couple of nasty croppers before I reached him. Wincer was too “done” to be able to talk until we had reached the cave and rested for a minute or two. When he had recovered his breath he told us that he had met the guardias on his way up; that they had asked him where he was bound for, that he had told them, that they had questioned him closely as to our addresses and what we were doing in the cave, and that they had seemed satisfied. We congratulated ourselves that we had got out of the matter, and then inquired why Malley had not appeared. “Ah!” said Wincer, his face assuming a serious expression. “ During the thunderstorm to-day —I suppose you had it, too ?— Malley was walking along the street with his umbrella, and a horse came and put his head through it. The surprise made Malley fall a couple of yards backwards, and it was lucky it did, for otherwise he would have been run over. As it is, he’s got a few bruises, and is in bed suffering from shock. I am sorry, because I hoped he’d ask Evans to lend me his revolver. I don’t know the chap well enough to-ask for itymyself.”

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TWO MEN Though we could not get up a four for bridge, Cigarettes and nap made the evening pass pleasantly enough. Notwithstanding the absence of the revolver, the outrageous clothes we were wearing, the guttering candles, the cards, and the wine made us look as pretty a trio of brigands as ever stepped out of a story-book. Peacefully and unsuspectingly we lay down at last to sleep, but our awakening was of a different sort. It was Bamber’s voice that roused ‘me. ‘The grey light of the false dawn filled the cave, and I judged it must be somewhere between two and three o’clock. Then I realized that Bamber was trying to talk Spanish, so I turned round and saw four or five misty figures at the entrance. Wincer woke up at that moment, and, as he talks Spanish with some fluency, we let him carry on the conversation. The light inside the cave was too bad for us to discern who our visitors were until we came out of the cave, but the tone in which they ordered us to dress and come out indicated clearly that IN A CAVE. 367 should have been handcuffed and given a sub- stantial term of imprisonment. After they had found no firearms on us—we thanked Heaven that Wincer hadn’t brought the revolver—they proceeded to search the cave. Having found nothing there, one of them noticed the filled-up passage. I laughed when I saw them make this discovery, for I guessed what was going to happen. When the hole had been cleared the “cabo” (superintendent) ordered a fat young policeman to crawl in and see if he could find anything. He obeyed with obvious reluctance, and after about five seconds we heard a muffled voice say, “I can find nothing.” “Go on,” said his chief. A second tentative remark that he could find nothing received the same answer. Then the hapless explorer went on another tack. “T have come to a great hole.” This elicited the desired response, ‘You may return.” I misdoubted the existence of that hole, but “The superintendent ordered a fat young policeman to crawl in.” they were policemen. There were three of the town policemen this time and two of the mountain guards. The first thing they did was to search us. There is something intolerably aggravating about being searched, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we kept our hands off them. But it was just as well we did so, for, had we not, the odds are we should have been shot where we stood, and at the least we I said nothing. At this point the “cabo” whispered an order to one of the constables, who sped off towards the city. The fat one had by this time reappeared, feet first, from the hole—and a pitiable object he was, his blue uniform rendered almost indis- tinguishable by a coating of sand and slime. Our captors spent the next ten minutes in a futile attempt to clean him. | Then the superin-

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568 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tendent turned to us and peremptorily ordered us to take something to eat. “ Why ?” we asked. “Because you are to come to Bilbao.” “ But why have we?” “Because I say so,” retorted the officer, angrily. There was no use expostulating. They refused to look at our papers ; so with the best grace we could muster we invited them to take something to eat along with us. They accepted with alacrity, and we had the pleasure of seeing them finish three bottles of wine and most of our provisions. It was well worth while, however, for the wine was good, and the mood of the superintendent changed. “We are friends,” he said, graciously ; ‘ will you give your parole and make no attempt to escape ?” We agreed. “Let us start,” he said, presently. After some discussion as to whether we should take our belongings with us—the police advised us to, but we were too tired to wish to do so— we started. I went off at a good pace, for I was chilled by standing a full hour in the cold morn- ing air, and, moreover, the ‘‘cabo” had started to try and be funny. He would smack me on the chest or lay his stick across my back, and I was anxious to get away from his pleasantries. But however fast I walked he kept up with me. At last he said, “ Let us have a race.” There was an enticing slope of green turf in front of us, so I agreed. But the slope was deceptive and the grass was heavy with dew. I soon found I was losing control of myself, and as I was attempting to draw up I heard a thud behind me. I was able to guess what it was, though I could not stop myself till I had gone another thirty yards or so. Then [ turned round and saw the superintendent painfully picking himself up. He took his tumble in very good part, and did not, as J half expected, lay the blame on me. Much to his disgust, however, he discovered that three of the buttons had been torn off his jacket as he slid face foremost on the ground. “They were of silver,” he groaned, and we stayed at least half an hour looking for them. Two of them were found, and I believe he thought we had stolen the other, but he did not again order us to be searched. The village of Basurto was reached without further mishap at a more cautious pace. ‘There, after accepting refreshment at a café, the guardias rurales \eft us and two additional policemen took their place. It was about now that the “caho” became excessively friendly, and presented each of us with his card. Still, however, he refused to tell us our destination. He also refused to allow us to call up Malley, who is on the staff of the Consulate, although we passed by his very door. Eventually we reached a police-station and were taken into a room where another superintendent was examining a wooden-legged malefactor who was accused, so far as we could make out, of having a knife of more than two inches long concealed on his person. When his case had been disposed of we were subjected to a brief interrogation, in which Wincer acted as inter- preter. This done, we were sent to the entrance- hall, a couple of policemen being detailed to guard us. Presently our superintendent came out and, opening the door of a villainous-looking cell, invited us to enter. Wincer led the way and I followed, under the full belief that we were to be locked up. here, hunched up in the corner, sat the wooden-legged prisoner. “ Ah! how miserable it is in here!” he said, and we could fully believe him, for it was _pitch- black when the door was closed on us. To our surprise, however, it was opened again a moment later and we were taken out to the street, where we found Bamber, who had refused to enter the cell, waiting for us. From the police-station we were marched off to the court-house. Here we were subjected to another examination, my pen- knife, which measured three and a quarter inches in length, my walking-stick, which had a point on it for mountain climbing, and an English police-whistle of Bamber’s being brought forward as evidence against us. At last, however, our repeated declarations of identity and the production of our passports and papers appeared to be having some effect, and we were allowed to sit in the fairly comfort- able hall. Here also we were allowed to have some execrable coffee brought to us in tin pan- nikins. We were told that we must wait until the Chief of Police arrived before anything could be done. By this time it was seven o'clock, and as it was a Sunday the Chief did not arrive until about eleven. When he at last put in an appear- ance the same wearisome examination was gone through, with a tolerably satisfactory result. We were read a lecture on Spanish customs and told to return to the cave to obtain our clothes. The Chief added that we should not be permitted to take up our residence there again. It was obviously impossible for us to walk through Bilbao in our unwashed and unshaven plight; moreover, a policeman was to accom- pany us on our errand. So we took a cab, drove to our different addresses, and changed and washed. Then we proceeded to the moun- tain, and, ordering the cab to wait, started the

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TWO MEN IN A CAVE. “569 ascent. All of us, the policeman included, were fagged out, and our wrath may be imagined when, arriving at the cave, we found everything had disappeared. Wearily we trudged off to- wards the cottage of the nearest guardia rural. Before we reached this Bam- ber noticed a running _ figure, carrying a bundle, near the bottom of the far side of the mountain. When this was pointed out to the policeman he ordered Bamber and Wincer to return to the cab and drive around the mountain while he, taking me along with him, would chase the supposed thief towards them. At full tilt the two of us tore down the mountain. For.my part I never expected to reach the foot alive. I followed my companion’s lead blindly — jumping over boulders, slithering through marshy bits of ground, and tearing through bracken. Two or three men in the road had watched our mad race down-hill and guessed our object, so that we found our quarry safely cornered at the foot. He turned out to be a wretched boy buying umbrellas and old clothes, and though he carried a suspicious-louking sack we found nothing of ours inside it. All Spaniards are magnificent swearers, but never have I heard such an exposition of the . art as that given by my companion. We went on and met the cab together, and the four of us reached Bilbao at 2 p.m., and having eaten my first respectable meal for four days I went to bed and slept for eighteen hours on end. Like Byron, we awoke in the morning to find ourselves famous—in Bilbao. One of the news- papers, the Zsdera/, had by some means got hold of the story of our adventures and published, under the heading “Tres Sportsmen en Chirona ” (“‘ Three Sportsmen in Jail”), a bitter attack on the police, in which they insinuated —altogether unfairly—that the guardians of the peace had arrested us in order that, during our Vol. xxiii, —72. “I followed my companion’s lead blindly.” absence, they might steal our belongings! The journal also sarcastically suggested that the guardias who took an active part in our arrest would receive a few crosses and orders of merit. In the issue of next day a disclaimer was published on behalf of the guardras atviles and another corps of constables, declaring that they had taken no part in our arrest. The day after a rival paper—the Porvenir Vasco — published the police account of the matter. The latter, although it defended at length the course of action taken by the police, did not disturb us, as by that time our belongings had been returned to us intact by the Chief of Police. He also explained that we were arrested because the neighbours were under the impres- sion that we were members of a band of Hun- garian Poles who were then camping near Bilbao. The explanation that we prefer to believe is one which was suggested by a high official. On the Friday before our arrest a huge Carlist demonstration was held not far from Bilbao. More than ten thousand persons were present, and among them, it is said, was Don Jaime, the son of Don Carlos. 5 On the same evening, moreover, he was said to have been seen in the town itself. It is more than probable that the shepherds may have believed that one of us was the Pretender in hiding. If this were so it would explain their remarks about “bad government,” and also the extreme care the police showed in our capture.

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A WANDERER IN ASIA MINOR. By Epwarp NOoeEL. The author started out to travel overland from India to England, via Baghdad, on a motor- cycle, but was soon compelled to abandon the machine and continue his way on foot. He met with strange and manifold adventures, particularly in the Bedouin country, and these are here set down in entertaining fashion. Ws | INDING myself the proud possessor BN of a motor-bicycle, the idea soon AF occurred to me of attempting a ride ! we jj), somewhat out of the ordinary. Some ~ lengthy journeys on the roads of India merely increased my desire to try how the motor-cycle would behave over a country where only tracks existed. Casting about for a really difficult trip, the idea of a journey home to England overland presented itself. Books, maps, and guides were all consulted, as well as the British Consuls wherever they happened to exist, and, finally, I came to the conclusion that the Baghdad route seemed to offer the least difficulty. By this way the first five hundred miles would be along a sandy plain, afterwards two mountain passes would have to be traversed, then another three hundred miles of flat plateau, and, finally, a descent to Constantinople. From Constanti- eS ti nople north I knew that an eight-horse-power car had been driven some few years before, and where that could go, I reasoned, my cycle couid also. The next step was to consider about petrol ; and here I anticipated my greatest difficulty. One thing I was determined upon was not to over- IL 4 sek The Author with his motor-bicycle at Jaffa. oe weight the machine by trying to carry too much. I considered that two and a half gallons was the most I could expect to take. For this purpose I had a tank made to fit on the luggage-carrier behind. Allowing this quantity to carry me a hundred and eighty miles, I proceeded to make arrangements for further supplies to be deposited at places roughly the same distance apart. It was a great disappointment, six days before I was due to start, to find myself stopped from proceeding to Baghdad by the Government of India—on account, as I thought, of an Arab insurrection in the territory through which I pro- posed to proceed. It may be remembered that the Tigris mail steamer was fired upon by Arabian insurgents on its journey up-stream, and the service was consequently temporarily suspended. I afterwards learnt that the British Resident at Baghdad, whom I had informed of my intended journey, disapproved of a motor-cyclist careering about Turkish Arabia, and had written to this effect to the Government of India. My leave com- menced in six days, and I had but little time to devise other ar- rangements. I was determined to make what use I could of my motor- cycle, and accord- ingly decided to land at = Jaffa There was no time available to for- ward petrol, so in place of the two- and-a-half- gallon tank, I fitted a four-gallon one on the luggage- carrier. Having transhipped at Port Said to a coasting steamer bound for Jaffa, I found my motor- bicycle an object of much interest, and I was so pestered with questions that I told my inquisitors, thinking it the most likely story to be believed by _—. (Photograph.

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A WANDERER IN ASIA MINOR. 571 them, that I was motor-bicycling round the world as an advertisement for acompany. This story spread round the ship, and I had some difficulty in living up to the reputation I had given myself. The deck passengers much interested me— especially the women. Dressed in coloured silks, and forced to squat on the deck with my motor-cycle dropped into a rowing-boat, I could only hope that the heavy tyres had broken the blow. A fat and heavy Syrian woman was next lowered in on the top of the cycle, on which she helplessly lay until her husband dragged her off, after I had dis- entangled her dress from the spokes. On our way to the shore we shipped a good deal of “The cycle was seized upon by a horde of shouting maniacs.” their belongings piled around them, they nevertheless performed their toilet, arranged their beds, and boiled their coffee as methodi- cally as if in the seclusion of their own homes. Jaffa was reached in the early morning of May 11th, but, owing to quarantine regulations, we were not permitted to land at once. These regulations are of little sanitary value, but are rather a device for raising revenue. The form of disinfection is distinctly disagreeable, but in consideration of a small fee it may be avoided, and a clean bill of health obtained without further formality. Towards midday, having obtained pratique, I proceeded to make arrangements for landing my motor-cycle. Jaffa is notoriously one of the worst landing-places in the world, and after many anxious minutes, when I saw and heard water and the motor was well soused. As soon as we reached the landing-stage the cycle was seized upon by a horde of shouting maniacs, who, catching hold of anything handy, such as brake-wires or petrol-pipe, hauled and dragged the machine into the Custom-house. Then one and all demanded baksheesh. A crowd soon collected, so that I lost sight of the machine altogether, and at last, despairing of ever getting near it or finding a Customs official who could talk a civilized language, I went off to Cook’s agent, who offered to see what could be done in the evening. As I wanted to get off immediately, however, I went to see the British Consul, whom I found most kind and obliging. He accompanied me down to the Custom - house, and in a few minutes the whole matter was arranged. I was informed

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572 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. that my petrol and motor would be taken up to the hotel, where the Consul, Mr. Falanga, asked me to lunch. After lunch, the cycle arrived at the hotel, having been dragged up the very steep hill from the quay by half-a-dozen_perspiring Turks, who, of course, had not released the compression. I proceeded to fill the tanks with petrol and make all fast, and then, having changed into travelling clothes, was photo- graphed. Accompanied by the Consul and one or two others I wheeled my machine through the streets of Jaffa, and, having reached the outskirts of the town, mounted and was off. A crowd of small children and dogs chased me for a while, but the cloud of dust and the speed of the machine soon proved too much even for their curiosity. The road was so bumpy and full of holes that at first I did not dare to let go of the handle-bars. Steering was also very difficult-owing to the weight of the basket placed over the front wheel ; nevertheless, after a few miles I became quite accustomed to the going and could manage the machine with one hand. After leaving Jaffa the road rapidly deterior- ated; although no doubt it had once been metalled, the surface has since entirely dis- appeared. Occasionally it spread out till it was nearly fifty yards wide, and formed a labyrinth of paths through which it was difficult to pick a way. More often than not I was forced to dismount, stopped by an impossible hole or patch of deep sand ; on such occasion re-mounting was a matter of great trouble, owing to the difficulty of getting a good enough piece of ground on which to push the machine along, and also to the fact that it was impossible to vault into the saddle, owing to the petrol-tank in the rear. Another trouble soon manifested itself, in that the engine started missfiring. On stopping I found that the carburettor was in perfect condition, and the machine started again quite well; I put this down to the shaking having upset the level of the petrol. The constant scrape as the crank- case grazed or hit the road was at first very disquieting, but after a bit it ceased to annoy me, until a larger dip than usual caught the magneto and bent it bodily upwards. Never- theless, to my joy and surprise, the engine continued to fire, although the position of the spark lever had to be altered. Soon affer leaving Jaffa I passed through a small village called Yazur, which is supposed to be the place where Samson set the foxes’ tails on fire to burn the fields of the Philistines. The country here is undulating and well culti- vated, but scarcely a tree or hedge is to be seen. Soon after passing the village of Ramleh I discovered that a tool-bag had disappeared. It was a weary ride back to the outskirts of Jaffa to recover it. The finder demanded enormous baksheesh, but finally had to be content with a “bijlik” (sixpence halfpenny). Suddenly rounding a corner I met a caravan of camels. The commotion among them at sight of my snorting monster was great, the “Suddenly rounding a corner I met a caravan of camels.”

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A WANDERER IN ASIA MINOR. 573 animals rushing away in all directions, pursued by their Arab drivers. The next incident was that the petrol-tank, weighing nearly forty pounds, suddenly broke loose and, jumping forward, caught me with its sharp rim in the small of the back. The pain for the moment was agonizing ; I felt completely paralyzed, so much so that I could not prevent the machine from skidding in a rut. It took me some time to recover from this shock. The dusk was now fast approaching and imposing hills loomed up in front. At the Bab ul Wadi I entered a rough, stony, and steep defile, up which the engine made very hard work of it, and soon came to rest. After flooding the carburettor I tried to start again, but it was all in vain; the shocking going and the extra weight on the machine told their tale. I had no idea what the gradient was, except that it was steeper than anything I had ever seen in England. There was nothing for it but to remove the belt and push up the hill. A bare plateau then allowed of some more riding, but this was suc- ceeded by another ascent. As it was now dark I jacked the machine up by the side of the road and started forward to explore. It seemed to me that an endless succession of hills lay in front, so at last, after an hour’s walk, I returned to the machine and rode it back to the Bab ul Wadi. Here, at a small inn, I demanded rest and refreshment. The latter consisted of black bread and sour milk called “yaurt,” which I was to know well henceforth, and for which I could never raise any enthusiasm, however empty internally. After finishing this apology for a meal I had to make signs for a bed; a side door was thrown open, and in the room disclosed was a crazy old couch, on one side of which lay a fat Syrian rolled up in an old skin. I was apparently expected to share the bed with him, but decided to let him keep it. Although the floor was hard and the night cold, I succeeded in sleeping well; and next morning, after repeating the meal of the previous night, I went out to have another try at the hills of Judea. To give the machine a better chance I removed the extra petrol and oil tanks, and made a rush at the mountain. By dint of hard pedalling I nearly got to the top, but a sharp turn stopped me. After vain efforts to get the machine going on a slope of one in four, I acknowledged myself defeated and lay down to recover my breath, and also to do a little reflection, which ran somewhat on these lines: — Here I am, at the beginning of a hill country which will extend for six hundred miles. I am going at right angles to the valleys, and shall probably have to push up every hill. If I discard the extra tank my petrol will be exhausted after another fifty miles, and I shall be reduced to running on paraffin, a very doubtful possi- bility. Does any reasonable hope of success remain? No. Wearied and disgusted at this untimely end to all my fond hopes and ambitions, I turned the motor round towards the Mediterranean, and vented my disappointment by letting her go at a good thirty miles an hour. Why I myself, the machine, and the engine did not part company over and over again I don’t know, nor do I profess to offer any explanation. Finally, how- ever, the basket over the front wheel began to show signs of parting, and I stopped to repair it, but had not sufficient copper wire to make it properly fast. Wondering as to what I could make use of, I espied a line of telegraph not far from the road. It did not take long for me to be at the top of the pole, with wire-clippers in my hand. After making all fast I proceeded, reaching Jaffa without further mishap. I then decided to dispatch the motor-cycle home and to continue my projected journey without it. I ascertained that there was a train for Jeru- salem in two hours. Summoning a carpenter, I explained that I wanted a box to put the machine in, and then proceeded to take it to pieces against time. At last the motor lay in bits around me, and, after giving the man final directions as to packing, I only just had time to fill in the bill of lading, make a rush for the station, and catch the train. . Early the next morning I proceeded to the British Consulate to apply for a ‘“ Tezkereh,” or permission to travel in the interior of Turkey. ‘The Consul, when he learnt that I intended to proceed over the Jordan and through the land of Moab, refused the Tezkerch unless I agreed to travel with an escort. To save time and expense it was arranged that this escort should meet me at the bridge over the Jordan on the following morning. In the afternoon, slinging my baggage over my back and putting a loaf of bread and a couple of oranges in my coat-pocket, I started a twenty-six-mile walk to Jericho. Leaving Jerusalem by the Jaffa gate and descending the Valley of Hinom, I passed the “ Field of Blood,” and soon joined the Jericho road. This road ascends the south spur of the Mount of Olives, and it was here that I turned for my last look atthe city. The domes of the mosques and the many minarets and church towers combined to make the view an impressive one. Passing through Bethany I was, marvellous to relate, left alone by its dirty and importunate beggars ; this I put down to my already some- what dishevelled appearance. They, no doubt, mistook me for a—Russian pilgrim, who, as a

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574 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. rule, has no cash to spare. After a steep descent the road enters a valley, where the crops were being gathered in. On approaching the numerous parties of villagers in the fields, I wondered whether they would hesitate to rob me if they thought me an unprotected English tourist ; but they seemed peaceful enough, and invariably answered the Mohammedan salutation * of “Salaam Aleik,” which I always gave, by its response, “ Aleikum Salaam.” Occasionally they shouted something after me, but I then merely answered, “ Arabi M’baarif” (“I don’t understand Arabic”), and passed on. Darkness soon closed in, but a glorious harvest moon arose, in whose soft rich light the rugged, stony country appeared even more for- bidding and weird than in the daylight. After climbing a ridge I found on the left an inn, which turned out to be that of the Good Samaritan. Feeling hungry, I entered and partook of tea. After waiting here about an hour and a half, a man, looking very hot and tired, arrived with a note from the British From a) A typical inn, Consulate to the effect that I had been given the wrong Tezkereh and that the bearer had the right one. After exchanging these I made a fresh start, this time in company with the man who had brought the ‘Tezkereh, and who was going on to Jericho. Outside there was a pleasant sharpness, and the air was like wine to one straight from April weather in Bombay. The scenery every moment became more striking and weird; on the left lay a deep and _pre- cipitous chasm, from whose cavernous depth could be heard the gentle murmuring of flowing water. In front could be seen the broad Jordan valley, thirteen hundred feet below the sea-level, while farther to the south lay the cold, shim- mering surface of the Dead Sea. Our entrance to Jericho was greeted by the barking of innumerable savage dogs. It was with some difficulty that we at length aroused the proprietor of an hotel. By this time my Tezkereh friend had become rather too patronizing, but I was too tired to worry much, so I left the arrangements to him. He Jed me up to a room with two beds and promptly appropriated one. I was soon asleep in the other. The next day I had to get to the Jordan River to await the arrival of the zaptieh, or Turkish policeman, who was to be my escort on the other side of the Jordan. As no proper road led to the river, I determined to go in company with some Arabs who happened to be passing. We had scarcely proceeded some two miles before their behaviour became rather dis- quieting. I could hear them talking behind me, and had a sort of instinctive feeling that it was about myself. I could just catch the word “khwaja” (a mer- chant) and then the word ‘“ baksheesh.” Presently one fellow came up and insisted on my riding his donkey,- and after I had ridden it some way demanded bak- sheesh for riding it. I gave him a few pence and got off. He then insisted on my getting on again, while the other fel- lows began to crowd round me and to slowly feel for my pockets. The situa- tion was alarming, so I insisted on stopping, pretending that I was being rubbed by the pack on which I was riding. I then started to unpack my bag containing my clothes and papers. This arrested their attention, and in the meanwhile another caravan, which was not far behind, came up, and I tacked myself on‘to them. Luckily we were now near the bridge—in fact, we had already entered the belt of almost sub- tropical vegetation which lines the banks of the River Jordan. A suddenjturn brought the bridge (Photograph.

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A WANDERER IN ASIA MINOR. 575 into sight, but there was no zaptieh there. I was very glad, however, to see the last of my troublesome Arab friends. It was amusing to watch them paying toll for themselves and their cattle ; the necessary méfa//:ques—small copper coins—were produced from corners of their garments with the greatest reluctance, while repeated attempts were made to get two donkeys through for one payment. It was now about 8 a.m. Already the heat was quite sultry, and swarms of flies surrounded the shanty in which the two bridge- keepers dwelt. The hours slowly passed away and still no zaptieh arrived. In the afternoon I had a dehghtful bathe in the cool, swift-run- ning Jordan, * and afterwards partook of the usual sour milk and bread repast in company with the bridge-keepers. About five, giving up all hope of the zaptieh, I determined to push on by myself, so I filled my water-bottle from the Jordan and got all the food I could from the bridge-keepers, which comprised two eggs and a small loaf of bread. As I crossed over the bridge an Arab pointed to the hills in front and then went through the dumb show of my throat being cut. It was with a feeling of keen exhilaration, neverthe- less, that I entered the land of Moab, and heard the big wooden door at the end of the bridge clanging as it was shut on me. My path lay over a sandy, flat country with a good deal of low shrub, but as I approached the hills signs of cultivation began to be apparent, although no human beings were visible. Just as I was going to enter the hills 1 met a party of three—a Turkish official with two zaptiehs as escort. I asked the way to Aarek-el-Emir, a village I knew was on my road. Directly he heard this the Turk made signs and gestures expressive of my being shot and robbed, and on my attempt- ing to push forward they seized me and made me come back towards the Jordan with them. Luckily the dusk was now fast approaching, so, making a show of following them readily, I gradually dropped to the rear of the party, and then, slipping behind a bush, allowed them to continue, quite oblivious of my having stopped. After waiting a few minutes 1 turned again towards the hill country and, keeping some way off the path, which was here well defined, entered the mountains. From a small map I had with me I calculated that the Mecca railway could not be more than forty-five miles away, and therefore, by going hard all night and sleeping during the day, I might be able to pass through undetected and strike the railway the following night. I found the going, off the road, exceedingly bad ; as soon as I had climbed one ridge I found that I had to descend another, and the want of proper food soon made me feel exhausted. I seriously thought several times of discarding the kit I was carrying, weighing about eighteen pounds, but luckily I decided not to. At length, about 2 am., utterly exhausted by a succession of ascents and descents of about six hundred feet each, I saw in the valley below me the glare of a camp-fire, and, creeping a little nearer, perceived several camels. From seeing them I knew it must be a caravan, and, there- fore, probably friendly. Nevertheless I first took the precaution of disposing of my gold under a stone some fifty yards away from the camp, and then boldly walked in. I found the Arabs most friendly, and partook largely of brown bread which they gave me. ‘Then wrapping myself up in my blanket and putting on all my clothes, I was soon asleep, but the cold and rocky ground made my slumbers very uneasy. Dawn was just breaking next morning when the caravan men started loading up their camels. 1 found now, to my great regret, that they were going the opposite way, so folding up my blanket and change of clothes I started forward alone, recovering my gold from the stone where I had left it. I had been walking about half an hour when, on rounding a corner, two Bedouins caught sight of me, and drawing their knives they rushed: down towards me with shouts of “ Khwaja! Khwaja!” Flight was useless, resist- ance was more so. _I tried an old ruse, shouting at the top of my voice, “Zaptieh! Zaptieh!” The effect was immediate; they glanced hurriedly round, but, reassured by hearing no answering shouts, evidently determined to get what they could out of me. I thought that it was all up, so prepared to defend myself as best I could, for I had no firearms. Luckily for me I changed my plans at the last moment, and instead threw out all my small change in front of them. At the sight of so much wealth they started grabbing for it on their hands and knees. Taking advantage of this diversion 1 made rapidly off, and, strange to say, the Bedouins made no attempt to stop me. As soon as I had rounded a spur of the hill ] ran as hard as I could towards the top, and then threw myself down behind a stone. I waited here some time, but saw no signs of pursuit, sc determined to push on. I thought that it would be wiser to sleep here and go on at night, but the temptation to do just a little bit more that day, so as to make the succeeding night easier, was very strong ; added to this was the fact that I was anxious to reach water, as my supply was nearly finished. The country hereabouts was studded with a

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576 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “* Drawing their knives they rushed down towards me.” few trees, and taking advantage of such cover as they afforded I moved forward with great cir- cumspection, but, being unaccustomed to this Red Indian sort of work, I found myself forty paces from two Arabs lying under the shade of atree. I could see that they were unaware of my presence, so, dropping my gold into a bush, I adopted the 7é/e of a traveller in distress and went straight up to them, saying, ‘“ Maieh! Maieh !” (“ Water ! Water !”). Perhaps the most disconcerting incident in the whole of my travels was the calm and dis- passionate way in which these Arabs heard my story and judged of my appearance; whether they intended to be my friends or my murderers, they showed not the least sign of emotion. In these circumstances there was nothing to do but to sit down opposite to them and wait. After a silence of some minutes they started, very slowly and methodically, to search me, and soon _ all my belongings were laid out on the ground, including my stock of silver. I began now to feel anxious as to how I was to recover my gold, which lay some forty yards away, but, knowing that it would be difficult to recognize the spot again, I determined to get it imme- diately ; so, leaving my belongings spread out on the ground, I went down to the spot and began searching, or, rather, pre- tending to. Picking up the gold as quickly as I could, I slipped six sovereigns into my mouth and the rest into a hole in a piece of bread in thy pocket. On walking back to the two Arabs I showed them the watch (which I had kept in my hand when they were searching me without their discovering it), pretending that I had just found it. After a further long pause they divided up the silver which was on the ground, at the same time handing me back a few pieces. They evidently had a certain sense of decency, for they did not take any of my clothes—or perhaps they did not think they

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A WANDERER IN ASIA MINOR. 577 were worth taking. I tried to persuade one of them to accompany me on to the railway, by attempting to explain to him that I had a friend there who would give him a reward, but he did not understand my meaning, for, simply pointing out the way, he and his companion left me. Feeling by this time very desperate, I went forward without precaution, and, after crossing a small plateau, descended a narrow, wooded valley without seeing anybody. On suddenly turning a corner, however, I perceived a cluster of the black camel’s-hair tents of the dreaded Bedouins. I could see no one about, so, quietly slipping back, I toiled up the rough hill-side, mtending to make a défour round the en- campment. ‘This was a matter of the greatest ditficulty, owing to my exhaustion and the presence of herds of goats with Arab boys looking after them. Nevertheless, fortune favoured me, and 1 succeeded in making my way along the spur unobserved till I reached the point ‘where it descended sharply into a broad, deep valley running across my path. At the bottom of this valley flowed a delightful stream, flanked by bright green meadows. The sight of the water was very cheering, but a further look showed me the probability of there being “many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip,” as the whole of the valley- side was literally covered with Bedouins and their flocks. 1 gazed disconsolately at the hill- side for some moments, but, despairing of ever getting down, determined to sleep where I was. T lay down under a thick thorn-bush and slept, I suppose, for two hours. When I awoke it was with an absolutely insupportable thirst. I felt I could stand it no longer, so I determined to try to make my way to the stream. A careful inspection of the slope showed me that I could keep more or less under cover of the trees to within forty yards of the stream. Now rushing a stretch of open country, now creeping through corn, I worked my way surely but slowly downwards. Several times I saw no way of proceeding, but luckily the herds were always on the move, so that by waiting a little a way opened of itself. After an hour and a half of this sort cf progress I found myself within a short distance of the stream, which was lined on the far side by thick rhododendrons, but all along its banks cattle and goats were drinking. I lay here for a long time, wondering how I was to get over this last bit, but at length, seizing a favourable opportunity and plucking up my courage, I made one wild rush, plunged through the stream, and flung myself panting among the thick rhododendrons, expecting every moment to hear the Bedouins coming into the bushes after me. But no sounds of pursuit reached me, and at last I dipped my head into the brook and drank long and deep. Then, feeling much refreshed, I lay down and slept for an hour. ; The sun at last set, and I waited anxiously for the stars to appear so as to be able to check my direction. When it was almost dusk, and 1 could recognize the Great Bear and the North Star, I left my shelter and proceeded north-east up a narrow, wooded valley. Unfortunately, the moon was right in front, with the result that I had scarcely gone a mile when I met an Arab, who became aware of my presence before I was of his. He stopped dead and shouted some- thing. I jumped into the shade of a tree and kept silence, hoping that he had not recognized me as a European. ‘This must have been the case, for IT saw to my relief that he was also making a d@four to avoid me. » I was more fortunate in my next encounter, as I happened to be in the shade of a tree and was therefore unrecognized, the Arab, who was mounted, passing almost within hand’s reach ofme. After having proceeded without further incident for some two‘miles, I was suddenly startled by the barking of a dog immediately in front; and again the weary, tiring défour had to be made up the side of the hill. However quietly I thought I was going, the dogs in the encampments below seemed aware of my presence, for I heard the barking being taken up by others till the whole valley resounded. I waited patiently till it had died away ; but no sooner did I move than it commenced all over again, and this time I could sve, in the red glare of the camp-fires, the Bedouins standing and gazing intently upwards at the hills. The whole valley now appeared to be studded with encamp- ments, and, stumbling and falling continually, I was obliged to mount still farther till I had reached the summit. Proceeding along the ridges for several hours, I arrived at the junction of another valley, and perceived below me a village with stone-built houses. ‘This I knew could not belong to the Bedouins; so, creeping down, I hung about the outskirts and watched the villagers passing to and fro. From their dress 1 took them to be Circassians, which surmise proved to be correct. Walking boldly in, I was soon the centre of an interested crowd. My first action was to make signs that I wanted food, whereupon I was led to a clean room, where a repast of eggs was provided and a roll of bedding laid out. In the morning I learnt to my joy that the Bedouin Arab country was now left behind, and that a few hours’ walk only separated me from Rabboth Ammon, on the Mecca railway. (To be concluded.) Vol. xxiii.— 73.

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KX Ge ww WILSON’'S “ SCOOP.” By Wituiam Lorp Wricut, oF BELLE- FONTAINE, OHIO. We have published several stories dealing with the desperate doings of the ‘“ Snake - Hunters,” a particularly lawless gang of poachers who infested the great Lewistown Reservoir, in the State of Ohio. returned to their old haunts. It was thought that these miscreants had been cleared out, but recently they secretly This story relates what happened to a newspaper man who attempted to verify his suspicions that this was the case. JHEN “Johnnie” Evers, railroad re- porter for the Zndex-Republican, of Bellefontaine, Ohio, came bustling into the “city room” on January tgth last, enthusiastic in his descrip. tion of a large string of bass he had seen that morning at the Ohio Central Depét, Frank Wilson, the city editor, paid little heed. Evers was an enthusiastic angler, and the staff was accustomed to his sporting stories. After the presses began grinding out the evening newspapers and the linotypes were clattering on the morrow’s copy, however, Wilson started to read proofs sent up from the job-printing department. The bill of fare of the Commercial Club’s Lincoln Day banquet came first, and one item in the coming feast read, “Reservoir Black Bass.” The words recalled Evers’s story to the editor’s mind—and something else as well. It is contrary to the Fish and Game Laws of the State of Ohio, U.S.A., to catch bass between the months of November and June, although the law is occasionally evaded when banquets are planned, and this particular item amounted to little or nothing. But Wilson, with his twelve years of experience as a journalist, immediately scented a “scoop,” as an exclusive item of important news is termed in the vernacular. Drawing certain conclusions from slender evi- dence is an essential part of the newspaper man’s business, and Evers’s bass story of the morning became important. A year previously, after bitter warfare, the poachers had been driven from Lewistown Reservoir, one of the largest artificial bodies of water in the United States, and the property of Ohio. Perhaps the illegal netting had been resumed, thought Wilson. He called in the managing editor, and Evers’s story and the bill of fare were presented as evidence. “Slip up to the reservoir and investigate,” ordered the chief, after weighing the testimony. “Tf there’s a story let’s have it hot, before the other papers get on to this poaching business.” This commission was sufficient for Wilson, and thereby hangs a tale of lawlessness that rivals the experiences of the pioneers on the Western frontier in the troublous days of ’49. Lewistown Reservoir lies in the north-western portion of Logan County, and twelve miles westward is located the Mercer County Reservoir, the two together containing about thirty thou- sand acres of water. These vast artificial lakes are utilized to feed the Miami and Erie canals, which run southward through the centre of the “ Buckeye State.” There was a watery moon on the night of Wednesday, January 2oth, but at the boat- landing of the gigantic waste-weir of Lewistown Reservoir the boat-houses were only dimly dis- tinguishable. A faint glimmer of light escaped through a crack in the blind which was closely drawn over the one small window of the largest

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WILSON’S shed. Under this window crouched a figure that.edged still closer to the structure as dark forms glided through the underbrush and, in response to signals, were cautiously admitted to the interior of the building. They were men with handkerchiefs tied around their faces up to their eyes; men who crept along as though they feared detection. Within the shed the low murmur of voices could now be heard by the man outside in the darkness. ‘The tones were low, but clear enough to be understood. “Cap, th’ Mercer County boys air with we-uns, and we shipped thirty barrels of th’ bass to-day.” “Good !” “Thet there old hidin’-place under th’ landin’ is chucked up, an’ we'll hev tu move th’ fish ter-morrow night. I don’t think th’ warden’s about, but if he is, why, so much th’ worse fer him.” When these fragments of the conversation came to the straining ears of the eavesdropper he stole silently away, for he had heard enough. lYisyuised as a fisherman, Wilson, the newspaper man, now knew that the poachers were again in complete control at the reservoir, and he had - gathered that they were acting in conjunction with another gang which infested the Mercer Reservoir waters. Seated on the porch of the little farmhouse on Turkey Foot Place the morning following, Wilson made his identity known to Jack O'Connor, the game warden stationed there. He told the warden what he had overheard at the secret meeting of the poachers. ‘The warden’s eyes widened. “T had an idea that the confounded ‘Snake- Hunters’ had come back over to Sassafras Point and their other old camps,” he said, waving a hand vaguely toward the distant islands, which, even in the morning sunlight, appeared gloomy and foreboding. ‘1 told the chief warden the last time he was here that one man wasn't enough to look after them outlaws, but he said the State couldn’t afford more and that they wouldn’t come back. Now you and I will watch together to-night and see what’s up. If the gang Aas come back, as you say, then I’ll send for help mighty quick, you bet.” And the warden lit his pipe with a rather unsteady hand. The following night, believing themselves securely hidden, Wilson and O'Connor awaited the coming of the poachers. It was bitterly cold, and the two men shivered in their quarters near the boat-landing. They did not dare to move, for, if discovered in their unlawful work, the poachers would probably show them but little mercy. “SCOOP.” 579 It was after midnight when shadowy forme began to move forward from boat and under- brush across to the landing. ‘The eavesdroppers heard whispers in the darkness: ‘ Mercer,” the password, and “ Lewistown,” the countersign. Evidently the Mercer and Lewistown poachers were meeting. Ominous sounds ran through the wilderness, and silently and swiftly the rascals congregated at the rendezvous. Boats were softly tied to the landing-place ; barrels appeared as if by magic; and men with shovels were soon busy dumping thousands of gleaming black bass—the oswego, gamest of fresh-water fish—into the receptacles. Next horses and wagons trotted up, and the barrels of fish were loaded upon them and carted away. The game warden stirred uneasily at the sight, and well he might, for the State would lose valuable fish that night, and if the lawlessness continued for long the finest fishing preserves in Ohio would be ruined. The poachers worked very swiftly, and the store-house under the boat-landing was soon depleted. Suddenly a lantern’s momentary flash revealed a dark object near the spot where Wilson and O'Connor lay secreted. With an exclamation of surprise, the poachers’ leader stooped down and gazed earnestly at something he held in his hand. ‘The two spectators grew white with fear, for the object was Wilson's glove, accidentally dropped while en route to the landing. The poachers, in response to a signal, gathered round the chief, all examining the cause of suspicion. It did not take these trained woodsmen long to decide that the glove had been dropped but lately, and a search was quickly ordered. Sure of discovery, and certain of capture if they remained in such close proximity, the two spies sprang to their feet in the wild impulse to escape from danger. A headlong race along the reservoir embankment, with the infuriated outlaws in hot pursuit, was the immediate result. Bang ! a report rang out, and the whiz of a bullet was heard by the fleeing men. With never a look behind they ran desperately on, knowing that capture by their pursuers would in all probability mean death. Crack! Crack! Additional shots were fired, and the bullets hummed unpleasantly close. The fugitives, however, were slowly gaining when O'Connor caught his foot in a root and fell headlong. Wilson, somewhat in the lead, ran on, ignorant of his companion’s mishap until he heard the shout of triumph the outlaws gave as their leader, close behind, threw himself upon the game warden’s prostrate body.

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580 THE WIDE After a time, finding that the pursuit was at an end, Wilson stopped, panting for breath, and gazed back to the scene of his narrow escape. ‘There was no sign of life at the distant boat- landing, but as he turned to look over the reservoir waters he beheld boats gliding away silently from shore, to be presently swallowed into the gloom. In one of them was the luck- less John O’Connor, a prisoner of the outlaws. When Wilson’s story, telephoned to the managing editor that night, was printed the following morning in a special edition, it caused a sensation. In turn the editor had notilied the State Fish and Game Commission, and before many hours had passed posses of wardens had arrived at both reservoirs. While officers patrolled the embankments at the Mercer waters, it was at the Lewistown Reservoir that decisive action was to be taken, for here it was that a State guardian had been taken prisoner. Sassafras Point and Potato and Crane Islands were raided by the wardens by means of boats, and shots were exchanged before the outlaws were driven from their customary haunts to more secret hiding-places. Rude huts discovered were destroyed, and hundreds of gill, trammel, and trap-nets burned at the water’s edge. Not a poacher was captured, however, that first day, and no trace of the captive warden could be found. That night large fires of driftwood blazed near the boat-landing, and the wardens, seated about them, anxiously discussed the situation. They did not attempt to disguise their fears that O’Connor had been slain in vengeance for the day’s raid, which now seemed to them rather ill- advised. Wilson was questioned again and again, and rehearsed the former night's expe- rience. At last the tired men stretched them- selves in their blankets, leaving one of the party on guard. Wilson had been in great demand throughout the daytime, and had led one of the raiding- parties. Still, he could not sleep, but sat near one of the fires, absently watching the driftwood crackle and burn while he recalled his adventures of the past twenty-four hours. He was almost inconsolable over the taking of O’Connor, feeling misgivings that he should not have engaged in such a foolhardly performance as that of the night previous, but should have de- manded a larger force before venturing to spy upon the poachers. As he sat huddled in a blanket before the now smouldering flames, the only sound that broke the uncanny stillness was the murmur of the wind through the tree- tops and the distant tread of the guardian warden. An hour or more had passed and still Wilson sat motionless, gazing earnestly into the WORLD MAGAZINE. ruddy flames. Then, glancing quickly towards his slumbering companions, he softly rose to his feet, walked silently but quickly to the adjacent landing, unslipped the painter of a skiff, seated himself in the boat, and rowed forward across the dark waters. + Although the watchman replenished the fire a half-hour later, he did not discover that Wilson was missing. Determination marked the course taken by the journalist ; for he rowed straight in the direction of Sassafras Point, one of the larger islands, which loomed before him shadowy and mystic in the night. As he approached nearer he muffled the oars and silently propelled his skiff to the shore. Thoroughly familiar with the reservoir, he be- lieved that if O’Connor was alive he was confined on this island, the poachers’ stronghold, its environs being but little known, Well he knew that he was taking his life into his hands, but he trusted to the darkness and to the fact that the outlaws would not expect such a visit. He was willing to risk all on his lone venture. Pulling the skiff up out of the water, he hid it in the surrounding underbrush, and then, with no idea of direction or distance, started out for the interior in the hope of discovering the poachers’ most secret camp. Brush, creeping vines, and swamps impeded his progress, but he kept doggedly onward, knowing that now it would be just as difficult to retrace his steps as to continue. For a time he struggled forward in silence; then the faint hooting of an owl came to his ears. Immediately the cry was answered. Wilson stood still in the forest and listened. It was well that he did so, for, quietly as he had advanced, he must otherwise have been dis- covered farther along. ‘The owl’s mournful cry came nearer, and soon he heard the cracking of twigs as footsteps approached. Next two dark forms glided past, close by his position. With the tread of a cat Wilson took up their trail, for these men were members of the Poachers’ Clan, and, he hoped, would guide him to the secret rendezvous. For a mile or more he followed the men; then he caught sight of the glimmer of a light through the wilderness. Peeping from a fringe of brush, Wilson beheld a clearing in the dense timber, in the centre of which a heap of logs blazed. By the glare of the leaping flames he saw, beyond, the outlines of several huts, and also half-a-dozen figures tudely dressed, but heavily armed. These men were seated in comfortable positions about the fire, and they were conversing in low tones. As understanding came to the journalist his cheek blanched, for from what he could gather from the talk—now raised to an excited argu- ment—they were discussing a plan to carry an

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WILSON’S assault into the game wardens’ camp, near the reservoir boat-landing, five miles away. ‘The attack was to be made before dawn. They were to steal upon the slumbering party in boats by devious courses, first capturing or murdering the watchman even now pacing the embankment. Wilson realized, as he weighed the possibilities of the scheme, that it could easily succeed. The men whom the pressman had followed had now joined the others, and he saw with growing concern that preparations were being made for departure and the coming attack. Arms were carefully examined, cartridge-belts replenished, and oars produced from an adjacent hovel. The journalist’s eyes widened, however, “SCOOP.” when, in response to a muttered command from the ringleader, two men entered a hut and dragged forth a prisoner — Jack O’Connor. While the fears that the game warden had been murdered were thus proven groundless, Wilson 581 . winced when he perceived the haggard counten- ance O’Connor turned towards his captors, and he nervously fingered the knife he carried, starting when the warden was felled by a cruel blow after he refused to answer questions. “What wuz thet there noise, anyhow?” growled an outlaw near by, when a twig suddenly snapped under Wilson’s foot. ‘The poachers arose and stared fixedly in the direction where the journalist, rigid with fear, was sheltered. “The journalist placed his knife at the man’s throat and so became his master.”

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THE WIDE “Oh, come on, Pete; you'll be afeared of yer shadow afore the night’s over,” spoke up a com- panion, and hoarse laughter greeted the remark. Pete sat down muttering. It was a close shave, for Wilson would undoubtedly have been dis- covered had the outlaws investigated. The game warden, resolutely declining to answer any questions, was roughly thrust into his prison-house again, and deputizing one of the band to remain as guardian of prisoner and camp, the poachers started for their boats, deter- mined to carry out their plan to drive the wardens from the State waters. In. single file they marched past the hidden Wilson—so close, indeed, that he could distinctly hear the heavy breathing of those burdened with oars and guns. Soon they had gone, and all was quiet. Never again will Wilson pass such another nerve-trying five minutes. What should he do? There was yct time to hurry back to the landing and alarm the officers. But, again, O’Connor must be aided to escape now or never. Some- thing must be accomplished, and at once. The minutes slowly dragged by, and the poachers’ watchman remained vigilant, his attitude defying any attempt at rescue. O'Connor was im- prisoned in the hut beyond the fire, and he could not be reached without passing into full view, and this would be madness, for the outlaw was heavily armed, while Wilson had only a knife for a weapon. As he waited there he silently cursed his thoughtlessness in risking such a venture without a revolver. Presently the poacher yawned and_ slowly changed his position. Whlson, with parted lips and staring eyes, watched him intently. ‘The man arose and listlessly threw some fuel upon the fire; then, whistling a tune, he moved to the edge of the clearing and stood gazing absently into the surrounding gloom. . It was now or never! With the tread of a panther Wilson emerged and slipped softly into the camp. Across the clearing he crawled for perhaps a dozen yards. The poacher did not stir, Still farther along went Wilson till, knife in haad, he was quite close to the fellow. The poacher slowly turned back towards the fire, and, as he did so, Wilson, holding his knife in his tecth, and with a mighty spring, gripped his hands upon the man’s throat. Down in a heap went the pair, struggling desperately. First one and then the other seemed to have gained the advantage, ‘The poacher, with a_ lightning movement, reached one hand back for his trusty revolver, but as he relaxed his hold the journalist placed his knife at the man’s throat and so became his master. It took but an instant to disarm the captive, and with the WORLD MAGAZINE. poacher’s revolver in his hand Wilson felt con- fident. .Rising to his feet, he compelled the prisoner to march to the hut where O’Connor was lying and there release his bonds. ‘Together the two bound and gagged the poacher. As they worked Wilson tersely explained the details of the coming raid. Without another word the warden led the way to the shore, where Wilson soon found his skiff. Would they be too late to warn their unsus- pecting comrades? The bare thought made the pressman bend desperately to his oars, for the skiff contained but one pair, and O'Connor was weak from privation. It seemed to the two anxious men that the small craft scarcely moved through the water, but nevertheless the firelight at the landing loomed nearer and nearer. At one time they narrowly escaped discovery, passing so close to one of the advancing boats of the poachers that the dip of oars was plainly distinguishable. However, Wilson quickly sheered off and remained well within the shadows. It was with heartfelt joy that they saw, after a cautious survey, that all was yet peaceful at the landing. ‘Taking a roundabout course to make the surprise more certain, the poachers had wasted valuable time. Now their attack was certainly doomed, for, after a sharp hail from the guard and a word of explanation, Wilson and O’Connor were hurriedly conducted into camp and the wardens awakened. Delighted as they were over their comrade’s escape, they lost no time, and a plan to foil the poachers was soon formulated. Fires were replenished and blankets were hurriedly wrapped about pieces of wood to make them appear like prostrate forms. Wilson and O’Connor were equipped with rifles, and then all retreated into ambush, well prepared to give a warm reception to any nocturnal visitors. ‘The wardens had not long to wait ; the alarm had come just in time. From over the reservoir waters came the muffled sound of oars, and the officers soon discerned a dozen boats gliding towards the landing-place. Each craft contained three or more outlaws, and what they saw must have assured them of a decisive victory. In the firelight, what appeared to be the forms of a dozen or more men wrapt in slumber met their eyes, and, strange to relate, no watchman was in evidence to be captured or knifed before he could sound the alarm. Softly the boats were beached and the men gathered, guns in hand, on the platform, ready forarush upon the supposedly unconscious wardens. “Halt!” - Sharply the command rang out on the night air. So startling in its intensity and significance

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WILSON’S “SCOOP.” “*He flung up his arms and with a scream sprang into the chesm.” was it that’ the outlaws stood petrified with for action. It was evident that a false move astonishment as, huddled together, they saw meant instant death. that they were surrounded by courageous “Throw down your arms!” came the next officers with levelled Winchesters, in readiness order.

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584 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Sullenly the poachers obeyed. An involun- tary movement towards the boats was as suddenly checked by the sound of clicking gun-hammers. Only the poacher “king,” known far and wide as “the Weasel,” stood defiant. He had thrown down his rifle with the rest, but he was unsubdued and desperate. Only a few months previously he had been released from prison after serving many weary months for illegal netting, and he was deter- mined to meet death rather than be imprisoned a second time. A few yards beyond the landing is the giant waste-weir, over which, during the rainy season, water tumbles far below to the Miami River. With a shout of defiance, ‘the Weasel” sprang to the edge of this weir. Standing balanced upon the very brink of the dam, he shook his fist in impotent rage at the wardens. ‘I'wo or three sprang forward to capture him, never dreaming that he would attempt an action which seemed certain death, but with a snarl of anger the poacher “king” whipped out a revolver, fired directly at the advancing men, and then, seeing his bullets had gone wide, flung up his arms and with a scream sprang into the chasm, turning over and over in his dizzy fall. As fate would have it, he fell into a pool of deep water, disappearing with a mighty splash, and as the horrified spectators peered over the brink his head again appeared above the surface. Bullets began to sing about the desperado, but disdain- ing to dodge them, and seemingly bearing a charmed life, he clambered to the bank, yelled a note of derision at the men above, and plunged into the bushes. + The other outlaws were quickly bound. There was work yet to do, and, leaving a detail to guard them, preparations were made for an advance on the Mercer Reservoir. With the escape of “the Weasel” the remnants of the Mercer gang would be headed by a leader who was to be feared. Dawn was streaking the eastern skies when the wardens, with O’Connor and Wilson, who were determined to see the end, joined the second party of officers at the Mercer preserves. Here another shock awaited the new-comcers, for they were informed that the Mercer poachers, hearing of the Lewistown defeat, had obtained possession of dynamite, and it was feared an attempt would be made to shatter the embank- ments, release the pent-in waters, and flood the lowlands. With the largely-increased force of wardens, a sudden raid was planned and suc- cessfully carried out. The secret retreats of outlaws were sought, and the few remaining poachers captured. Upon the return of the expedition from the islands with the prisoners a boat was seen which contained a solitaty occupant, rowing desperately towards the Mercer bulkheads. Wardens were detailed to give chase, and three pairs of wilting arms soon lessened the distance between the two boats. As they drew nearer the wardens recognized the fugitive as the notorious ‘ Weasel.” Knowing that capture was almost inevitable, he fired a shot at the pursuers. The bullet came skipping along the water cluse to his pursuers. Nearer yet came the game wardens, however, and “the Weasel” was called upon to surrender or be shot to death. Instead, with a shriek of rage, he flung himself into the depths, in an attempt to escape to shore by swimming, but was soon over- hauled, and, kicking and scratching, was collared by two of the officers while the other pulled with difficulty to the shore. In “the Weasel’s” boat several sticks of dynamite were discovered, and it is believed that he premeditated blowing the reservoir banks to pieces in revenge for imaginary persecution. There is little more to relate. All the poachers are now serving well-deserved terms in prison, and Wilson is back at the news desk. He was publicly thanked by the chief warden for his courageous rescue of a State officer, but he refused any reward. It is enough for him to know that Jack O’Connor is his life-long friend, and that the “scoop” he achieved was freighted with more exciting details than he could have imagined.

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With Pen and Camera in Nigeria. By “FREDERICK W. EMETT. Being a record of life and travel in this most interesting portion of the British dominions, narrated to the writer and illustrated with photographs lent by various high officers of the Protectorate. el | interest, taken i l lith — the biggest, Sir William declares, that he has ever seen — which rears itself in solitary grandeur in the plain near the University town of Katsena, the ancient site of learning of the Hausas. It stands at least a hun- dred and sixty feet in height. A cleft in the rock gives entrance to an enormous cave, which was the centre of ju-ju rites before Paganism was re- placed by Mohammed- anism. A favourite prac- tice of the ju-ju priests was to disinter the bodies of those persons who had died under anything like suspicious circumstances. This was always delayed until some weeks after burial, and the corpse, on being exhumed, was de- capitated, the head being afterwards transferred to the ju-ju house and placed in an earthenware recep- tacle. The priest, having, by means of various mysterious ceremonies, claimed to have dis- covered the person re- sponsible for the death of the deceased, made this so-called knowledge the means of extorting money from the unfortunate native accused of the murder. Sir William Vol, xxiii, —74, Il. ERE is a picture of considerable Wallace states that he has himself seen ju-ju by Sir William huts containing over a hundred pots of skulls. Wallace ‘in the course of one of | This system still prevails in parts of the PM) his tours through the northern pro- Bauchi highlands which have not yet been vinces. It shows a gigantic mono- brought under complete control. An extraordinary monolith — It stands # hundred and sixty feet high, and a cleft in its bast fives entrance to an enormous cave, formerly a centre of ju-ju worship. From a Photograph.

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586 THE The next photograph reproduced shows a portion of the Resident-General’s caravan and camel escort while travelling on the edge of the desert between Sokoto and Katsena. The snapshot was taken during the progress of a sandstorm, which accounts for its somewhat blurred appearance. During the progress of the Harmattan, which lasts for about three months, from December to February, travelling is extremely difficult. _The nights are bitterly cold, and it is not uncommon to see ice in the early, morning, while during the afternoon the heat is excessive, the glass often registering as high as one hundred and ten degrees. During the greater part of the duration of the wind WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. urchin, who was about to be done to death, rushed up to the stranger and, clasping his legs, implored to be protected. The executioner, however, a man of enormous height, carrying a large sword, dragged the boy off and beheaded him on the spot. After execution the bodies of the victims were subjected to nameless indignities, and then left for the dogs to devour. Although one of the centres of Mohamme- danism in the Central Sudan, as showing what a hold Paganism still had on the people, it is related that during this visit black bulls were sacrificed at each of the twelve gates of the city, twenty men being sacrificed at the same time and buried with the bulls at the gates. An | From a) from the desert the atmosphere is laden with fine sand-particles blown from the Sahara, rendering it impossible to see for more than a few hundred yards. Until the cities of Sokoto and Kano were finally subdued by the British in 1903 these regions were quite unknown to recent explorers. Years previously Sir William. Wallace, then Agent-General for the Niger Company, after a long journey, attired in Mohammedan costume, reached the great city of Kano, which will soon be the terminus of the railway from the Niger. At that period civil war was raging and natives were being butchered on all sides. On the morning after his arrival, while walking through the market-place, he was horrified to see the headless trunks of twenty-three prisoners, just executed, lying on the ground. One smalt The Resident-General’s caravan on the edge of the desert. (Photograph. excellent idea of Kano, which has been called the “Manchester of the Sudan,” may be gathered from the next photograph. A great change has come over the scene since the British occupation, the reign of terror of the olden days having completely ended, the people being now able peacefully to pursue their avocations. While in this town Sir William Wallace relates that he saw prisoners publicly impaled in the market-place. His only safety lay in the fact that he was under the protection of the Waziri (or Prime Minister) of Sokoto, who was then collecting taxes at Kano. An equally barbarous state of affairs existed when the British arrived in the town. “ The Emir of Kano,” says Sir Frederick Lugard, who was High Commissioner at this period, “was a tyrant who was detested by the people, and who

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WITH PEN had inspired so deep a dread and fear that his will was law. Certain death awaited anyone who disobeyed or who was even suspected of wavering. He thus managed, even in his own absence, to compel the resistance which few beside himself desired.” Describing a visit paid to the prison in Kano, the High Com- missioner says :— “IT visited the dungeon myself. A small doorway, two feet six inches by one foot six inches, gives access into it. ‘The interior is AND CAMERA IN NIGERIA. 587 later the effluvium was unbearable for more than a few seconds. One of the great pools of the city is marked as the place where men’s heads were cut off; and another, near the great market, is the site where limbs were amputated almost daily.” These “execution lakes” are to be seen in the photograph. ~ The next province to Kano is that of Bauchi, which even to-day is largely unknown.” A con- siderable portion of this province consists of a great plateau four thousand feet high, and is one Kano, the From al divided by a thick mud wall, with a similar hole through it, into two compartments, each seventeen feet by seven feet, and eleven feet high. This wall was pierced with holes at its base, through which the legs of those sentenced to death were thrust up to the thigh, and they were left to be trodden on by the mass of other prisoners till they died of starvation and thirst. The place is entirely air-tight and unventilated, except for the one small doorway—or, rather, hole in the wall—through which you creep. The total space inside is two thousand six hundred and eighteen cubic feet, and at the time we took Kano a hundred and thirty-five human beings were confined here each night, being let out during the day to cook their food, etc., in a small adjoining area. Recently as many as two hundred have been interned at one time. As the superficial ground area was only two hundred and thirty-eight square feet there was not, of course, even standing-room. The victims were crushed to death every night, and their corpses were hauled out each morning. The stench inside the place, I am told, was intolerable, and when I visited it three weeks “Manchester of the Sudan"’—In the distance will be seen the “ execution lakes,” where, in the bad old days, heads and limbs were lopped off. (Photograph. of the few places which the Fulani were unable to penetrate, owing to the mountainous cha- racter of the region and the presence of tribes of rock-dwelling cannibals, who live in in- accessible crevices of the rocks and stoutly resisted the Fulani advance. As has been indicated, this province is not yet wholly con- quered, and in establishing its administration the Government has met with a period of prolonged and arduous resistance. When the British reached the outlying portions of the province they continually came across such scenes as that depicted in the next photo- graph—villages presenting spectacles of absolute desolation, with roofless huts containing only dead villagers or a few helpless old natives, squatting among the ruins of their household goods. ‘The advent of the British has changed all this. The lower photograph on the next page shows officers of an expedition against a rebellious chief resting on the ruined walls after the town had been destroyed. Another picture shows one of the curious high hills which are to be found within the city walls of Bauchi, the capital of the province.

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588 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) These are honeycombed with natural caves, the homes of hyenas, whose daring depredations are a constant source of trouble. Even in the capital at Zungeru quite recently a hyena got into one of the officers’ houses and actually penetrated to the bedroom, where it seized a favourite dog which was tied up to its owner’s bed-posit. The officer was asleep at the time, and his first intimation of any trouble was when he found the bed on which he lay being dragged Destroying the town of a rebellious chieftain. From a Photograph. A snapshot in a raided Bauchi village. (Whotegraph. across the floor of the room. Before he had realized what was happenirig the rope by which the hapless dog was fastened broke, and the hyena successfully made off with his victim. In many parts of the Protectorate, and especially among the hill regions of the northern provinces, baboons are one of the greatest plagues _ to the farmer, and a source of menace to pro- perty and even to life. A Protectorate officer, while engaged in business in a mountain village, was informed by the local Queen that her people could not continue their farming owing to the raids of baboons. During the absence of the men a few weeks previously these beasts had actually come into the heart of the village and destroyed the crops. The natives are in

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WITH PEN AND CAMERA IN NIGERIA. 589 constant dread of them atid continually fear for the safety of their children. The lower photograph shows one of the almost inaccessible hills in Bauchi frequented utter a nerve-shattering and horrid bark. ‘They possess a regular system of defence, and always have signallers out to watch for the approach of a possible enemy. ‘These scouts are always the biggest monkeys, ‘and they signal by barks to their comrades when strangers are approaching. Sir Pere yirouard is now in- augurating a new system of cur- rency all over Nigeria to replace the old style of shell currency. Hitherto the native has been accustomed to trade A cave-riddled hill in Bauchi City ~The passages are inhabited by hyenas, whose depredations are @ constant source of trouble. From a Photograph. by baboons. Sir William Wallace has related to me that he has seen droves of fifty to a hundred of these animals all in single file, and that lately he himself shot two enormous brutes who were grinning at him from the cliffs. They in cowrie shells, which are valued at two thousand a shilling. These are usually done up in bags of twenty thousand (ten shillings), and are just about as much as a man can carry. °In every village it is a common sight to see groups of A fetish hill-It is the stronghold of an army of if baboons: who have a reguler system of defence and post scou: signal the approach From a) of an enemy. (Phargeaph

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590 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Counting cowries, the currency of the, Tcocanri= Treaty thousand shells are worth about ten shillings. From a Photograph. natives, such as that photographed in the above picture, counting out these shells and doing them up in bags for trading purposes. The high plateau of Bauchi contains large collections of densely-populated villages situated on the hill slopes, often in almost inaccessible places among the mountains, and the work of subduing these hill-dwellers and of reaching them in their rocky fastnesses has been of the -most arduous description. The inhabitants, who have for generations defied the elsewhere all-conquering Fulani, despised the comparatively small forces sent against them by the British, and time after time the hardy villagers have refused to acknowledge themselves beaten. One of their successful tactics when leaving a village From a) A Bauchi village. which has become untenable was, on departing to overthrow the large earthenware bee-hives which are a prominent feature in all these places, with the result that for hours the pursuing troops have been driven back by the bees and unable to penetrate into the village until such time as the fugitive Pagans had again sought a fresh place of retreat. The next photograph shows that these villages are literally packed with small mud-thatched huts, having scarcely any room between them. The interiors are naturally dark and the atmo- sphere baffles description. In many instances human flesh has been found hanging up in these huts, while portions have also been discovered in the cooking-pots standing outside. The [Photograph.

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WITH PEN AND CAMERA IN NIGERIA. 591 people inhabiting these villages are not at all the kind of men usually associated with moun- tain tribes. ‘They are ape-like creatures and ugly to a degree, men, women, and children being all practically naked. They are great horsemen, and ride their animals bare-backed. They have a barbarous system of slashing the backs of their animals and of keeping the wounds open so that they can secure a better seat. These people are dreaded by the surround- ing tribes, and internecine warfare was constant. ‘They are armed with long throwing-spears and poisoned arrows, but fortunately their aim is erratic. The British have had an anxious time in fighting these people in the villages, as they will discharge their arrows from every point of cover. When the poison is fresh the wounds made by these arrows prove fatal in a very short time, ‘The fol- lowing account, from an officer, will give a good idea of the diffi- culty with which effective administra- tion was established among these savages. Describing one of these expeditions, the officer says:— “ After a day’s halt in a friendly town to send in our sick and fix things up gene- tally, we start off again for a district where we are assured that the natives will not come in without a desperate struggle. Our first halt is at a friendly town on the outskirts of the semi-civilized country separated from the cannibal Pagans by a belt of some fifteen miles of waterless, untenanted bush. Our first glimpse of the enemy is of two men who were caught by the advance-guard and brought in. “Their appearance was not prepossessing—- black, woolly-haired creatures of medium height, with the filed teeth of the upper jaw always noticeable among eaters of human flesh. With- out a pretence of clothing, even to a string of beads round the neck, they were naked, yet unashamed. ‘They were armed with a long- hafted spear with unpleasant-looking barbs, reaching to over a foot behind the arrow-shaped point. They were not armed with the small From a) Types of cannibal Pagans. bow and poisoned arrows usually found among Pagans, but later we found that they each carried a round shield of buffalo hide and slings and pebbles when on the war-path. After questioning them as to the behaviour of the nearest tribes, they were sent off with messages of peace to their own people. Next morning, as we marched towards the village, we first saw specimens of the Pagan women, stark naked except for a piece of string from which depended a few long tufts of green grass behind, the idea being that when pursued by the enemy they were thus distinguishable from the men, and would be captured, instead of killed on the spot. As we approached the town we saw the natives scurry- ing from their farms back to their villages, where, to judge by the way they were collecting, it looked as if they were going to make a_ stand. We soon noticed bodies of natives on either flank keeping parallel with us as we advanced. Within a couple of miles of the long range of hills, along which the vil- lages lie, we changed into square formation and marched with the carriers and non- combatants in the - centre, “ At two places on the hills in front the green was black with natives, and all along the sky-line they could be seen—to the number of several thousand — collecting and shouting. When within about two thousand yards we opened shell-fire, but owing to the rarity of the atmosphere it was difficult to get the range, and our efforts were only greeted with yells and war- whoops from the natives on the hill. “As this sort of thing was unsatisfactory to both sides, the square advanced to within about cight hundred yards of the village, the natives withdrawing to the crest of the hills behind to await our onset at the most favourable place. As we could not hope to camp there in any comfort with several thousand cannibals ready to rush down at any moment, the infantry was sent out to disperse them, whilst the remainder of the force formed camp. On entering the village, which was by no means deserted, several warriors (Photograph.

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592 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, were awaiting our approach in the tall corn, but rifle-fire soon cleared them out and they scampered off to their friends on the hill. The enemy were full of fight and made one ugly- looking rush, which was checked by the rifle-fire and the Maxim on the right. They thereupon withdrew, but hung about on the far side of the hill ready to seize the first opening. “Later in the day the encouraging notes of a war-horn, which prudently kept on the reverse side of the hill, warned us that the people were swarming over the hill intending to rush the From a) camp; but they soon encountered a brisk fire, which drove them off. On another occasion we reached an enormous native town stuck right on top of the highest and most diabolically steep and stony hill we had come across. We had all been on foot for several hours, as it was all our horses could do to climb up the slippery rocks themselves without our additional weight. There was no path, but a column of five hundred men in single file soon makes a path of its own, so those in the rear had no difficulty in finding their way. By the time we got to More cannibal types. the top we had only about an hour and a half before sundown to decide upon our plan of action, as the people showed no signs of surrender. A few warning shots, however, in the direction of the chief's compound brought a man out with a white goat, and we knew there was not likely to be any fighting there. “T often think that that man with the goat was one of the pluckiest men in existence ;. a sujierstitious savage who had never seen a white man, and who until two or three days before had probably considered them more or less as a (Photograph. myth, to come right out from his town down in the face of a fearful flame-belching demon, when he might quite easily have gone the other way or sent someone else. He was really a very fine fellow. “When the force retired some days later rumours were current that the price of human meat had fallen so low that it was a drug in the market. Anyhow, I would not give a cent for the life of any white man who went in by him- self or with only an insufficient escort; he would be eaten on sight ” (To be concluded.)

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A Race for a Gold-Mine. By E.izaBeTH B. YEOMANS. The motor-car has invaded many spheres of activity, but it will be news to most people to learn that it is extensively used by mining magnates in order to reach the scene of a rich “strike” in the shortest possible time. In this story Miss Yeomans describes a thrilling cross-country dash by motor, the prize of success being a newly-discovered mine in the Panamint Mountains of Nevada. pemema IF the many revolutions brought about by the motor-car, none perhaps ex- ceeds in interest that effected in the methods of gold-seekers. ‘The old, ; sun-baked prospector, shuffling along through an endless desert, is practically a thing of the past. In south-western Nevada, where mining is most modern, there is another kind of prospecting, the kind that is done by the “ big fellows.” As a matter of fact, it should be called mine-hunting, for the men who engage in it are looking, not for “ prospects” or “ colours,” but fora mine. ‘They know that it needs but one mine to fix a man for life and leave some- thing behind for his descendants as well. That kind of mine-hunting is not done afoot ; it is done in motor-cars, and the men who engage in it maintain a regular “Intelligence Department.” They have emissaries all over the gold-fields, plodding patiently through the desert, “ panning” in ravines or upon mountain- tops; other agents are located in the towns, frequenting the saloons and gambling-places— fellows who can engage conversation and have good ears. In the garage close to the mine- hunter's office is his motor, laden with extra tyres, petrol, and grub - box and water; the chauffeur lounges near, ready for duty when called upon. When the news of 4 rich “strike” reaches him, Mr. Mine-hunter grabs up his overcoat, "From a). Vol. xxiii, 75. Goldfield, Nevada, the starting point of the race for a gold-mine. saunters across the street to the garage, steps into the car, and is off. Beneath the burning sun, under the blazing stars, through desert and oasis, mountain and valley, his big machine whirrs, one day, two days, three if necessary, till he comes to the find. Then he steps off and examines it. If 1t looks good, he buys it; if not, he goes back, his trip in vain. He often returns thus, empty-handed, but never impatient ; for remember, all he wants is one good mine. Nearly every one of these trips 1s an adven- ture, and the men of the mining districts relate them to each other, very much as in the days of old the folks who stayed at home told of the heroic deeds of the searchers for the Holy Grail. ‘The story that is being discussed on the gold- fields now is the run made by L. M. Sullivan and “Jack” Campbell. From Manhattan Sullivan and Campbell rushed two hundred and fifty miles, clean across Death Valley—the earth’s Inferno—into the Panamint Mountains on the Californian side, and pounced there upon a monstrous ledge of rock-quartz, the finding of which had been dimly heralded on the wings of rumour. They got there in time— but only just. A little before midnight on June 15th Campbell whizzed through the main street of Goldfield, Nevada, and stopped in front of the Sullivan office. Campbell is a mining engineer, in charge of Sullivan’s properties in Manhattan. (Photograph,

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504 ‘THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The intelligence of the find had reached him first, and he had come down from Manhattan, a distance of seventy miles, in two hours. Sullivan was presiding over a meeting of directors. Two , words from Campbell were enough, and, seizing a box of cigars and his big leather motoring coat, he stepped into the car. A short stop was made at the garage to take up extra tyres and petrol, and then the huge car, an eighty- horse power owned by Sullivan, buzzed out into the open country. That night’s run was uneventful. At two o'clock, crossing the Amargosa River, a little stream of bitter water, one of the rear tyres blew up. The chauffeur put in a new one and on they went. At three o’clock they were in Rhyolite, having made eighty miles of mountainous desert in three hours. There they met Chafey, the young fellow who had flashed the first news of the “strike.” He informed them that he had sent on a mule-team with provisions to Stove Pipe Spring, on the edge of Death Valley. A half-hour stop was made for breakfast. A new supply of petrol was taken aboard and each man was given a South African canvas-bag full of water. Several coal-oil cans full of water were also lashed to the shelf behind, for they were now entering an arid country of death and desolation. The mine-hunters started off again with the green sky of dawn behind them, and whirred down a dry wash through a canyon of red walls. The feverish breath of the still invisible valley struck in their faces like a warning. After a while the canyon walls opened, and Death Valley itself was below them—its bottom leprous with some loathsome sediment. With each plunge of the machine they entered a layer of air hotter than the preceding, till they panted as at the finish of a race. Still the car rolled on, with mountains rising on all sides, till finally they were at the bottom, a hundred feet below sea level, and stopped at Stove Pipe Spring, a mere hole in the sand from which a little black water oozed. The mule wagon which Chafey had sent on ahead was there, driven by McCullough, a desert prospector of long experience. They loaded up with water from the spring for the machine, hoarding the better water for drinking Then on they went again across the Valley of Death. A half mile, and they reached the sand dunes. Here the car stuck, its wheels whirring impo- tently through the sand without catching. “We can’t do it,” said the chauffeur, shaking his head. “We've gof to do it,” answered Sullivan and Campbell, in one breath. Before them, blue in the distance, rose the Panamints, where lay the mine they were after. The three men got out. With a shovel they cleared the sand heaped up before the wheels ; they placed gunny-bags beneath the tyres ; and then, putting their shoulders against the car, they pushed and strained, while the chauffeur applied full power. The wheels whizzed, caught the sacking, the machine gave a jump—one foot, two feet, three! Then it stuck again. More shovelling, more placing of sacks beneath the wheels, more pushing and straining. The machine jumped six feet, then stuck again. For two hundred yards, foot by foot, they went thus across the dunes. Then the sand grew deeper, and their best efforts were unavailing. Far before them the Panamint Range rose with its promise of golden splendour. The men sat down upon the baking sand and considered the matter. “The mules!” exclaimed Campbell at length. “T wonder if they can help us?” Retracing their steps, they fetched the mule wagon and tied it with ropes to the front axle of the motor. McCullough, taking the reins, urged the animals on with yells and gestures, while the chauffeur put on full power and the men behind A stretch of alkali swamp in Death Valley. (Photograph.

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A RACE FOR A GOLD- MINE. 595 « “"The mules tugged, the men pushed, and the wheels whirred through the yielding sand.” pushed. The car vibrated; it jumped up and down in its tracks. ‘There was a crash, and the mules started forward at a gallop, dragging McCullough with them, while the motor-car remained in place, immovable as a rock. The whiffle-tree of the wagon had broken! With the handle of a pick they improvised a new one, and then they hitched the team directly to the car. ‘here was a sharp struggle. The mules tugged, the men pushed, and the wheels whirred through the yielding sand. Then the car began to move. An inch was gained, a foot ; and finally the wheels began to take hold. For a hundred yards the car went forward. Then the mules stopped exhausted, and the men rolled over, half-dead. The heat was fearful, but ahead rose the Panamints with their purple promise of riches. “ Let’s go on,” panted Sullivan. For several miles they literally heaved the machine over the sand by hundred-yard stretches, and finally struck hard ground. * Leaving McCullough there with the mules and the water, they buzzed on across the shimmering alkali, a hundred feet below sea- level, through a perfectly scorching atmosphere. Presently the car struck a down-grade, at the bottom of which a faint green mistiness was

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596 THE visible. As they approached it, at terrific speed, the chauffeur suddenly leaned forward and applied both brakes. There was a thump, a screech of tortured steel ; the car skidded and jumped, and then came to a full stop, the front wheels bored into the treacherous soil. With infinite labour they pulled the big car back out of it. Examining the ground, they found that the road led through an alkali swamp. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It seemed useless tu proceed, but the men held a conference and finally decided upon taking a wild chance. With only the chauffeur in it, the car was backed far up the grade it had come down. The others spread along the path through the marsh, ready for any emergency. Sullivan dropped his handkerchief for a signal, and the machine started down the hill. At once the chauffeur put on full speed, and the steel “By @ series of mad leaps she went almost across.”

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“A RACE FOR A GOLD - MINE. 597 ~ From a Photo, by) flaps in front opened like wings. Silently at first, like a flying shadow, the car advanced ; then, as she got the full impetus of power and grade, she began to buzz in a crescendo that rose till it was like the roaring of a furnace. She cleared the first hundred feet as with one spring, then - slowed, hesitated, and yawed from side to side. Then, the wheels catching a bit of harder ground, she jumped forward again through an oozy place. ‘Ihus, by a series of mad leaps, she went almost across, the chauffeur rising and falling on his seat like the rider of a dromedary. On the farther edge, a few feet from safety, the great machine seemed to stick for good! It stopped, the wheels whirring madly through the slime; but the men alongside, frenzied, threw their coats, hats, shirts — anything — beneath the wheels, and slowly, inch by inch, the car rose and gained the hard ground. Everything afterwards was easy in comparison, _ though the troubles of the mine-hunters were not yet over. An examination of the maching showed the frame that supported the engine to be cracked ; the travellers braced it with a drill and a shovel handle, and went on their way. Five miles from their destination the party ran The Panamint Mountains, where the gold-mine was found. ee) IC. C. Pierce & Co. out of water, and the car refused to go with- out it. Leaving the others, Campbell and Chafey went on afoot with the empty water- bags. Under the desert sun it was a desperate race, and their tongues were almost swollen out of their mouths before they reached a little pool of stagnant water. Filling all the bags, they returned to the car. Once again in working order, the motor puinped slowly up the remain- der of the grade, and at midnight rolled into the little camp at Emigrant Springs. Even then it was not time to rest. Afoot, the party climbed over the hills and just at sunrise were standing upon an enormous field of gold-bearing quartz—the mine so desperately won. Taking samples indiscriminately, they returned to camp, panned them, and there and then Sullivan, Chafey, and the prospectors who had located the “strike” closed the deal. Hardly was this done when the “ puff-puff” of a motor-car drew them outside the tent. A crippled automobile was rolling slowly in trom the other side of the mountains. It carried the confidential agent of Mr. Schwab, the “Steel King,” also seeking the mine. By so little had the race been won.

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In the Far North- West. By E. CrawsHay WILLIAMS. In this entertaining narrative the author deals with an extended journey along the coast-line of British Columbia and the regions of the great North-West. His experiences were shared by his wife, who, he says, ‘‘not only patiently and successfully coped with the difficulties incidental to travel amid unfamiliar conditions, but showed endurance and courage in circumstances of considerable danger.” §)T is not necessary to-day to describe the ordinary experiences of a journey across Canada to Vancouver. The tcur is one which almost every visitor to Canada makes, and about which he very frequently afterwards writes. The travelled Englishman is getting tired of being told that he does not realize the vastness of Canada. He does realize it; and the forests, the prairies, and the peaks of the Dominion have become, perhaps, more familiar to him than the woods and dales of his own country. There are, no doubt, many little incidents in such a cross - country jour- ney which would bear description—as indeed there are in all’ journeys, be they properly described. I could tell of the sights of the great cities of the East ; of wanderings in the woods and amid the hills of Ontario. I could describe the rough life of West- country homesteads and townships, and the limitless brown waste of prairie, circled like the sea by an even line of horizon. I could tuke you with me through dense pine forests, along narrow little paths to the bare slopes and snow-capped summits of the giant peaks of the Rockies. I could wax enthusiastic about the clear, wine like air of the high solitudes of Western Alberta, and recall the delight of a bathe in some crystal mountain stream, or of a thirsty throat pre- I. A precarious drink at a mountain torrent. From a Photograph. cariously moistened at some sparkling torrent. All this may be written of some day; but my object here is to put before Wip—E WorLpD readers scenes and experiences which are less familiar, so at one bound the scene shall be shifted to the gateway of the West—Vancouver. From Vancouver, with its splendid harbour and noble backing of cloud-draped mountains, the stream of commerce flows westward to the Orient, southward to Australia and New Zealand, and northward to the scenes of my experiences. Far up the coast of British Columbia, up to the new city of Prince Rupert, up to the old Hudson Bay post, Fort Simpson, up farther still to Alaskan Skagway, up last of all to remote Nome and the utter Arctic regions, run quite a goodly number of steamers. No trip can be more plea- sant, given favour- able weather. The route lies for the most part through land-locked channels, between great tree-clad moun- tains, and this North- West is a world of its own, well worth the knowing. Here, as nowhere else, is to be seen that curious survival of another age, the native red Indian. He has here, almost un- touched, his villages, his customs, his super- stitions. One of the first ports touched on the journey north is Alert Bay, and the traveller, when he sees the village, may well imagine he has come

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IN THE FAR NORTH-WEST. 599 out of the Canada he has hitherto known, the land of wheat and cattle and commerce, into a strange country. For all along the beach, in front of little wooden huts, rise strange graven images. Horrid faces, with wild eyes and giant hooked noses ; forms half beast, half bird, half man; and distorted images of the animal world, stare out across the little bay. Instead of the white man and his atmosphere of trade, the visitor will find swarthy faces, half Oriental The Indian village at Alert Bay. From a Photograph in their cast of features, and a wholly un-European manner of life —for the Indian is as unlike the man who has come to occupy his country as his totems are unlike the animals they pretend to represent. For totems the strange images are called, and they are the crests or symbols of the different tribes and families. | Frequently a totem-pole con sists of three superimposed symbols— that of the present representative, above this that of his father, and on top that of his grandfather. It takes a couple of days to get to a place which is destined in the future to play an important part in the history of Canada. This place is Prince Rupert, the future terminus of the second great railway line to cross the Canadian conti nent—the Grand ‘Trunk Pacific. When we reached Prince Rupert the city was in an interesting stage of development. It was, indeed, in a very embryonic state, and From a) to the student of political evolution formed a study of considerable interest. Here was a town actually in the making ; at present raw and crude, but obviously some: day to become a busy and populous centre. The town-site had only recently been cleared, and everywhere protruded desolate stumps and roots of trees dotted over a series of marshy hills, up and down and around which ran immature little paths. Sprinkled over its great expanse were odd collections of wooden huts, tents, and every imaginable form of elementary human habita- tion. The focusing-point of Prince Rupert was: the main street, one of the only two or three provided with a_ road- way of any kind. The roadway in this case took the form of a broad plank - walk, with, down the centre, what looked \ like a toy tram-line, up ; which were hauled trucks containing the building materials and other necessaries for the population farther up the Indian totem-poles. (Photograph,

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WORLD MAGAZINE. and the terminus of the transcontinental railway. From a Photograph. 600 THE WIDE ‘ es Prince Rupert, the site of the “ New Vancouver" “road.” And up the road in very truth it was, for Prince Rupert will be a city of hills. It was from this Vancouver-of-the-future that my wife and I started one morning in August for a trip up the harbour and into one of the great fiords beyond, to see the salmon. At this season of the year one is apt, after a short time, to get tired of salmon. At first they are a pleasant novelty ; then they become monoton- ous ; and lastly they can be described as nothing else but a curse. Why this is so will shortly be seen. We had not become accustomed to the salmon yet, and so we had been much looking forward to our expedition. Through the kindness of some newly-made - friends—and nowhere have I met with such kindness as in Canada—our trip was made under most pleasant circumstances. We set off in a petrol launch, accompanied by several resi- dents generously intent on showing us the best of everything. Putting off into the calm waters of the harbour, we soon slipped past the long From a} A suburb of the new city. [Photog aph.

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IN THE FAR coast-line of the town site and found ourselves gliding between steep, tree-clad mountains of so primeval an appearance that we might have been a hundred miles from any haunt of man- kind. That is the wonderful feature of these new cities—they are mere outposts in the realm of Nature, and within a few hundred yards of the works of man the solitude is only broken by the members of the animal kingdom. While we were at Prince Rupert a deer was actually shot on the town site itself, and from the con- struction camps close round there came frequent complaints of the depredations of bears. ‘To-day we had not to go very far before reaching the scene of operations. We had been promised salmon, salmon in abundance, and with salmon we shortly became acquainted. Not, however, in the first instance through the medium of our eyes; for while we were still some distance from the creck where our landing was to be effected there came an unmistakable odour of something dead. As we came closer the reason was not hard to recognize. There, left stranded on the sides of the small stream, Prince Rerert Harbotr from Kaien Mountain--The Author's wife was the first lady to ascend Froma this mountain. were the bodies of a multitude of great salmon. Intent on their purpose, taught by Nature only to struggle blindly to reach the fresh water in which alone their spawn can come to life, the wretched fish, unacquainted with the ways of ebb and flow, had persevered too long in their faithful attempt, and as a punishment they had been left to die in the rapidly receding waters of the shallows. Fresh wonders greeted us after we had landed, for, when wading across the mouth of the small mountain stream, I felt something brush my leg. Looking down, I saw I was standing amid a mass of moving fish, closely packed together in their efforts to advance up-stream! Now they Vol. xxiii,—76, NORTH-WEST. 601 would dart this way for a new rowe of advance, now rush madly back and thrust themselves vigorously between my feet. It was an amazing sight. ‘he waters were literally alive with salmon. They were, of course, easily caught. We could chase them into a corner and throw them out with our hands—sometimes, indeed, they would throw themselves out in very terror. Still more strange, Jess, the dog belonging to one of our friends, waded in and after a short chase returned triumphantly carrying in her mouth a salmon which must have weighed about twenty pounds. There was something very horrible about the whole scene—the poor mad fish insensately jostling each other in order to more speedily achieve their doom ; some full of the vigour of the salt water; some already dull with the lassitude of approaching death ; and some half decayed, but still alive and still struggling feebly up the narrow stream, while all along and around the banks lay the mouldering corpses of their dead companions. But salmon were not the only quarry to-day. As I was going up the stream, still marvelling at the myriads of fish, I noticed a small stony trail leading up the moun- tain to the right. I had brought my rifle with me, and turning to my friend, a man well versed in the sporting possibilities of the district, I asked, “Is it any use taking a little walk to look for a bear?” “Well, I did see a bear up there not so long azo,” said he, “and we might try it.” So we set off through the dense woods, with a soft drizzle pattering down among the leaves and everything reeking of a rank green moisture. My friend had no rifle, so I went first, he following behind, all eyes for a sign of animal life anywhere round. Treading as softly as we could, and talking, when we had to, in hushed whispers, we had crept quietly along the tiny trail for perhaps half an hour, when suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder and instantly stopped. Without a word my companion pointed to the slope on the right, which was here covered by dense masses of that singularly unpleasant Canadian undergrowth called Devil’s Club, a_ prickly, unhealthy-looking, straggling plant which some- times rises as high as half-a-dozen feet. As I watched, a particular patch of this suddenly [Paotograph.

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602 THE began to quiver. A dark mass, which before had seemed nothing more than a gap in the foliage, showed all of a sudden slightly blacker than the surrounding patches. There could be no doubt of it—it was a bear, but what part of a bear it was not possible to determine, and to fire point-blank at a piece of fur something like sixty yards away, and with so much undergrowth between, was not perhaps the wisest possible plan. Only by a lucky chance could a bullet find a vital part, and once hidden by the surrounding foliage there would be no knowing what the beast might be doing. However, it was my first bear, and I was not going to miss a shot for trivial considera- tions such as this. So, after a momentary pause, I lifted my rifle to my shoulder and slowly pressed the trigger. A sharp crack broke the surrounding stillness, and in an instant the black spot on the hill came to life. There was a violent shaking of the great mass of Devil’s Club, and out there- from fell a medium - sized bear, struggling violently. As soon as he came into view I fired again—a mere snap shot at the falling animal. Upon this there was a spasmodic scuffle and the animal disappeared, tumbling down towards us through the undergrowth, wounded evidently, but not by any means done for. ‘ Keep steady,” whispered my friend, in a tense under- tone; “he is coming for us.” “Keep steady” was the only thing I -could WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, do, for there was nothing to fire at, and we could only conjecture the beast’s progress by the agitation of the tops of the Devil’s Club. Ali this takes some time to describe, but it actually happened in a flash. I suppose it was before my companion had well finished his advice that I caught just a glimpse of a black body moving diagonally towards us. My rifle was, needless to say, at my shoulder, and on the instant I fired. Still the beast came on; but my last shot had evidently turned him, for the ” in a salmon-choked river. From a Photograph. next view we.got of the bear was when he suddenly emerged on to the trail a few yards ahead of us. I fired once more; and this time there was no doubt of the result, for the black mass lurched forward and lay still, right in the centre of the path. I heard a loud whoop of joy from behind me, and we both rushed forward. As we came up there was a kind. of gurgle from the black body on the path, and with one last shudder the bear was dead. Then we turned him over and examined him. Every one of my shots had told, and the last one had torn a great gap in the breast fur of the unfortunate animal. But my rifle was a comparatively small- bore affair—-275—and although some of the preceding shots would have proved fatal, the shock of them had not been enough to stop the bear. Taking Bruin home was almost as serious an (

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IN THE FAR affair as shooting him, for we were a couple of miles from the rest of the party and the trail was stony and steep. However, with the aid of a stout sapling, and at the cost of bruised shins and sore shoulders, we eventually got him to the mouth of a small creek where we had left the others. “Sere followed the usual scenes of congratulation and photography, and the only cloud in the sky of our happiness was the fact that my wife, thinking our expedition doomed to futility, had not accompanied the successful hunting: party. The next enterprise upon which we entered nearly prevented these recollections from being From a) written, for at one time we all had very serious doubts as to whether we should any of us get out of it alive. Through the kindness of our friends we were afforded a trip to an island in the waters of the Pacific about fifteen miles from Prince Rupert, where we were told deer were abundant and wolves sometimes seen. The expedition was to be one of three or four days’ duration, and preparations had been made accordingly. We were to be transported to our island in the same motor-launch which had taken us to’see the salmon and to kill the bear. The day dawned well, and it was originally intended that we should start in the morning ; but, unfortunately, our launch was com- mandeered the day before to take a party of mourners to a funeral at Fort Simpson, and The Author's first bear. NORTH-WEST. 603 they only returned in time for us to get off at three o'clock. This was the source of our misfortunes ; for after we got out of the harbour the wind began to rise and the tide to run strongly, the sea became more and more angry, the clouds lowered, and white tops began to show on the crests of the waves. We were still ten miles from our island, and a small motor-launch is not the best possible boat to weather a storm. Occasionally | took a turn at the tiny steering- wheel, and it was no easy matter, even at this early hour, to keep the boat's head straight to the waves. © (Photograph. Just as we were off two little islets, called Kinnahan Islands, I happened to look astern. When we started we were towing a tiny row- boat. When I looked it was gone. ‘There, a quarter of a mile away, bobbing up and down on the waves, it rode, with its treacherous tow-rope dangling over its bows. Going about was not a pleasant operation to contemplate; but the boat was’ worth recovering, and so we made the attempt. We got round safely, and then began an irritating series of manceuvres. Twice we dashed by the tiny boat, driven by the wind ana sea, without being able to catch her with a boat- hook. ‘The third time we actually did catch her, but she got away again. ‘The fourth time we were going to make no mistake about being in range, consequently we ran her down and

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604 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. sank her, after which we had the melancholy satisfaction of discontinuing our efforts and the annoyance of watching the boat drift slowly towards the island beach close at hand. All this had delayed us about half an hour, and, after we again set out on our course, conditions of wind and weather soon became a great deal worse. However, we plodded on, until at last we came into a cross sea which was really dangerous. Before, we had been able to keep the boat’s head to the worst of the seas, although with some diffi- culty ; but, now, white crests came at us from every direction, and the boat tossed aimlessly and unpleasantly about like an inert thing. Nor was our position a very comfortable one. On the beach of the island. From a Photograph. line never altered its relative position to us. Worse, night was coming on, and the advent of darkness undoubtedly meant the advent of death. I scrambled aft and asked our skipper, who was skilfully and resolutely keeping the boat in hand, what he was going to do. “Blest if I know what I am going to do,” said he, grimly. “I’ve never been in such a sea as this, and I'll shake hands with myself if we ever get out of it!” I had asked for a candid opinion, and I got it. There were now From a) Starting for the island. (Photograph. My wife and I had gone forward in order to better balance our little craft, and were hanging on to the tiny mast and the stays which supported it. There we were drenched by sea after sea, and we had to keep a pretty firm hold to avoid going overboard altogether. Through it all my wife displayed the greatest calmness. She made light of the drenching waves and showed no fear, even though we were all quite awake to the fact that we might turn turtle at any moment, and if we did so there was absolutely no hope of rescue. When we had endured this sort of thing for some time I became aware of the disconcerting fact that we were making no headway at all. Patches of foam remained alongside while we ; ay tain tossed frantically about, and the distant shore- From a) (Photograph.

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IN THE two alternatives— to struggle on and endeavour inch by inch to make for the shore before dark, or to turn about and trust to luck to take us to some small island before we were swept to the open sea. To go about was hardly possible, and the alternative which it involved was too faint a chance to be worth the risk. So we pressed on. I hung on aft a little and watched the water alongside. At last, little by little, we made way ; it was only a foot at a time, and some- times not that, but gradually, very gradually, we went FAR NORTH-WEST. The deserted hut in which the Author and his wife lived on Porcher , 605 we rounded a nose of rock, and, as dusk closed down upon us, dropped our little anchor in the serene waters ofatiny bay. Then we waded ashore, and I do not think any of us before realized — or pro- bably will again so thoroughly realize —what a blessed thing just a piece of dry land may be. We had no tent, as we had intended to make for a deserted hut, while, of course, we had been com- pelled in the end to make for land where we could. But we found, close by, the re- mains of an old Indian encamp- forward. I shall From a} Island. (Photegraph, ment — a mossy never forget that glade with chopped long fight. To be in such a position had a fir branches strewn about it — and there curious effect upon one’s mind. Perhaps the whole atmosphere of these wild places alters one’s standpoint when one regards human affairs. It is an atmosphere of great elemen- tary things, where the forces of man and Nature strive blindly and life comes to be regarded as a less precious thing than in our more mature civilization. Anyhow, I think we all looked on that struggle for existence with more interest than apprehension. And we won. Slowly, very slowly, the shore came nearer, until at last, in the gathering darkness, we made out a tiny islet within a couple of hundred yards. To land there, however, would have meant the destruction, if not of ourselves, at all events of the boat. But the islet provided us with lee- water of comparative smoothness, and it was not far from the main island. The only danger now was from sunken rocks ; we were no longer in danger of being capsized. I hung over the bow and endeavoured, as far as the light would enable me, to make out whither we were going Suddenly I saw what seemed a more than usually white patch of foam ahead. I signalled the skipper to keep to the right, and we just shaved past a barely visible reef. Eventually we made a fire and had some simple food. The bread had been soaked with sea-water, but we found it dried comparatively well. Over our little meal we indulged in some well-earned congratulations upon our being there at all. There was only one tragedy to recount. We had started with a small dog belonging to the skipper. ‘That small dog,” said a police-officer friend who had accom- panied us, ‘was washed overboard.” My wife cried out in horrified tones. The poor little animal had, however, been very seasick, and no doubt did not find its death, under the circumstances, quite so dreadful as it might have been. During the night there came an immense downpour. For my wife we had rigged up the scanty shelter of a canvas sheet ; but our police- officer friend and myself literally slept in rivers, and at 4.30 a.m. abandoned our moist couches and went off to look for deer. None were seen, but we discovered instead a couple of healthy appetites for a rather drenched breakfast. Later on, the sky having cleared and the wind abated, we got round to our original destination and encamped in our deserted hut. (Zo be concluded.)

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=< WB SOME REMINISCENCES OF THE JOHANNESBURG MOUNTED POLICE. By Mrs. FRED MatTurIN. Mrs. Maturin, as readers who have enjoyed her former contributions are aware, has resided for some considerable time in South Africa. In this series she deals in her usual entertaining fashion with the varied adventures which fell to the lot of the members of the Johannesburg Mounted Police in the stormy years following the war—adventures amusing, curious, and often wildly exciting. Il.—THE BLACKLEG. = § T was during the time of the miners’ q Na strike on the Rand. [very day and iy S| every night some fiend laid dyna. mite under a house or hotel and blew it up. A veritable reign of terror was uponus. No one felt safe Even if you had personally done nothing to offend the strikers, you might be living in the same block or hotel with somebody who had, and up went the building when you were all in it; and next morning there were half-a-dozen funerals, a widow or two, and some fatherless children Things came to such a pass at last that, if you met a man who insisted on still work- ing on the mines rather than see his family starve, you sheered away from his vicinity as if he had the plague, for any instant he might be blown up into the air in pieces, and you with him. Nobody went to bed without examining the foundations of their house to see if a brick had been removed to insert a bomb, and it became acommon thing of an evening to hear a dull distant roar, and to say as you played nap. “That must be the So-and-so Hotel! Blackleg Tomkins is stopping in it, and the landlord offered him twenty pounds to leave, but he wouldn’t.”. And next morning you'd go and see the ruins and subscribe to the fund for the widows. The T.T.P. were having a very busy time, especially the mounted men, who considered themselves lucky if six hours of the twenty-four were spent out of the saddle. Late one night a kind friend called at my cottage with the usual formula when preparing you for disaster. “J don’t want to alarm you——,” he began, solemnly. ; So of course I said, ‘Out with it quick, please. Is Sobersides (my young relation) blown up?” “ Not yet,” replied Job. “Oh! Is he going to be?” “Well, I thought you ought to know. Half- a-dozen of them have just gone off with Super- intendent A—— to sit all night in old Van der Han’s house, where a brick has been loosened.” That was quite enough for me. “Ob!” I cried, alarmed. ‘Oh, dear!” “Van der Han has been warned times without number by the strikers,” my informant went on; “but he insists on working, poor devil. They are very poor. This afternoon, after he’d gone to work, his wife found a brick loosened under the house, and everything neat and ready for the dynamite. She flew to the police-station, and there’s great excitement. Evidently it’s to be done tonight, and the police hope to catch them at last” “They'll all be blown to pieces!” I cried. “Have the police got to sit in the house all night and wait to be blown up?”

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TROOPER Mounted police escorting blacklegs to « mine under a hail of stones. From a Sketch by a member of the T.T.P. “Well, of course, they have to remain hidden, or they'd never catch the brutes when they arrive to do the job But they'll doubtless get some warning and be able to dash out before the fuse reaches the dynamite.” “‘But—but suppose they don’s get warning ?” “Well——” (Here my friend paused and sighed.) ‘But, now, look here —this won’t do at.all I shall be sorry I told you if you take it like this.” “Did you expect me to take it by dancing a hornpipe of joy?” I cried. “If I hear a roar in the night, I shall know it’s Van der Han’s.” “Probably it will be ; but try to cheer up.” And with that my comforter departed. I am copying the rest from Lovelace’s own weekly letter, sent home regularly at that time for the solace of a widowed mother in England, who, haunted by visions of his young life «being suddenly cut short, always immediately forwarded him a handsome cheque, on the principle of “A short life and a merry one; have some fun while you're alive, for you'll be a long time dead.” Lovelace usually wrote to his doting mother of impending dangers several weeks, if possible, before they could occur, and that period of ghastly suspense, with gory visions presenting themselves in rapid succession to the poor lady, resulted in most beneficial results to Lovelace; though, on ‘this occasion, the story and its finale happened to come together for a change, and the relief LOVELACE, T.T.P. 607 was so great that a cheque bigger than usaul followed. : My Dear Mums,—I last wrote the night before my patrol was to be round and round the Hotel, due to be blown up any minute because Blackleg Porter was stopping there. As luck would have it, Blackleg Porter got murdered out on the Main Reef road that same night, so the lives of fifty people, your innocent son’s included, were saved. Many thanks, by the by, for the ten pounds. Thank Heaven I’m alive to enjoy it! You’re a ripper, mums, and no mistake ! Well, since that, I’ve had another experience, and will relate it in proper sensational literary style for your curate to read out at the Village Penny Reading. I’m glad my letters interest the community. Picture a lovely moonlight night, middle of May. Getting cold. Stars burning like little fires in the sky. Four troopers (I was one) and a sergeant rode in at the barracks gateway and dismounted at the stable-door, fresh from a mélée with five hundred odd strikers on the loose, creating rebellion. “Well, I hope that’s finished us for a bit. I’m fed up!” said young Sobersides. ‘“ What about you, old man?” as he gave his horse a smack on the back. “TI don’t know which to curse most,” said

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608 THE WIDE another chap ; “the blacklegs for prolonging the strike, or the men who started it.” (N.B.—I must put the language in as it comes, mums, but you can knock off what won't do.) “I’m beginning to lose sympathy with the strikers since they started this dynamiting,” said 1, yawning. “1 know very well that if I had a wife and family depending upon me I’d work if the alternative was starving,” said Browne. “If the strikers don’t lke it, they should keep them,” said another. © But then, again——” “When you've quite finished yapping, Lovet lace, perhaps you will go and fix your horse up,” interrupted Sergeant Phelps. ‘ Do you think I want to stop here all night listening to your opinion of the strike?” Just then the superintendent entered the stable, and Sergeant Phelps sprang to attention. ‘I shall want you and four of the patrol-men to-night,” said the superintendent “In an hour’s time, say. It’s an all-night job, so you had better get some food down you.” Then, in a low voice, he explained what the nature of the job was to be. Gradually the nature of our “all-night mission” leaked out. ‘The house of one Van der Han, a mile away, was due to be blown up that evening. The usual preparations—a brick removed from the foundations—had been made, and by a stroke of luck had been dis- covered. ‘This was good fortune indeed for us, for up till now not one dynamiter had been caught. Every house or hotel that had been blown to smithereens had gone without warning, and the first we’d know of it was hearing it. Then we would leap into our saddles and dash off— to find dead bodies shot up on to other people’s roofs, poor little kiddies who’d never done a soul any harm mangled and crippled for life, the happy home lying all over the veldt, and the bread-winner killed. We're not a very sentimental lot in the police, and it takes a lot to ruffle us or even make us feel very acutely, but this horrible dynamiting made our fingers itch to be at the fiends’ throats. Tired as we were to-night, we were mad-glad to think we had at last got the chance to catch some of the devils before morning. “Well be ticklish work for us, eh?” said some- one. “Of course, we shall have to sit quiet and dark in the house, and never make a sound. But suppose they creep up unawares (as, of course, they'll try to) and lay the dynamite and fire the fuse before we know anything about it?” “Well,” said Sobersides, cheerfully, “if they do, this is the last meal we shall want.” WORLD MAGAZINE. “The super,” said someone else, “is going to be in hiding ‘over the garden wall’ with a bit of string or something fastened to one of us. So if he doesn’t get frozen with cold, and the string works, and we’re not all asleep, worn out, we may stand a chance.” “ Anyhow,” said I, “it'll all be the same a hundred years hence.” Then the clock struck nine, and we all rose and went to our respective rooms to get ourselves into our cavalry cloaks, for it was likely to be a chilly vigil. Shortly afterwards Sergeant Phelps paraded the four of us. “All got your revolvers?” he ‘asked, the brilliant moonlight shining on his own as he examined it. We nodded. “All correct, sir,” he announced to the superintendent. Five minutes later the party left barracks and proceeded to the Dutchman’s house. Here, by the light of a lantern, the superin- tendent pointed out to us a place in the side of the house where a piece of the galvanized iron, of which the place was mainly built, had been unscrewed and turned back and a_ brick removed. “That’s for dynamite,” he remarked. ‘“ Now you, Sergeant Phelps, with Lovelace, Browne, Wilson, and Sobersides, follow me.” We all entered the house, where the old “frau,” breathing hard and looking very frightened, showed us into a room. “You will remain here with these men, Sergeant Phelps,” said the super. ‘I’m going on the other side of that fence out there, with Francis. Now, get hold of this string ; that’s it. ‘Throw the end through the window. That's tight! Now I’m going to hold the other end. One of you get hold of this, and when I tug you'll know that the dynamite has been placed under the house and the fuse lighted. As soon as you feel the tug out you come as quick as possible.” No one replied. It seemed quite unnecessary to assure the superintendent we should. “You hear?” he repeated. ‘Out you all come, as quick as possible.” “ Quicker than possible, if we can,” I mur- mured ; for of course you understand, mums, that not much time usually elapses between laying the dynamite and firing the fuse, and still less time between that and “kingdom come.” And how we were all going to get out in time, in pitch-darkness, to say nothing of the possibility of our not hearing anything at all till the blow- up came, was a puzzler. “ Francis will leap over the fence as soon as" we see the brutes and cut the fuse, and the rest

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‘TROOPER LOVELACE, ‘IP. _ 609 “Is the dynamite under this room, sir?’ asked Sergeant Phelps.” of us have to collar the man,” continued the superintendent. : Another silence ensued. like belling the cat. “Now, are you all guste clear?” he added. “Ts the dynamite under this room, sir?” asked old Sergeant Phelps, looking rather white about the Gills. “No, it ze#// be,” said the super, cheerfully. Once again a silence ensued. We all looked thoughtful, very thoughtful. Vol. xxiii.—77. Tt sounded rather “Tt will be promotion for you if this comes off,” continued the super, encouragingly, “‘ which will also be the ¢ase if the manewho holds the string falls asleep.” And, pointing significantly upwards with his thumb and chuckling to him self, the superintendent left, returning in a few moments to say that “No light of any sort must be shown, and no noise made.” Then he departed, and, blowing out the one candle on the table, we crowded to the window to watch him and Francis clambering over

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610 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the fence, dragging with them the string upon which so much depended. We four men settled ourselves down in the pitch-darkness. Hardly had we made ourselves comfortable than the old woman who had shown us in entered in deshabille with another candle, just to say “night-night” in Dutch. “Yes, I found the tin turned up like that this- afternoon,” she told us. “They've threatened my ’usband before, they ’ave, and goodness knows wot might not ’ave ’appened ’ad I not seen their wicked preparations.” “Does your husband know of this discovery, Mrs. Van der Han?” demanded Sergeant Phelps, out of the gloom. “Oh, dear, no! I done it all by myself. ’E only comes back toward mornin’. You see, ’e left at midday ; he’s on night-shift. No, I don’t think he’ll shoot you when ’e sees you. I'll have to ’urry up and wake and explain first, if he does arrive before the dynamiters,” she added. ‘Yes; ’e does carry a revolver, always. Good night!” And she departed, leaving us in inky darkness, for we had drawn the thick curtains over the windows. “Good night be bothered!” muttered Sobersides. ‘*‘ We look like spending one, don’t we?” “You'd better take the string for a start, Wilson, and for the love of Moses don’t sleep one instant, or we’re all done for,” said Sergeant Phelps, as all prepared to settle down in earnest. “ Right you are; give us it. Where are you?” There was a loud crash and an oath, a table, over which Sergeant Phelps had fallen in the Egyptian darkness, being the’ cause. The sergeant expressed himself violently. “Great Scot, what a noise!” I murmured. “ Hold your tongue,” ordered Sergeant Phelps, “and go on with your work.” “ What work ?” I asked, from out the corner I sat in, : The sergeant considered. “ Well, sit still and listen, and say nothing.” He paused. “And don’t try to be funny, either,” he added. Sergeant Phelps, having defeated the table, sat himself down and everything was quiet for a good half-hour or more. ‘Then a faint sound became apparent. It might have been a pig asleep and dreaming of something happy. “ Wilson,” whispered Phelps to the fellow who held the string upon which hung all our lives. There was no answer, but the sound was repeated. The sergeant raised his voice, with the same result. He then got up and made in the direction of the sound, which had now resolved itself into a long, low snore, coming from Wilson’s neigh- bourhood. At this point a cat which had somehow got into the room was foolish enough to obstruct Sergeant Phelps’s course, and it started protest- ing loudly. The noise woke Wilson, who asked in injured tones how be could possibly tell if anything was happening with a row like that going on. “Here, give me the string !” growled Phelps. © Tm not going to trust myself to you. JiAar’s up? Oh, nothing! Only give me that string ; and you'll be for office in the morning,” he finished, furiously. : Wilson, thankful for having the possible chance of an unbroken sleep until the morning, handed Sergeant Phelps the fateful string, and a long silence ensued, we others listening for sounds with all our ears. So another half-hour went by. : Then there came an unearthly wheezing sort of sound from another corner of the room. In fact, it might have been from the outside. “Hush! What’s that ?” asked the sergeant ; and we all sat up, alert. Young Sobersides moved uneasily from the spot where he was sitting, which was directly over where the dynamite would go off; and Sergeant Phelps again breathed his query, “What's that?” The answer was a terrific sneeze from Browne, which made every soul jump two feet into the air. Sergeant Phelps gasped with fury. He was beyond speaking for some seconds. Then he began breathing out curses at Browne, who couldn’t, of course, even be seen, but who blew his nose as noiselessly as he could and was understood to be ‘apologizing in between. After this fresh interlude the room gradually lapsed into silence again and the night went on. An hour and a half passed. Mercy, mums, wat a long night it was! And what an anxious one! Every ten minutes or so some faint sound would cause us all to start noiselessly to our feet and make a rush for the door (as silently, of course, as we could), and whether the mad, breathless eagerness evinced by each of us to get out first was professional zeal to be foremost to collar the dynamiters, or to elude a highly noisy and unpleasant death, will never be known, but in the scrimmage the portly form of Sergeant Phelps, gasping “ Jee-rusalem! Jee-hosophat !” (favourite expressions of his), was always, I noticed, well to the fore. T shall never forget, mums, my thoyghts that night, sitting there waiting to be blown to pieces. I thought mostly of you, and what a good mother you’d been, and all that. And I wondered what you would feel like if it all

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TROOPER LOVELACE, T.T.P. 611 ended badly, and you heard I’d been annihi- lated with the rest. _I felt quite choky over the idea, and yet I wondered would it be best for it to happen? For it’s a troublous world on ten quid a month, mother dear; and I owe a wretched man thirty pounds, and goodness knows how I shall ever pay it, and it often worries me. Don’t imagine I mean this as a hint. Far from it. 1 only say it so that, if anything ever does happen to me, you'll try Out we all tore, all caution thrown to the winds. A revolver cracked, and a figure was seen disappearing in the darkness. Another shot, and the figure dropped. Shout- ing “We have him!” we rushed up and examined our man. The superintendent came up breathless from over the garden wall, followed by Francis, both of them panting with excitement. “He'd just struck the match when he spotted and comfort yourself by knowing that I was probably saved a heap of trouble, and so on, for to owe money you can’t pay is the deuce. Well, these thoughts kept me very silent. and everyone else was probably reviewing his own past in the same way, for not a sound now broke the intense stillness. Suddenly, without the slightest warning, there came the sound of a string snapping. There was a hurried exclamation from Sergeant Phelps, who shouted, “Come on—quick!” and a general rush for the door, in which the sergeant was knocked down, trodden upon, ‘and sent flying. “Another shot. and the figure dropped.” us and made off. By Jove! this is good,” cried the super, and rubbed his hands in glee “Come on,” he added “We must get him away before a crowd collects. Those pistol-shots will bring a mob i in no time. And send for the district surgeon.” “ Right, sir,” said Phelps. him down to the barracks.” “Had I better tell the old woman inside?” asked one of the men. : “Oh, no; she'll do in the morning, and her husband will be home soon. She’s heard the shots right enough !” Here Trooper Francis came up and reported “ Two of you carry

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612 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. that he “could not find the dynamite or the fuse under the house at all.” “He must have thrown it away as soon as he saw he was caught; you'll have to hunt for it until it zs found,” said the superintendent, evidently much pleased and excited, as we all were. The wounded man was now carried down to the charge office, all of us (except Francis, who stayed to hunt for the dynamite and fuse) follow- ing, talking nineteen to the dozen, and hugely elated at our visions of instant promotion. The district surgeon, routed from his bed, arrived shortly afterwards and examined our prisoner. He pronounced him to be suffering from a mere knock on the head, presumably the result of a fall ! “ Are there no shot wounds, doctor?” asked the superintendent, amazed. “No; he must have tripped and stunned himself. He’ll be all right in a few minutes. See ; he’s coming to now.” The doctor was right, for the man soon after- wards opened his eyes and inquired, in the usual formula, where he might happen to be. “Did you catch those strikers ?” he asked, as he recognized the policemen. “Oh! but my head is sore.” “He's Dutch, by Gad!” remarked someone. “It’s funny! There are not many of ¢hem with the strikers.” “No, my man, we have not got any others. You are quite sufficient,” laughed the superin- tendent. The man stared at him. “You—got—me?” he inquired, in jerks. “What for? What have I done? I was attacked and fired at by strikers as I was close to my house. I ran and fell, and 1 don’t know what happened then.” “What’s your name?” asked the charge sergeant, with a curious catch in his voice. “Van der Han, sir.” The policemen stared at each other. “Sobersides, go and fetch the old woman, and tell her to hurry up. I don’t quite under- stand what’s happening here,” said the superin- tendent. ‘Now, look here,” he went on, addressing the prisoner with solemnity. “I warn you that you need not make a statement, but that what you do say may be used as evidence against you. You understand?” “Well?” asked the man, sitting up and rubbing his head. “What did you strike that match for at the side of the house?” sternly demanded the superintendent. The man stared at him. “How do you know that?” he asked, slowly. The superintendent laughed. “I happened to see you do. it,” he said; “I was on the other side of the wall.” The man looked at him fixedly. “Then you also saw those strikers fire at me?” he asked. “T fired at you myself, my good man—not any strikers; and you're confoundedly lucky you're not dead: by now.” At this moment Mrs. Van der Han appeared, much excited, having followed the police after the scuffle. “Well done!” she cried, as she entered the room. “You won’t ruin no more ‘appy ‘omes, you-—” Then she stopped and started back violently. ‘‘Why, it’s Petrus!” she exclaimed, in amazement. “Yes, Johannah, it’s me. Tell these police who I am,” said Petrus, pathetically, all but dissolving into tears. Johannah Van der Han turned upon the group of police and let them have it for several minutes hard. Then the superintendent inter- vened. “My good woman, unless you wish to accompany your husband you'll close up quick. You understand ?” The woman did. She sat herself down on a chair and wiped her face with her black apron. “What were you doing round my house at that time of night, anyway ?” asked the prisoner, of the police. “1 want to know.” “JZ sent for them, Petrus,” interrupted the woman, and with that she related how she had spotted the preparation for dynamiting made upon their house. ‘1 found a brick removed and everything ready for the stuff, and you'd gone off for the day, and so I went for the police.” “You fool!” observed the prisoner, tersely. The woman jumped up out of her chair. “You ass!” he continued, even more em- phatically. ‘7 made those preparations !” “ You?” echoed Mrs. Van der Han. “Yes, me! You've always been telling me to get police protection, so I thought if I showed them that tin turned back they would send us a man to patrol round: at night and we'd be safe. I was going to tell you of it in the morning.” The superintendent was standing over the man, purple with rage. We all stood round, too, and many rosy visions faded away. “That’s all very well, but what the deuce did you strike that match for on your return?” shouted the super, furiously. “Oh, just to be sure that it had not been noticed by ’er”—he nodded towards his wife— “and repaired. She’s fool enough.” “By Jove! you'll get a lot of sympathy out of me in future, you blackleg!” said the

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TROOPER LOVELACE, T.T.P. $13 “Mrs. Van der Han appeared, much excited.” superintendent. “Come on! Out you get, both of you!” And two of us took them by the shoulders and ran them out of the room. The dawn was breaking, mums, and our night’s vigil had been for nothing. My word, we were all savage! The superintendent blew his nose with violence ; the sergeant did the same, and we all made ready to disperse to our rooms and get a sleep. , The superintendent turned to the charge sergeant, who stood looking exceedingly solemn and as if he dared not trust himself to speak. “You need not enter this up, sergeant,” he said. (Zo be continued.)

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How I Lassoed a Moose. By Frank Vroomam, F.R.G.S. This remarkable narrative forms a sequel to Mr. Vrooman’s “ Through the Rocky Mountains on a Raft,” which concluded in our last number. In it the author relates how, having arrived at the deserted station of Hudson’s Hope, with starvation still looming terribly near, luck came his way at last and provided him and his men with an abundant supply of meat, obtained in most unlooked-for fashion. : panes flat up against the foothills, WN on the outermost edge of a vast plain which begins close by and ends | ARN a hse with Hudson’s Bay, are two am little deserted shacks called Hudson’s Hope, standing like half-forgotten memories of better days. Hudson’s Hope is beautifully situated amongst groves of spruce, with an occasional poplar, while here and there are grass plots, affording food for horses. Not far from the house is a deep coulée, half-way down which is a beautiful spring and a great pool of crystal water. All in all, this was one of the most interesting spots I had seen in the whole Arctic land. My men had gone back to Cust’s House with the cayuses, all save my saddle-horse, for the other men and their load, so here I was, left alone, camped in the old cabin—one room built of hewn and decaying logs, with a torn window of dirty muslin and a fire in the wreck of a cook- stove. After supping on a piece of bannock (flour and water fried in a pan) and a cup of tea, I spread my blankets under the shelter of the decaying roof and turned in. I was just about to hit the trail for blissful dreamland regions, filled with Turkish baths and lunch-counters, when I heard the pattering of multitudinous and Lilliputian footsteps. Then I felt them scampering all over me. Finally the owners of the feet began gnaw- ing at my hair, and then I called a halt. Don’t be alarmed ; it wasn’t ghosts. It was only rats and mice. So I got up, lit my last candle, and decided to take an inventory of our stores. It is a proverb of the trail that one tightens his belt when he misses a meal and goes on. But when—as we had done—one has missed all but an occasional meal for three months, and been compelled to substitute therefor only a little “something to eat,” with a pipe of tobacco and a hunch of the loosening belt, travelling “forty days in the wilderness” on eight days’ provisions, mostly gone in the eight days, one is entitled to all the consolation one can get. Like a miser hoarding his gold, I set to work to take an account of our entire stock of provisions. The men had just enough to bring them back to me. What else had we? There had been very few fish below Finlay Rapids to eke out our store, and I had here only one can of crystallized eggs, two bannocks, about two pounds of flour, a piece of pork the size of a goose-egg, and some tea and tobacco. We were nearly a month out of the last Hud- son’s Bay post, and how far we were from Fort St. John — our destination—depended on how many wrecks lay ahead and whether the dreaded winter’s ice was near or far away. I felt a certain easiness, however, in having got out of the mountains and negotiated Peace River Pass and Portage before the snows had made there an impassable and impossible barrier. | While we had still another raft to build, we were pretty sure to be able to reach Fort St. John somehow or other, even though we might have to winter there. I was never much good at mathematics, but as I looked into the grub-box I tried to figure out how I could make this “fuel” keep up steam in our boilers until we arrived at the Fort. I tried hard to be optimistic, but I could see that our belts would have to be tightened up many more holes yet. At the first intimation of dawn, after a miserable night, I broke the ice for a wash and boiled some tea. Then I took my regula- tion piece of bannock and a piece of pork— just enough to lubricate my throat, for the bannock had a way of sticking in it. At day- light I took my saddle-horse down the coudée to the pool for his morning drink. © From the cou/ée 1 could see across the river to the opposite bank. There, drinking at the water's edge, stood a big black mule. But what could a mule be doing with antlers? Jove! it was a moose ! And now, for the first time in the whole journey, I was without firearms. What stupidity! For the first time the camp was not resounding with the tinkling of cow-bells on pack-horses, which was why, of course, I now saw real game for the first time, excepting the bear below the Parle-Pas. Leaving my horse standing rope-down as if

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HOW I LASSOED A MOOSE. 615 tied, I got behind a big tree, backed out of sight, and ran uphill to camp for my Mann- licher. I was glad I had a long-range rifle ; now was my chance to see what it could do. Fortunately the wind was from the south, and Mooswa was on the south bank, for a moose can smell a man two miles away down-wind. Hastening to the edge of the bluff, I was just in time to see his back vanishing amid the trees. I was too late even for a snap shot—just about three seconds too late. Try to imagine, if you can, my grief at seeing all that good meat walking away from me. Here was a problem indeed. 1 was on one bank, the moose on the other, and I had no boat, canoe, or raft, bridge, tunnel, or airship, or other means of crossing the half-mile of swift ice-water that lay between us. Yet I must have meat, and I determined to take almost any chances to get it. Pondering deeply I sat down on the bluffs edge, hoping against hope that my quarry would reappear. And reappear he did, after the passing of many weary hours. Up-stream, below the as moose are not strong in the art of walking up and getting themselves shot, I must exercise some caution and not make a misstep. A false move now on my part, and in three hours Mooswa would be three days’ journey away. While I was considering the matter Mooswa had quenched his thirst. I thought of one chance—just one crazy, irrational chance—and that was by perpetrating as bald a bluff as was ever concocted to “hold up” man or beast. Perhaps by shooting into the gravel behind him, and trusting to the reverberations of the valley to disguise the source of the shot, the thud of a bullet against the rocks would alarm him. And yet, I told myself, to shoot from my side of the river, to make a moose come to me, was absurd. Yet I could think of nothing else, for this wary beast can hear the cracking of a twig made by some careless hunter in a storm, and will dis- tinguish the difference between cracking twigs and cracking timbers and dash away in alarm. If I could persuade him to do the swimming and get killed, instead of letting me do the swimming, with a probable sequel of pneumonia From a\ yawning canyon, he came into sight, looking like a brown jack-rabbit. It was a good chance for my three-mile rifle, but, alas! I had forgotten all about a three-mile telescopic sight, and I couldn’t get a bead on him. In my distress I thought of a slang phrase of the street, ‘It’s up to you.” Yes, it was up to me to get that moose by hook or by crook. The problem before me was to persuade Mooswa first of all that he was on the wrong side of the river, and inasmuch The Author's camp at Hudson's Hope after the return of his men. | Photograph. or cramp, it would be a most excellent thing. The chance was slim, but I took it, because there was no other. I fred, and before the bewildering reverberations ceased Mooswa was treading water for the Arctic shore—my shore. My ruse had succeeded ! Behind a tree I retreated, and ran in long strides up the river —through muskeg, through mud and briers, and brush and sprucewood. Out of breath, and sweating profusely, I reached

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616 THE WIDE WORLD the banks of the Peace just as, farther up- stream — the current had brought him toward me — Mooswa_ was leisurely coming out of the water. He made a noble _ picture, standing there for a moment, hind feet in the water, fore feet on the ground, antlers laid back straight, head high in the air, sniffing for further foes. I dropped quickly on my_ knee, took point-blank aim, and fired. He dropped in his tracks, badly hit. And now the “tenderfoot” in me, which I had not yet starved out, came to his rescue. I rose for another shot, and he saw me. Gathering him- self together, he arose, whirled about, plunged into the stream, and began the return trip to the opposite shore. This time he took no leisurely strokes; it was no longer the indeterminate that paced him. He had felt the pain in his side, and he had seen one of those two-legged creatures who bite so far away. It was a battle to the death now, and with the tide crimson with his life-blood, only his head and hump in sight, his antlers laid back to the water- line, he moved like some strange craft with two weird, ragged sails set. Meanwhile I had shot twice more. At the third shot—the second in the water —his noble head fell over. One antler hung in the water; the other stood up like the web-foot of some great waterfowl. He was dead! But this was worse for me than if he had been on the other shore. His direction changed, his course shifted, and he began to drift down- MAGAZINE. “* Mooswa was Icisurely coming out of the water.” stream about two hundred yards out—hopelessly out of my reach. To have been outwitted by a live moose would have left me, while vastly disappointed, at least with all my self-respect. But to be circumvented by a dead one! I confess I was angry enough just then to determine to follow him to the North Pole, if necessary, and so we set out, Mooswa and I, in this booby race down the river.

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HOW I LASSOED A MOOSE. 617 Who would win® The water route seemed easier than mine, for I was compelled to clamber up and down steep banks, through swamps and over creeks, projecting and 1ocky promontories, slipping every now and then to the water’s edge. Arriving at the mouth of the cou/ée through which I first saw him, I took my saddle-horse with me. Here the river bends, the current shifting towards the other bank. The momentum of Mooswa’s heavy weight drove him to an eddy. on my side. Long before this, however, the air was filled with raucous cries of birds of prey, appearing from apparently nowhere. We had not seen a raven for hundreds of miles, but at first sight or smell of blood these ominous birds had seen or scented their prey, and were now soaring in narrow circles, screaming in their own vernacular. To my surprise and delight my moose, when I saw him circle in the eddy and float slowly up- stream, passed me no more than a hundred yards away on a return journey toward the scene of his death at the rate of about an inch a minute. Thrice I mounted my horse, lasso in hand, to swim out and rope him. But being very warm from much exertion and the water being ice-cold, I decided to take no such chances yet. So I sat down on a stone, Sitting, 1 watched him, as the ravens watched him, soaring. Little by little he came nearer to the shore. I waded as far into the water as I could each time he passed me, making frantic efforts to rope him with a rope that was not long enough. Time after time, breast-deep in the water, and getting the swing with wet rope and aching arm with diffi- culty, I threw my rope—short. Each time the procession : marched in front of the re- viewing - stand, however, I repeated my salute, praying meanwhile that he would not be swept into the main current and out of my reach for ever. Finally, in one memorable moment, my rope fell on the uttermost prong of the lifted antler and lay Vol, xxiii.—78. there. If I gave a two-pound pull I should pull it off. Gently, slowly, I tightened that line, and inch by inch I dragged his unresisting bulk through the waters for twenty-five feet. Then I pulled the rope off and threw it again. Giving a cowboy flourish, I swung the lariat around my head and over Mooswa’s and tightened it with a jerk. I had lassoed my moose ! Tt was an easy matter to drag him towards shore, but my horse and I together could not drag even his shoulders out on the dry gravel. Accordingly, tying my lasso, I anchored him to British Columbia, went up hill to camp, and out of my dunnage bag drew forth a pair of hip boots, a camp axe, skinning knife, and hunting knife. Then I, who had never skinned anything bigger than a rabbit, essayed a moose. I found that my first shot had taken him in the small of the back. It would have been fatal, and, had I not risen to shoot him again, he would doubtless have died where he fell. The second shot had hit him in the hump; the third broke his neck. He was a young bull moose, probably not over two years old, the antlers not large ; he measured exactly six feet from hoof to shoulder. And there was meat on him in plenty—our time of starvation was over! That night I set up my tepee in a bunch of spruce. My horse was hobbled out at grass. I had brought up a pail of water, which was already freezing in the frosty air. A big, crack- ling camp-fire made the forest cheerful with a light that I am sure never was before on land or sea—for me—and through the spruce boughs and the transparent night the stars shone like burning jewels. On the fire a Hud- son’s Bay copper kettle was boiling for tea, and three Peace River mooge-ribs were broiling for meat. Sitting on a log, elbows on knees, chin in hands, sat a hollow-cheeked tenderfoot, watching smoke and flame. The winds were still There were no noises but the crack- ling of burning sticks. But the way I tucked into those ribs! I can believe any story of gluttony A Photograph of the lassoed Moose. now.

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A NOVEL CLOTHES - HOR: HE native servants of one of the hotels here have found a novel use for an aloe by utilizing it to dry clothes on. As a rule, the spikes of the aloe go right through, making a large hole in every dinner napkin, duster, etc. —Mrs. Theodora Purefoy Robinson, St. George’s, Bermuda, in ‘‘ THE STRAND MAGAZINE.” AMERICAN WOODSMEN AND SUPERSTITION. ]* spite of the good-natured statements to the contrary, you find here and there throughout America woods- men who are toa certain extent subject to superstition. In most cases they have been very near death. They may have been forced to paddle a heavy-laden canoe into the teeth of a winter snowstorm ; they may have all but turned their ankle when alone and seventy miles from the settlements ; their pack may be washed away while cross- ing some roaring torrent; the meat of a single beaver may have to last thema week. After such experiences even the most hardened natures develop a more or less enviable type of respect for the inevitable powers that be. It may concern the most trifling of instances, or the fate of a nation. It unquestionably affects Dame Fortune. Is more potent than the finding of a score of horse-shoes, the demolishing of a hundred mirrors.—FROM ‘‘ FRY’S MAGAZINE.” CHINESE ENTERPRISE. FLOATING hotel is to be established in China. The vessel will have three decks, the lower being arranged for dining, billiard, smoking, and card rooms. The main deck will contain a drawing-room and twenty- tour bedrooms, each with a full-sized bath and dressing- room, while the upper deck, or spar deck, has been arranged as a promenade.—FROM ‘‘ TIT-BITS.” CANADIAN BUSH FIRES. OBODY knows exactly how bush fires start. Some- N times an Indian leaves his camp-fire blazing care- lessly, sometimes two dry branches, rubbing together in the breeze, ignite a fragment of birch bark and cover everything in a scorching mantle of flame. It rises and spreads for countless miles, sending birds and animals rushing on in front of it ; over the hills and down the valleys, descending in great tongues of scarlet and leaving nothing but charred blackness behind. Then it stops as suddenly as it began, often in one straight line like an advancing army, aud you emerge from a desert of cinders and burnt pine trees into a green chaos of slim maple and tangled ferns. —FKOM ‘‘ THE CAPTAIN.” HOW MAORI LADIES LIVE. HE Maori ladies are handsome, well - bred, and accomplished, and are cherished as superior beings. A Maori’s idea of a woman is expressed in the phrase, “€ She-Who- Dreams,” which means that her thoughts are on a higher plane than his. He allows her absolute freedom of speech and manner, for he is sure that if there is anything to be said or done a woman’s refinement and sincerity will exceed his own. Idleness is unknown among them. The people who dwell in and about his home al have their appointed tasks, although they are not called, or treated as, servants. In one room a group of girls will be weaving some beautiful garment, or the Whareki which hangs tapestry-like on the walls; in another they will be arranging flowers, while outside some will be occupied in making the ma#-rehu, small baskets in which the food is served. These are never used twice, fresh ones being made for every meal. A Maori nobleman’s house is a thing of beauty, having inlaid wood-carving both inside and out, while every decoration shows. a sense of the artistic.—FROM ‘(THE LADIES’ FIELD.” AUSTRIA'S VERSATILE EMPEROR. HE Austrian Emperor holds audiences twice a week, at which princes, noblemen, and peasants tub shoulders. Sometimes his poorer subjects are so embarrassed that they become absolutely speechless in the Presence of their Sovereign, who, how- ever, soon puts them at their ease. The Emperor is an excellent linguist, and speaks the languages of Poland, Bohemia, Italy, and Hungary.—FROM “* WOMAN'S 1 1FE.”,

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Odds and Ends. Japanese Dolls—A Queer Friendship—‘ Tom Tiddler’s Ground,” etc. Papea) HILDREN are very much the same Ven | in their ways the world over, and the Lexy | scene depicted in this photograph would probably interest and delight a European child almost as much as the little Japanese youngsters for whom the display was intended. The photograph illus- trates a toy-seller’s stock-in-trade, displayed in the streets of Tokio, and comprises Japanese dolls of every shape and kind. Japanese children, by the way, are passionately fond of dolls. Probably, in view of the rapid “ Wes- ternizing” of the country, the quaint native dolls and toys will gradually be supplanted by German- made articles, which would be a pity from the artistic point of view. meinen A doll-seller’s stock-in-trade exhibited in the streets of Tokio. From a Copyright Photograph by H.C. White & Co.

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620 THE Herewith is a quaint snapshot taken by a lady reader on board the Union-Castle R.M.S. Goth, on a voyage from the Cape to Teneriffe. The little monkey belonged to one of the stewards, and was very fond of sitting on the back of the tortoise—another ship’s pet—while the latter crawled about the deck. Although rather ill-tempered and snappish with people, the monkey was always friendly with the tortoise, who made no objection to being used as her steed. Fingers that smell of _ garlic, soap that gives no lather, a razor that may have been used for cutting raw ham, and a flourish that re- minds one of an executioner rather than of a barber— such are the quali- fications of the itinerant Spanish hairdresser. The victim—we use the term advisedly—must be a patient, long-suffering man, neither the slave of time nor of any petty feelings such as delicacy and sensitiveness, as From a) WIDE A queer friendship—This little monkey used the tortoise as a steed, and the pair got on excellently together. From a Photograph. current, Open-air barbers in a Spanish street. WORLD MAGAZINE. otherwise he will fare badly at the hands of his torturer. For the Spanish open-air barber is a calm man, who takes everything for granted, and never for a moment doubts that you are satisfied with his attentions and will pay him accordingly. The photograph reproduced on the top of the opposite page was taken at Bonginda, on the Upper Congo, about a thousand miles from its mouth. Some Congo fish are very voracious, and often inflict serious wounds on the natives when fishing in the river. Sometimes, when a hand or foot is put into the water, the fish snap at the fingers or toes and are able to carry off such “morsels” without any difficulty. The two fishes shown were ob- served struggling in the water about three hundred yards from the shore, and were being meanwhile car- tied down-stream by the Upon being brought ashore by some boys it was found that the commotion was due to one large fish, weighing about eighty pounds, (Photograph.

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bite off the projecting tail of its victim. From a Photograph. which had caught another about twenty - five pounds in weight. Neither fish possessed any teeth, and the head of the fish being swallowed had reached the pit of its host’s stomach while the tail projected about twelve inches beyond its thick lips. Not having any teeth, the bigger fish was not able to bite this piece off— hence the struggle in the river, which must have continued several hours, for the head was partly digested. Both fish were eaten by the natives. One of the sights of the Island of St. Vincent, in the Cape de Verde Islands, is ‘ Napoleon Rock,” so named from the remarkable profile which may be seen clearly cut against the sky- line, and which is said to resemble Napoleon “lying in state.” It seems that the motor-car will soon be as ubiquitous as the postage-stamp, and even in the depths of Darkest Africa the natives are getting ing used to occasionally seeing a car making its way over the apologies for roads. With the advent of the motor it is becoming necessary, even in Africa, to have the road signals A fish that swallowed another—Having no teeth the cannibal was unable to AND ENDS, 62i commonly used for such traffic. The photograph shown below was taken on the Government road from Zomba to Fort Johnston, and shows a primitive motor danger -signal—the first ever erected in that remote spot. A roughly- trimmed tree waS used for the pur- pose, and—as though conscious of the incongruity of its mission — it com- menced growing again, and ‘shoots were soon sprouting out of the top of it. From the methods used to locate the stones, the new diamond fields A The ubiquitous motor—A motor road-signal in Darkest Africa. From a Photograph. —— ve Ni Rock, at St. Vii it, in the Cape de Verde Islands — It is said t ble the file of th t Ei * lyin: spoleon, a ‘incen pe de Verde lands itis se (o resemble the profile of the great (Photograph

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622 THE WIDE WORLD nt —= “Tom Tiddler's Ground "Searching for diamonds on the new fields in German South Africa. MAGAZINE. From a Photograph. in German South Africa might very well be called a “Tom Tiddler’s Ground.” The diamonds are very small, but are exceedingly plentiful. They are found in the open desert, where nothing but sand, unrelieved by the slightest sign of bush or shrub, is to be seen for vast distances. The men who search for the stones — needless to say, they are all natives—have ten miles to go every morning from camp. The searchers work on their . hands and knees, ap- parently regardless of the blinding sunshine, sifting the surface sand through their fingers. Most of them are old Kimberley boys, and they are very keen on discovering stones. The district is hardly a paradise for the white man, being notorious for its frequent dust storms and _ terrific heat. The natives of the Upper Congo are very fond of certain kinds of caterpillars, gathered from the trees which these insects frequent during the caterpillar season. ‘They assert that ‘ Mita,” as they From a) Edible caterpillars — The natives of the Upper Congo collect the insecta and fry them. call these edible caterpillars, are very palatable when cooked in the proper way. Several kinds are eaten, ranging in size from small insects less than two inches long—which form clusters or nests in the branches of the trees, and are therefore easily gathered —to big, hairy monsters five or six inches long and proportionately thick. The way that these latter are held in the fingers and crawl over the hands and arms before being consigned to the frying-pan is anything but pleasing to most Europeans. The photograph was taken when all the caterpillars living on this tree came down to the root, where they remained about a week, afterwards re- turning to the branches. The natives, upon being questioned as to why they did not collect these cater- pillars at such times, seeing that they would “have no difficulty, re- plied that they “were not yet ripe!” The striking figure of the Saviour seen in the photograph on the opposite page has . (Photograph. the distinction of being

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ODDS AND ENDS. + 623 ‘The highest-placed monument From a Photo. by\ the highest - placed monument in the world. It is situated on I.a Combra, the summit of a pass in the Andes, and marks the frontier of the Chilian and Argentine Republics. The figure stands at an altitude of twelve thousand seven hundred and ninety-six feet above the sea-level, and for awe-inspiring grandeur its surroundings would be hard to match. ; the world—It stands on the sumi frontier between Chili and Argentin of a pass in the Andes and marks the i IC. Rider-Noble. The natives of the more uncivilized regions of the globe display considerable ingenuity in making use of such things as are to be found in the immediate neighbourhood of their homes. Look, for instance, at the photograph appearing on the following page. It shows a remark- able suspension - bridge spanning the River Rpuathac in’ Central Peru. The ‘ ropes”

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624 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A © vegetable bridge "—The “ ropes" were composed of pliable roots and vines, while the “planks” From a) were made of branches. (Photograph. of this bridge are composed of pliable roots would be by no means extraordinary if this and vines, while the “planks” are made of “ vegetable bridge” were to take it into its head branches! In the humid climate of Peru it one day to start growing ! Howl LassoeD ee. \ we F c= ene : t £, by \sTite JEgLou SY OF PEPE 2 rd a Ds Sapapese Dally ~ A WANDERER IN /ASIA MINOR: Fagen gf tage In THE Fa. Te SAHIMALAVAN NoRTH-WEsT Tapani -ecyARGADIA * q - 4 ARACE FoR-A See, anc | a it Nepilege “7, M x »_Xack Es Winn Pen | kocaTING’a LEAK ei on NeoewaA ‘ A‘TEXAN SNAKE FARM” ThE GuM-HUNTER, » . SM Vegetable Bridge" at es ” whi the locality of each article and narrative The map-contents of The Wide World Magezine, which shows ata Hance FISHING ON THE MoLopo

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UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO ADIT 57 007 915