The Wide World Magazine. An Illustrated Monthly of True Narrative - Adventure, Travel, Customs and Sport. Volume 31 1913 May-October

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THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO LIBRARY iaiize v Google

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY OF TRUE NARRATIVE ADVENTURE “TRUTH IS TRAVEL = CueTOM> STRANGER AND z oor THAN FICTION” VOL. XXXL. MAY TO OCTOBER LONDON: GEORGE NEWNES, LTD. 1913 SOUTHAMPTON ST. ‘ STRAND

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» ya ney ree PAGE AIRMAN’S ADVENTURES IN YUCATAN, AN .. hrs i . Bo os G. M. Dyott. 551 Illustrations by John Cameron, and from Photographs. “BILL TAYLOR'S ” LAST BATTLE a ae 2 bi ae te ae - Roger Fison. 24 Illustrations by F. Holmes. BLACKS STOLE NORA, WHEN THE... as fe e ae os oe an John A. Hope. 417 Illustrations by John Cameron. BRITAIN’S UNCROWNED “ KINGS ” sie oe a a6 oe as ars Harold J. Shepstone. 7 Illustrations from Photographs. BRITISH CLIMBS, TWO THRILLING ioe oe o = 28 a a Ashley P. Abraham. 458 Ilustrations from Photographs. CANADA, UNKNOWN . a 23 ue a oe “ue me sta James Oliver Curwood. 540 Tilustrations from Photographs. CANNIBALS, MY ADVENTURE WITH... ae be 33 1 oe «. T. Beddoes. 221 Illustrations by W. Matthews, and from Photographs. CANOE CRUISE DOWN THE DORDOGNE, OUR oe Ba ae a thy eg oa C. Cestre. 364 Tllustrations from Photographs. CHEATING DEATH .. a aS ae ee ke ey a H. P. Woodend, M.E. 486 Illustration by F. Patterson. | CONFEDERATE FLAG, THE eh 0 on * Sf +» George H. Lamar. 3 Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott, and ‘from Photographs. CONGO, ACROSS THE ee in, Bie fae Marguerite Roby. 314. 478, 524 Mlustrations from Photographs. CONVICTS GUARD THEMSELV WHERE... Be ae oe re! ae oe, Rebson Lack. 423 Tlustrations from Photographs. “CRICCIETH CASTI VR OF THE we ic at be +. Cupiain Rebert Thomas. 322 Illustrations. W. E. Wigfull, and from Photographs. CYPRUS, WITH PENELOPE IN... ie y So ame a F.E. Hardeman. 279 Illustrations by M. McMichael, and ‘from Photographs. DOG WITH THE IRON JAW, THE ER, ve o ris oe aS ae) 28 Wilkam Shaw. 503 Illustration by F. Holmes. DOUBLE ELOPEMENT, A... oe at D.W.O. Fagan. 60 Illustrations by John Cameron, and from Photographs and a Facsimile. ESCAPE OF MANUEL GONZALES, THE aca oe ex fea HH, Dunn, 342 Illustrations by Frank Patterson, and from Photographs. EXPERIEN , MORE ey ae oe oh oe .: aa Be «+ The Editor. 156 Illustrations by G. Henry Evison. FAIRFAX DID, WHAT ; eee eee ne eee lssistamt Resident.” 373 Illustrations by G. Henry Evison. FIGHT IN THE GRAIN-PIT, THE ee + + a o on oe Captain G. D, Haigh. 162 Illustrations by Frank Patterson. FUR-THIEF, THE as & Aa ae se 2 we R. P. Lincoln. 489 Hilustrations by Frank Gillett, RI, “and from a Photograph. GHOST OF LEADING ROAD, THE oe bs he . Pc T. J. Thomas. 242 Tllustrations by F. Patterson, and from Photographs. GIRL AND THE BANDIT, THE .. Mi a “ie Guillermo Cuernadia. 17 Illustrations by Thomas Somerfield, “and from Photographs.

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INDEX. GOLD MINE, A SEVEN-THOUSAND-MILE RACE FOR A Hlustrations by John De Walton, and trom Photographs. GUADALUPE, THE PILGRIMS OF a ne ae ah oe Illustrations from Photographs. GUN-RUNNERS, CHASING THE .. Illustrations by Fred Hoimes, and from Photographs. HINDU PILGRIMAGES, THE ROMANCE OF Illustrations from Photographs. HOW SELIMA WAS AVENGED —.. o os. . Illustrations by H. Folkard, and from a Photograph. HUMAN BOMB, THE 2. 7 Ilustrations from Photographs, and a Facsimile. INDIAN MARRIAGE, ODDITIES OF ve . oe . Tlustrations from Photographs. INDO-CHINA, AFTER BIG GAME IN ce, os . . a H.R.H. The Duke of Montpensier. Ulustrations from Photographs. * JACK THOMPSON,” THE CASE OF — .. o. a on o . JERIRI’S LAST FIGHT a es me ae aH . . oe Tlustrations by Warwick Reynolds. JUDEA, ACROSS THE WILDER? OF a Ase) ean ey Mlustrations from Photographs. KOREA, CURIOSITIES OF 3 De Ge, Ghee oes Hlustrations from Photographs. LONDON MARKET, A REMARKABLE Illustrations from Photographs. LONG ARM, THE ce Illustrations by G. Henry Evison, LOTSCHEN VALLEY, IN THE Iilustrations from Photographs. “MAN OF MANY SHAPES,” THE Hilustrations from Photographs. MATTERHORN AND MONT BLANC, Illustrations from Photographs. MYSTERY OF THE BLUE-PRINTS, THE Illustrations by ‘T. Somerfield. *TWIXT THE NIGHT ON A DOG-BUOY, Illustrations by W.E. Wigfull, NING WO AND THE AMALE Ilustrations by ‘Thomas Somerfield. ODDS AND ENDS = ne 3 From all parts of the World. Illustrations from Photographs. OUTLAW, ‘THE END OF AN Illustrations by George Soper, and from Photographs. PERIL OF FLAME, THE Ilustrations by Fred [olmes. PICTURE-PLAYERS, THE PERILS OF Illustrations by Fred Holmes, and from Photographs. PRISONER BENEATIT TIE SEA, A Illustrations by Fred Holmes, and from a Photograph.” RAILWAY ACROSS THE SEA, A Hlustrations from Photegraphs. ROMANCES OF THE HIGH ROAD Ilustrations by A. E. Hilton, and from Photographs. “ ROSECRANS,” THE LUCK OF THE Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull, and from 7 Photographs and a Facsimile. Captain James Barracliffe. D. Henderson. J. P. O'Loghlen. a. Saint Nihal singh. Charles Rudy. « John L. Von Blon. «+ Saint Nihal Singh. By the Editor. Paul V. Alpiser. Furman O. Baldwin. H, J. Shepstone. Charles J. L. Clarke. James Gauld. Thomas B. Donovan. Mrs. J. A. Craven, George D. Abraham. “ Filipino” A. Sheffield. RR. . ae «. Lteutenant-Cilonel Donald Mackenzie. 96, 197, 298, 307, 498, ALG, Francis. Eve Grahame. CLL. McCluer Stevens. G. H. Ball. Stephen J. Hunter. T. W. Wilkinson. A.W. Quintavel. 121 292 598 403 203 226 562 214

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iv. INDEX. SEA-TIGER, THE Illustrations by “Graham Cc. Simmons, and from Photographs." SHORT STORIES :— AH LokE A Illustrations by GM. Sullivan, and from a Sketch. THE OMEN... Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. How Motuer FouGnt tue TIGER Illustration by Fred Holmes. THE Biack OUTLAW oe ws aa fe os Illustration by C. Dugdale, and from a Facsimile. THE Battirr’s REVENGE .. Illustrations by F. Grey, and from a ! Photograph. A DEAL IN OsTRICHES : Illustrations by 1. Somertield. A BattLe With A PyTion Illustrations by G. Henry Evison. CRosstnG THE DesERT iilustrations by P. B. Hickling, and from a Photeg ‘graph. “SNOWDON RANGE,” THE VOYAGE OF THE es RA Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull, and from Photographs. SOUTH AMERICA, FRONTIER LIFE IN Illustrations from Photographs. SPOOFING OF HI-UNK, THE Ns Illustrations by A. C. Machefert. STAG, A BATTLE WITH A .. Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds, “and from Photographs. STALKED! Illustrations by ¥. Whiting, RBA. STEAMER, THE RUNAWAY Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull, and from Photographs. | TELEPHONE RANG, WHEN THE Illustrations by G. Henry E TREASURE-CAVES, THE HAUNTED . Ulustrations™ by John De Walton, and from a Photograph. n. UNINVITED GUEST, THE Illustrations by Warwick Rey nolds, and from Photographs. UNITED STATES IN A MOTOR-CAR, ROUND THE .. Mlustrations from Photographs, and from a Facsimile. UNKNOWN, INTO THE Illustrations from Photographs. WITCHCRAFT, THROUGH THE LAND OF on ie Illustrations from Photographs. WONDERFUL ISLAND, THE Illustrations by H. Folkard, and from Photographs. YANGTZE VALLEY WITH A CAMERA, THROUGH THE Illustrations from Photographs. GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., SOUTHAMITON STREET AND EXETER STRRPT, STRAND. Lewis R. Freeman. Major-General J. B. Richardson. H. M. Lome. Irma Blood. A. H. MQuin. J.P. Loughnan. Charles Conway. James Hoge. C.L. McCluer Stevens. E. Emmerson. W. O. Simon. + Constance Skinner. R. Allbon Bennett. Boyd Cable. T. J. Thomas. Mrs. J. Butleno. C. Douglas Robinson. Cyril St. John Howe. Thos. W. Wilby. 28, Captain C.G. Rawling, CLE. 67, 166, 252, P. Amaury Talbot. 428, Lewis R. Freeman. we Juliet Bredon. PAGE 438 53 56 142

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Y 9g 7 haioas engin ator can? os Pu eG: A. UV] ser ant Heat-tress The CONFEDERATE FLAG * An STARE GIRL &THE BANDIT ss FRONTIER LIFE IN THELONG ARM INTO THE UNKNOWN tf © Larges? Cocaap ip the World ‘THE OMEN ERICA ADOUBLE ELOPEMENT ‘The map-contents of “The Wide World Magazine,” which shows at a glance the locality of each article and narrative of adventure in this somber. Digitized by Google

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PLACE.” “THE TOP OF THE LADDER SLIPPED FROM ITS RESTING- SEE PAGE 4.

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FADES? TAE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. XXXI MAY, 1913. No. 181. THE CONFEDERATE FLAG. By GEORGE H. LAMAR. ILLUSTRATED BY W. R. S. STOTT. The story of a particularly trying two minutes. the attitude of the contractor who thought One can understand the author's indignation at five dollars too much for “such quick work.” T was during the Confederate Reunion, held in rgo1, at Petersburg, Virginia, that the following incident took place. Even though I have had quite a number of narrow escapes in the pursuit of my calling—that of a structural iron worker—the adventure here narrated stands out most vividly in my recollection. The .contractor in charge of the work experienced no trouble in decorating the city with flags and bunting, the buildings all being low and easy to reach, until he came to that part of his contract which called for the placing of a Confederate flag in the hand of the statue of Justice which stood on the summit of the tower of the old Court House. As he was rather stout, it was well-nigh impossible for him to make the climb himself, and none of his men cared for the job, so that he was at a loss to know how it was to be accomplished. The parade was to take place the following day, and the flag must be placed in position by that time—but how ? While strolling down Sycamore Street I noticed quite a crowd congregated on the side- walk, looking up at three negroes whom the worried decorator had eventually hired to do the work. The people were laughing and making various comments as to how long it would take the men to fix the flag, some venturing the opinion that they never would do it at all, which seemed to be a pretty safe statement, for, at the time I arrived on the scene, the negroes were standing on the roof of the ian looking at Vol, xxxi.—1. / ed Cenies t one another and shaking their heads, quite undecided what to do next. After inquiring what the men on the top of the building were trying to accomplish, I asked the decorator if he thought there was any chance of their ever getting through with the job, as they were making no move to do anything. He turned on me almost angrily. ‘“ Why, do you think you can do it ?” he asked. “Well, yes, I think I can, providing the price is right,” I told him. “T am giving those fellows up there five dollars to do the job,” was his reply. “Yes, and from the look of it, I guess they would give about five dollars if they had never tackled the proposition,” said I. “ Anyhow, I am going up to see what they think about their contract.” Turning to a man by the name of Roland, whom I had met the day before, I asked him how he would like to give me a hand. Knowing Ke was a painter by trade and used to working at various heights, I thought he might be useful. The reader will see just how useful he really was before I have finished my story. Mounting to the roof, we clim':ed the first ladder on the outside of the tower, and we were soon out on the landing or ledge above, from which a second ladder led upwards. One of the negroes was standing on the bottom rung, as though he had made up his mind to make the climb. I laughed at his timorous attitude, whereupon he got off altogether. “ What’s the trouble? Can’t you do it?”

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4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Roland asked him. The black man knew Roland, and he rolled his eyes and replied in a voice that shook with fear: “ Mr. Roland, if I had known I was this far from the ground when I first came up here, I would never have told that man I would take the job.” “ Well, if you feel like quitting, we will finish it for you, and give you something for the use of your ladders,” continued Roland. “Yes, sah; yes, sah,” cried the black man, eagerly ; “‘ you can have the job and ladders too, just as long as you want them.” “All right, then. Where is your flag?” I asked. Picking up the flag, which was tightly rolled round its stick, I_ proceeded to ascend the ladder, Roland following closely at my heels. On reaching the top, I turned to Bob and cautioned him to be careful, for the top ladder was resting none too securely. “You had better hold on to the bottom of this while I am going up, Bob,” I said; “there’s no room for any shaky business here.” “What’s wrong?” asked Roland. “You ain’t going to get nervous, are you ?” “No, but you know the proverb about prevention, don’t you? Well, just exer- cise a little of it here, and there will be no necessity for a cure.” “Oh, go ahead and let’s get those five dollars,” he replied. Cautiously I began the ascent of the last ladder, and was about to put my hand on the top rung, when, in some unaccountable way, my knee hit against a rung, jarring the ladder so that the top slipped from its resting- place, and brought up with a jerk just about an inch from the edge, one upright hanging about five inches outside and over the cor- nice. There, with me clinging to the smooth surface of the tower with my finger-nails, the ladder remained — ready to pitch to the yard below, a distance of over a hundred feet, at my slightest move. I did not know just what kept me from going Mr. George H. Lamar, the Author of this story of a narrow escape from death. From a Photograph. the whole distance, ‘until Roland told me later, and showed me what a fix I had been in. I knew I was on a shaking ladder, and that it had only one upright on anything solid, for I could tell by the way the other one quivered that it was out over the edge. I dared not look down; in fact, I am very much under the impressior that for some time I did not dare to breathe. All sorts of thoughts passed through my mind, but I think the chief was as to whether my mother, wife, or kiddie would ever see me alive again. The pavement was so very far down, the stones so dreadfully hard. Just then Bob’s voice came up to me, and it was as steady as though neither of us were in the slightest danger. “Go on up, kid,” he said; “don’t look down, but go on up; it’s safest. I won’t let you fall. I have got you so that you can’t slip any farther, but go slow.” Still retaining my hold of the flag, which I held be- tween my teeth, I began to go up again, though my nerves were on edge. If the ladder slipped again—and it had such a very little way to go! The distance, for- tunately for me, was short, and was soon traversed. To reach the point I was making for, I had to stand on the very top of the ladder, in order to reach an opening above my _ head. Putting my hand in and grasping the edge firmly, I pulled myself up the face of the clock, trying hard to put no strain on the ladder. When I reached the foot of the statue, I was only too glad to rest for a minute on its pedestal. Roland, I discovered later, had held the ladder in place all this time by main strength, aided by that invaluable quality that, in Western parlance, is commonly called ‘“‘ sand.” He told me, after we had reached the ground, that he either had to hold me up, or get scraped off himself when I came down, and that it was only through the instinct of self-preservation on his part that I did not take the drop. _ Be that as it may, I am convinced that he saved my life.

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THE CONFEDERATE FLAG. 5

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. When I unfurled the flag, I found that I had almost bitten the staff in two, so my nerves must have been pretty badly shaken. After getting myself partly in hand, I began to make preparations for putting that troublesome piece of bunting in its designated place. Dis- covering that I had forgotten to bring any twine with which to make the staff fast, I am afraid that I said some things that would not look well in print. I looked up at the hand where the flag was to rest, which held a pair of scales, and noticed a piece of wire which was a part of the equipment and which I thought might come in useful. When I climbed to the figure’s hip, however, and tried to bend the wire around the staff, both the wire and the thumb on the hand snapped off. In disgust, I threw both wire and thumb to the street,myaction being greeted by a laugh from below and a scramble on the part of the youngsters in the crowd to recover the trophy. I was told afterwards that the residents of the town were under the impression that the figure was of stone, and were very much surprised to learn that it was only wood. But to get back to how I finally finished my task. Suddenly a happy thought flashed through my mind—why not take the strings out of my shoes? They would make excellent lashings. So, sitting on the pedestal, I took out the laces and threw the shoes down to the crowd below. When I finally made the flag fast to the hand and its folds waved in the breeze, a The courthouse at Petersburg, Virginia, where this adventure bappened. From @ Photograph. cheer went up from my audience, which had now grown quite large. I was now without shoes, but I thought I could climb much better in my stockinged feet than in a loose pair of shoes. Getting back to the roof was about as nerve-racking a business as going up, but was accomplished without further mishap. After helping the negroes to lower their ladder, we proceeded to collect my shoes and the five dollars. One of my shoes had a heel miss- ing, which had separated itself from its proper place when it hit the pavement. “Well,” I said to the decorator, “ are you _ satisfied with the job?” “Ves,” he replied; “but don’t you think five dollars is too much to pay a man for such quick work as that?” You could have knocked me down with a feather. After what I had gone through in such a_ short space of time, to have him spring a remark like that on me took my breath away. “ Look here,” I said, “ you told me you were paying five dollars for this job, and if you don’t pay it, and quickly too, Iam going up there to take that blessed flag down.” As a matter of fact I would not have under- taken the task for several five-dollar notes, but the way I said it convinced him that I would, for he promptly produced the money. I gave Bob two dollars, and another dollar to the negroes, and after I had spent ten cents for a new heel and bought a new pair of laces, the job netted me the magnificent « 1m of one dollar and eighty-five cents !

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BY HAROLD J. SHEPSTONE. An interesting account of the numerous islands around our coasts whose owners, by virtue of ancient charters, can claim to be ‘‘monarchs of all they survey" in their sea-girt kingdoms, Many of these islands are rich in historic associations, and, as some of them are for sale, we commend this article to any reader who wishes to become a “king” in a small way. =e) CATTERED around the shores of the United Kingdom are a number of islands, large and small, whose proprietors, whilst owning allegiance to King George, are, nevertheless, monarchs of all they survey, with greater power over the comfort and well-being of their “ sub- jects” than His Majesty enjoys. Indeed, in some instances the British Parliament has no power to tax these island estates without the consent of their owners, nor can anyone land or reside upon them without the permission of their rulers. Some of them are but a few acres in extent, while others run into many square miles of territory, boasting of a lordly castle and quite a large population. From a) Kingdom. Perhaps the principal island property in the Wnited Kingdom is Lewis, in the Outer Hebrides, ‘whose present ruler is Major Matheson. Lewis ‘is certaigly no mean kingdom, seeing that it \boasts of am area of four hundred and thirty-seven ‘thousand two hundred and twenty-one acres sand a population of nearly thirty thousand souls. Indeed, it is the4argest island in the United Stornoway Castle, on the Island of Lewis, perhaps the principal island property i pe I Kingdom next to Ireland. For the man desirous of setting up in a moderate sort of way as a monarch, here is an admirable chance, for Major Matheson is anxious to dispose of his kingdom. Lewis has figured largely in Scottish history, and the doings of that doughty warrior chief, Rurai Macleod, who once ruled it with a rod of iron, would fill volumes. Over and over again British kings have dispatched gallant soldiers to take the island and subdue its chiefs. After a few months’ occupation, however, they in- variably had to retire beaten. At one time the island fell into the hands of the Dutch, but they, like the king’s forces, were eventually driven out. The little kingdom boasts of extensive lochs, where magnificent fishing is to be had, while in some parts it is very mountainous, Mealasbhal and Ben More, the two highest peaks, towering eighteen hundred odd feet above sea-level. Over i.s extensive moors and forest land the red deer still roam. Everywhere there are numerous antiquities and Druidical _re- mains. The owner’s - residence is a erap. Magnificent old castle close to Stornoway, the principal town. Many members of the Royal Family have stayed here, including the late King Edward. The principal industry is fishing, and in the season the girls of Stornoway go all over Scotland packing herrings. Next to fishing cloth-weaving engages the attention of the islanders, who are a hardy and thrifty set of people, the majority of whom know no other

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) tongue but Gaelic. Major Matheson is asking three hundred thousand pounds for this island kingdom, and the auctioneers, Messrs. Osborn and Mercer, declare it as “ dirt cheap” at the price. It is in these northern waters, too, that we find Arran, another interesting island kingdom tuled over by a lady, the beautiful Marchioness of Graham, wife of the eldest son and heir of the Duke of Montrose. It was as Lady Mary Hamilton that the Marchioness inherited this little monarchy from her father, the late Duke of Rothesay Castle, Bute, where Robert III. died. From a Photograph. =—7 a Hamilton, whose only child she was. As sole owner of this sea-girt kingdom, the Marchioness Tules wisely and well over loyal subjects, number- ing in all nearly five thousand. The island, which is some nineteen miles long and ten and a half broad, with an area of a hundred and sixty-eight square miles, has had aromantic history. Along the cliffs of the south coast there are several large caverns, one being known as the King’s Cave. Here Robert the Bruce is said to have hidden himself for some time, while it was from Brodick Bay that Bruce sailed to Carrick on his expedition for the re- covery of the Crown. There are many inte- resting ruins, too, such as Lochranza Castle, once the residence of the Scots kings. Then there are cairns, stand- ing stones, and stone circles. A few years ago several stone coffins were found in a cairn two hundred feet in circumference. Brodick Castle, the owner’s resi- dence, is on the site of an old and _ historic structure, but it has > Nee The Marquis of Bute, owaer of the island of the seme name. From a Photo, by Russell & Sons,

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BRITAIN’S UNCROWNED “ KINGS.” 9 of Grabam. been rebuilt within recent times in Scotch baronial style. Situated upon the north-west shore of Brodick Bay, its position is an excep- tionally fine one. In 1902, when cruising in these waters, King Edward paid a visit to the castle. Our photograph of this island was very kindly taken for us by the Marchioness herself, who is an expert photographer. Next comes the Isle of Bute, in the Firth of Clyde, said to possess the mildest climate in all Bonnie Scotland. Its owner, of course, is the Marquess of Bute, who lords it over a kingdom forty-nine square miles in extent, and boasting of a population of eleven thou- sand souls. ‘The scenery is varied, and in some places very picturesque. There are six lakes on the island, the largest being Loch Fad, two and a half miles long by a quarter of a mile wide. Here, in a cottage, lived ¥ Kean, the great actor, and also Sheridan Knowles, the famous dramatist. Among the antiquities of Bute is Kames Castle, the birth- place of John Sterling, the celebrated author and essayist. The principal town is Rothesay, in the centre of which stands Rothesay Castle, dating back to the year 1098. It was here that Robert III. died. From an early period Bute was more or less subject to the Norwegians, who held the castle. The present owner’s resi- dence, Mount Stuart, lies five miles from Rothe- say. By an old charter in the possession of the Marquess’s family, the present proprietor holds undisputed sway over the destiny of the island. Not far from Bute is the beautiful Island of Islay, now governed by Mr. Hugh Morrison, brother-in-law of Lord Granville. This little kingdom, the richest and most productive island of the Hebrides, was the principal residence of (Photograph. the Macdonalds, Lords of the Isles. It passed, early in the seventeenth century, from the Macleans to the Campbells, and afterwards to the Morrisons. It has a length of twenty- five and a half miles, a breadth of nine- teen, and a total area of two hundred and forty-six square miles. The population numbers seven thousand souls, the principal industries being dairy-farming, stock-raising, and whisky distillation. The Duke of Argyll includes in his pos- sessions not only Tyree Island, but also the Island of Iona, the most sacred and historic spot in all Scotland. Its history began in the year 563, when St. Columba, leaving the shores of Ireland, landed upon Iona with twelve disciples. Having obtained a grant of the island, he built upon it a monastery. This was repeatedly attacked and destroyed by the Norsemen, many of the monks suffering martyrdom during these fierce forays. In 1203 a new monastery, as well as a nunnery, was founded by the Benedictines, and the ecclesiastical remains for which the island is now famous are chiefly of Islay, owned by Mr. Hugh Morrison—This beautiful island has a population of seven thousand. From a Photo, by A. Cameron. that date. They consist of the cathedral of St. Mary, the nunnery, several small chapels, a building called the Bishop’s house, and two fine crosses, St. Martin’s and Maclean’s. A little to the south of Iona lies Colonsay, belonging to Lord Strathcona and Mount Royal, who purchased it some few years ago from the heirs of the late Sir John McNeill. The island is eight miles long and from one and a half to three miles in width, possessing but sixteen square miles of territory, and is fairly flat, no point teaching five hundred feet above sea-level. Its relics consist of a number of standing stones and an extensive bone cave. The owner’s

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0 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, luna, ruled by the Duke of Argylli—Ithe history of this wonderful ‘sland goes back to the year 563. From a Photo. by F Frith & Co, residence is Colonsay House, which has been the seat of the McNeills since the sixteenth century. In the Inner Hebrides there is also to be found the Island of Rum, or Rhum, ruled by Sir John Bullough. This is virtually a huge deer and | game reserve. The finest herds and some of the best shooting in Scotland are to be obtained here. Indeed, the place abounds in a great variety of game, which is zealously preserved by its owner. To receive an invitation to hunt in this domain is ore of the ambitions of sports- men. This island reserve is eight and a half miles in length by eight miles in breadth. Of its forty-two square miles of area only three hun- dred acres are arable, and these are devoted to sheep-farming. The whole of the remainder is deer forest and moorland. The island is very mountainous, a mass of high, sharp peaks, many towering two thousand feet and more in height. The island has had a chequered career. In 1826 the four hundred crofters living on the island were all cleared off toAmerica, with the exception of a single family, and the arable land converted into a sheep-farm. To- day Rum has a popula- tion of a hundred and forty-nine souls, who acknowledge Sir John Bullough as their right- ful lord and master. He resides at Kinloch Castle, and dispenses there a hospitality in keeping with the traditions of the island. In the Outer Hebrides is another interesting king- dom, the Island of North Uist, belong- ing to Sir Arthur J. Campbell- Orde, who served with great dis- tinction in the South African War. No one can land or reside upon the island without the owner’s permission, while it is also free from taxation—or, rather, no rates or taxes can be levied without the consent of its ruler. It has an area of seventy-six thousand acres and a population of nearly four thousand. It is famous for its natural beauties, its varied sport- ing attractions, for its horses, ponies, fat cattle and sheep, and its historic associations. The eastern half of the island is so cut up by lochs SY The Duke of Argyll, lord of Tona and Tyree. From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry. The Island of Rum, a huge deer and game prererve- Frow a Photo, by J. Valentine & Sons.

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BRITAIN’S UNCROWNED “KINGS.” Ir and remains of the Vikings abounding. From the Orkneys to the Bristol Channel is perhaps a far cry, but it is in these latter waters that we find Lundy (to speak of “ Lundy Island ” is in- correct), perhaps the best known of all the island monarchies. This lovely little jewel of the sea has been the haunt Rousay, whi teresting relics of the and Vikings. From a Photo. by T. Kent. and watercourses as to have the appear- ance of an archipel- ago. Bonnie Prince Charles is said to have landed on North Uist Island and hidden in the heather. Right away to the North of Scotland we have Rousay, an island of the Orkney group. For many North Uist. From a Photo. by J. Valen- tine & Sons. of of pirates and mur- derers, smugglers and convicts. At one time it fell into the hands of Turkish privateers ; at another it was held by French pirates, and Charles I. kept From a) Lundy Island, in the Bristol Channel. (Photograph. years it was ruled by the late Licutenant- a garrison here. General Trail Burroughs. The property is now In the middle of in the hands of trustees, and if rumour is correct the eighteenth Lord Pentland, who recently visited the island, century the mem- will ere long become its “ king.” On the southern ber for Barnstaple side of the island, close to the road—which, by owned it, and A the way, completely encircles Rousay—is situated when he undertook ey } Trumbland House, the principal residence. From to transport con- ss renee i fi 7 ya te Rev. H. G. Heaven, owner of an antiquarian point of view the island is rich victs to Virginia Landy. in interest, Picts’ houses, ancient burial-grounds, he took them to From a Photograph,

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12 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Lundy and worked them for his own profit ! Just over seventy years ago, however, of the matter being that, for a few hours at low water, the Mount is con- nected with the mainland by a rough stone causeway five hundred and sixty St. Michael's Mount, off the coast of Cornwal From a Pipto. by Preston. Lundy passed by yards long. Perched at the summit of the rock, purchase into the nearly two hundred feet high, stands the famous hands of the old castle, the residence of Lord St. Levan, the Heaven family, present owner. Clustered at the foot of the and there it s‘1ll Mount, on its landward side, is the tiny village, remains. The price paid for it was nine Michaels’ Mowe) thousand From a Photograph. eight hun- dred and seventy pounds. The Rev. H. G. Heaven is the present owner. He became curate there in 1864, and as curate and vicar he has since remained, overlord of twelve hundred acres and of fewer than a hun- dred souls. The island figures in Kingsley’s “ West- ward Ho!” and was the death-place of “ Judas ” Stukeley. Half a mile from the southern end is Lundy Lighthouse, a spot which it is most essential to light ade- quately, for the place has alway been a menace to shipping. It will be recalled that H.M.S. Montagu went aground on the Shutter Rock, at the southern end of the isle, some five years ago, and be- came a total wreck. If the vessel had gone ashore in the island’s only bay, Mr. Heaven could have claimed heavy salvage as lord of the foreshore, these rights being clearly defined in the articles of the charter. As it is, no one can land or reside upon the island without the consent of the owner, while it is also exempt from taxation. Here it may be added that Mr. Heaven is anxious to dispose of his island, and is on the look-out for a purchaser with a Robinson Crusoe turn of mind. The great rock of St. Michael’s, rising up from the centre of Mount’s Bay, off the composed of a score or more of houses, chiefly Cornish coast, is in a somewhat anomalous posi- inhabited by the retainers of Lord St. Levan. tion. Ivis an island, and yet it is not, the fact. St. Michael’s Mount must be almost the smallest ‘The Calf of Man, showing the twin lighthouses. From a Photo, by G. B. Cowen.

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BRITAIN’S UNCROWNED “ KINGS.” 13 taxation. No one can land, and, above all, live on the island, without the consent of the owner. It is in every sense of the word a strictly private estate, and laid out as such. The only objection to this little kingdom in the Irish Sea is that but a small part of it is cultivated, and the whole of it is overrun with rabbits and rats, which, strange to relate, like the Manx cats, are tail- less. Mr. Willian. Cary’s father lived here for many years, leading a very retired life. He was a man of most Lambay, as seen from the sea—The place is # parading of Dirge, scholarly attainments, immersed in Presa EAS EARN: study, devoted to his books, and allowed years to go by without so island estate in much as visiting the neighbouring kingdom, the the United King- Isle of Man, After enjoying a ten years’ exist- dom, being but ence here in Robinson Crusoe fashion, his son little more than a at last disposed of the property. mile in circum- Ouc in the waters of Cardigan Bay, off the ference, coast of Carnarvon, is Bardsey Island, a small Pr Off the southern- slip of land two miles long. Here reigns the Se am most end of the Hon. Frederick G. Wynn, who is acknowledged The Hon. Goel arin, owner of From a Photograph. Isle of Man lies the Calf of Man, a delightful little island kingdom purchased lastyear from Mr. William Cary, son of Colonel Cary, the well-known American, by Mr. Samuel Haigh, of Huddersfield, for twenty thousand pounds. Under a grant of the land from the Crown in the days of Queen Elizabeth, the Calfof Man was declared to be for ever free from Sir Maurice Fitzgerald, Valentia Island. Valentia Island, showing the cable station. From a@ Photograph. From a Photo. by W. Lawrence. who owns

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The “Church of the Men,” Inishmurray. From a Photograph. as their chief by the inhabitants, numbering some eighty all told. The island figured largely in the early religious history of the country. Tradition has it that no fewer than twenty thou- sand “saints” were buried there. That the story has at least some substance of truth is proved by the immense number of human bones and antique remains which have been unearthed in every part of the isle. Just north of Howth, in Dublin Bay, lies the Island of Lambay. Formerly it was the property of the Archbishop of Dublin, but a few years ago it was purchased by the Hon. Cecil Baring, heir to the earldom of his childless brother, Lord Revelstoke. The island is a small one, barely three miles in circumference, and, although scarcely four miles from the coast, is curiously isolated when one considers its proximity to the capital of Ireland. Lambay Castle, the residence of the owner, is an interesting old building of some historic note, from the fact that Archbishop Usher, a staunch ad- herent to Charles I., took refuge in the house on one occasion when his life was endangered. Mr. Baring has considerably improved and beautified the castle, and spends a considerable portion of the year there with his wife. Some declare that it was on Lam- bay that St. Patrick first landed in Treland, and that he built his first church here ; while others aver that the old church ruins on the island are those of a sacred edifice founded by St. Columba. To-day the island is famous for its castle, its animal life, and its flowers. Fallow deer roam over it, and also the rhea, while in its caverns dwell great grey seals. It is a paradise of birds, especially during the summer, and close on a hundred varieties make it their home, includ- ing the falcon. On the cliffs grow acres of scurvy-grass, with its creamy white flowers smelling like honey, and covering the land with blossom. Sir Maurice Fitzgerald, twentieth Knight of Kerry, lords it over the Island of Valentia, off the coast of Kerry, the ownership of which en- ables him to style himself the nearest European neighbour to the United States. This little kingdom in the Atlantic is some five miles long by two broad. The island is chiefly famous as the European terminus of more than one Atlantic telegraph. With its post and telegraph office, it is quite a busy little place, the population num- bering nearly two thousand souls. Another island kingdom in Irish waters is Inish- murray, in Sligo Bay. It is about a mile long by half a mile wide, some two hundred acres in extent, and has a population Mr. Van Raalte, who owns Brown- sea Island. From a Photograph. From a Photo. by) Brownsea Island, in Poole Harbour. [F. Frith & Co.

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BRITAIN’S UNCROWNED “ KINGS.” 15 of some seventy souls. It has been owned for two hundred years by a family of the name of Waters. The late Michael Waters, the father of the present proprietor, was a great character and known throughout Ireland. Although his kingdom was small and his subjects few, he ruled without difficulty over a community which knew no law but his will, and who devoted themselves to farming, fishing, and to the manufacture of illicit but nevertheless excellent whisky. The island possesses the most interesting remains of early monastic architecture to be found in Ireland, St. Mulacius, a disciple of St. Patrick, having established a monastery there, his wooden repre- sentation being still preserved in the oratory. Among the oddities of the island is one graveyard for women and another, some distance off, for the men. The islanders firmly believe that no male could rest content in the female burying- ground, and that any attempt to inter him there would only result inarestless spirit and ghostly wanderings. Down on the south coast, standing in the waters of Poole Harbour, is the little Islet of Brownsea. For From a Photo, by) many years it has been ruled by a king of its own, and possesses great historical in- terest. Its present owner is Mr. Van Raalte. Although the early records of this island are decidedly meagre, they are, never- theless, full of exciting incidents. Indeed, for many years Brownsea was the haunt of pirates, smugglers, and wreckers. That the ubiquitous Romans had something to do with Brownsea is evident from the many pieces of pottery which have been found on the island and the presence there of an interesting Roman bath of marble. It was here, too, that St. Augustine, in the sixth century, founded a monastery—Cerne Abbey. nei Mr. F. N. Charrington, the owner of Osea. From a Photograph. One of the best known of the many rulers of this kingdom was Colonel Waugh, who purchased it in 1852 for thirteen thousand pounds. The story goes that while he and his wife were wander- ing over the isle, without any intention whatever of buying it, Mrs. Waugh carelessly prodded the earth with her parasol, which stuck in a bed of white clay. Her knowledge of geology prompted her to conclude that it was of a quality required for the finest porcelain ware. The island was at that time in the market, and the colonel lost no time in securing an option to purchase the pro- perty, and employed an expert to examine the soil and report upon it. The report was mag- nificent. It pronounced the discovery to be that of “a most valuable bed of the finest china clay.” Upon this glowing account Colonel Waugh A view on Osea Island. UF. Frith & Co. secured the island, and at once began to spend money in improving it and developing its re- sources as if he were already a millionaire. He called in another expert, who, after spending some time on the island, declared that there could not be less than thirty to forty million tons of marketable clay, worth for manufacturing purposes from fifteen to twenty million pounds. Expensive machinery was installed, but, alas ! it was discovered that the quality of the clay was not adapted for porcelain, and only suitable for terra-cotta and the coarser kind of pottery. The works were closed, and then came the failure of the bank from which the colonel had borrowed heavily, and of which he was a director, suddenly bringing his reign as “‘ King of Brown- sea” to an end. The present owner, Mr. Van Raalte, took over the property in 1900, and the hundred and forty-five inhabitants of the king- dom are all in his service. Unique in many ways among these island kingdoms is Osea. It lies in a deep bay on the

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16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Essex coast, formed by the estuary of the Blackwater. The island is about a mile and a half long, three-quarters of a mile wide, and has @ coast-line of some four miles. It is a delightful island retreat of beautiful meadow land and charming old elm trees, an ideal place for yacht- ing, boating, bathing, and sea-fishing. It was purchased some eight years ago by Mr. Frank N. Charrington, the popular East-end temperance worker, who sacrificed a million and a quarter of money rather than continue in the great brewing business esta- blished by his father. After he had secured the island he converted it into a retreat for aristo- cratic drunkards, and also, for that matter, into a seaside and health resort. On this ‘ tec- total island” there are no public-houses or drug stores. The largest build- ing on the island “is “ Rivermere,” a really charming residence for well-to-do inebriates. The island boasts of an interesting history, and from the time of Edward the Confessor has always had a small population and a “‘ king.” Twenty-seven miles to the south-west of Land’s End lie the Scilly Isles. They represent the strangest island holding in the United Kingdom, as in all they number two hundred islands, islets, and rocks—an extensive archipelago, and yet entirely the property of one man. At the present time only four of them are inhabited, and the second in point of size, Tresco, is the home of the lord-proprietor of the Scillies, Mr. T. A. Dorrien-Smith. ‘Tresco From a) Tresco Abbey, Scilly. From a Photo. by Preston. The pretty little Island of Jethou. Abbey, Mr. Dor- rien - Smith’s resi- dence, is built on the foundations, and to a great ex- tent with the materials, of the ancient abbey, which dates from the time of King Athelstane in 936. Mr. T. A. Dorrien-Smith, lord- proprietor of the Scillies. From a Photo. by Gibson & Sons, The Scilly Islands re- mained in the possession of the Godolphins until 1835, when they passed to Augustus Smith, uncle of the present “king cf the Scillies.” It was Mr. Dorrien - Smith’s father who induced the islanders to take up flower-grow- ing,an industry which has contributed much to the prosperity of the islands. Naturally there are many islands scattered around our shores owned by private companies and also by various cities and corporations, and quite a number that are Crown or Government property. In the Bristol Channel, for instance, there are two charming little islands, each about a mile and a half in circumference, known as Flat Holme and Steep Holme. The former is under the control of the Cardiff Corporation, and, like Steep Holme, is fortified. Steep Holme belongs to a farmer, Mr. James Sleeman, who raises sheep and milks his cows here undisturbed by the madding crowd. The smallest but one of the inhabited Channel Islands, Herm, is now owned by the Westbank Company. Another of the Channel Islands, the Isle of Jethou, less than: a mile and a half in circumference, is owned by Sir Henry Lee, of the British Embassy in Paris. He and his wife spend many weeks every year in its delightful manor-house (Photograph.

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THE GIRL AND THE BANDIT. BY GUILLERMO CUERNADIA. ILLUSTRATED BY THOMAS SOMERFIELD. The account of a girl’s dramatic escape from the clutches of a villainous brigand chief — formerly one of her father’s workmen—who had vowed to win her by fair means or foul. The story, which is absolutely vouched for, throws yet another side-light upon the present insecurity of life and property in the wilder parts of Mexico. SW WING to the political troubles and the various revolutionary outbreaks from which Mexico has suffered since the (a Ae N25S)) deposition of President Diaz there "has been a revival of the brigandage which in former days gave that country an unsavoury reputation for lawlessness. In the mountain regions and the more remote and unprotected parts of the country the bandits have had matters all their own way, and have established a regular reign of terror. Many stories of the terrible doings of these outlaws are being told, but none of them is more realistic, more fraught with excitement and tragedy, than the recital of a scries of events which had for their chief characters a notorious bandit chief, Juan Soreno by name ; Miss Teresa Elerrea; her father, Lorenzo Elerrea, a wealthy mine-owner of Reynosa, in theState of Chihuahua; and Henry Meldon, a young American mining engineer. The little village of Reynosa is situated far up near the source of the Rio Aros, in the timber- covered heights of the Sierra Madres, several days’ mule-back journey from the nearest rail- road. It lies far off the trail of ordinary travel, even of the venturesome mining men and prospectors. Lorenzo Elerrea, father of the heroine of this story, is of pure Spanish blood. His wife died many years ago. Teresa was their only child, and Don Lorenzo has always lavished his love upon her. When a mere slip of a girl, Teresa was wont to journey alone far into the depths of the forest. While on one of these jaunis she made a detour from the old trail and came round by the ancient San Miguel Mine, belonging to Don Pablo Mariscal. It was a fateful day for Teresa, for it marked her first introduction to the daring young man, Juan Soreno, who was afterwards to play such an important part in her life. Don Pablo and Teresa’s father were friends, having Vol. xxxii—2. lived many years in the mountains as neighbours. Don Pablo scolded Teresa roundly for venturing alone into the mountain forests. “You should not go unprotected,” he told her. ‘I will send Juan, one of my trusty men, back with you.” In response to his shout of “ Juan!” there emerged from the portal of the house a youth of fine build and most striking appearance. His every movement bore evidence of the strength and health born of his free life among the mountains. “This is Teresa, the daughter of mio amigo, Don Lorenzo,” said Don Pablo. ‘“ You are to escort her to her home.” Few words were spoken by either Teresa or Juan on the long journey back to Reynosa. but it marked the beginning of an acquaintance that Juan did not forget. It was a year or two later, perhaps, that Juan came over to Reynosa and obtaincd employment as a foreman in Don Lorenzo’s mine. He seldom met Teresa, for they occupied different spheres of life even in that isolated community. Occasionally she would come across him in her rides through the mountains, and at these times he would remove his sombrero and feast his dark, luminous eyes upon her as long as she was in sight. With the intuition of her sex Teresa knew that Juan loved her. While her proud Spanish spirit made her realize that it was an affection she could never reciprocate, she was, woman-like, not displeased with the silent devotion which the lowly peon bestowed upon her. So matters went on until her private tutor told her father she was far enough advanced in her studies to be sent away to finish her education. Accordingly she went to France, and the two years that she spent in Paris rounded off the accomplishments that every well-to-do Mexican parent seeks tu give his daughter. It also turned the immature girl into a very charming and graceful young woman.

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18 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It was during the time that Mexico was first disturbed by revolution that Miss Teresa arrived in the city of Mexico on her way back from Paris. Her father met her at Vera Cruz, and in view of the disturbance which was then raging over a wide area of the State of Chihuahua, it was deemed best to delay the journey to their moun- tain home until the situation improved. But the call of the forest was strong in Miss Teresa’s ears. “* Why should we be afraid ? ” she argued with old Don Lorenzo. “ Are the people of the Sierras not our people? They will not harm us, I am sure.” “Ah, my dear Teresa,” replied her father, sadly, “great indeed are the changes that have occurred since you went away from the old home. No longer do we know who are our friends, and there are enemies everywhere.” He then related in some detail many of the terrible outrages and crimes that had been committed by roving bands of mountain bandits. “ Of all the men in arms,” he concluded, “none is more vicious, more dangerous, and more dreaded by peace-loving people than one of my own men—a man whom I had learned to trust and had the highest confidence in.” “Who is he?” asked Miss Teresa. “Juan Soreno, my mine foreman.” “ Not the Juan who came to us from the mine of your amigo, Don Pablo ?”’ she inquired. “ The same man,” he answered. “He is now at the head of a band of brigands, and I have no doubt he would set his fiends upon our village if I had not enough men to stand loyally by me and guard the town and mine day and night.” Miss Teresa, fresh from the Paris boarding- school, was eager to return to her old mountain home, and the tale which her father told, instead of frightening her, stirred in her blood the latent spirit of adventure that had come down to her from her Spanish forefathers. Probably it was this desire to be in the midst of the dangers and excitement going on around Reynosa that led to her pleadings that they might proceed on their journey without further delay. Finally, though sorely against his better judgment, her From a) Miss Teresa Elerrea, the heroine of this story —She was captured by bandits in the wilds of Mexico. devoted father yielded to her insistent urging. They took train to Temosachie, and there leaving the railroad they started on the long overland trip. Their route lay through Guaynopa, and there Don Lorenzo met Henry Meldon, a young American mining engineer, and employed him to go to Reynosa and make an examination of the old mine. Asa matter of fact, Don Lorenzo, despairing of any improvement in the conditions, had determined to sell the property and move out of the bandit-infested district. He had received a tentative offer for the mine while in the capital, and his purpose in having it examined by an expert engineer was in order that an estimate of the amount of ore in sight and its value might be made. Mr. Meldon went to Mexico from the United States several years ago, and had a good knowledge of that part of the country. While his mission to Reynosa was fraught with more or less danger, owing to the high-handed operations of the bandits, it was almost equally dangerous to remain at Guaynopa, so he threw in his lot with the Elerreas with a light heart. Accordingly, with an armed escort, Don Lorenzo, Miss Teresa, and Mr. Meldon set out from Guay- nopa early one morning. Having lived in the moun- tain wilds during the period when the country was at peace, and not having been a personal witness of the tur- bulence and bloodshed that had occurred during her absence, pretty Miss Teresa could hardly realize the possibility of any danger. She looked upon the expedition as a pleasant frolic, and laughed at the gloomy forebodings of the good people of Guaynopa, who were aghast at her temerity in subjecting herself to such risks. “T have not forgotten how to handle a gun,” she told them, airily. This, though said laughingly, was no idle remark. In the days of her girlhood no one in all Western Mexico was truer in aim with rifle and pistol than Teresa, and many a time wild animals of the forest had fallen victims to her prowess. Her father had equipped her for this journey with a modern rifle, revolver, knife, and belt of cartridges, so that she felt quite secure, (Photograph.

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THE GIRL AND THE BANDIT. 19 News travels quickly, even in the most remote parts of the sparsely-settled Sierra Madres. How word was passed to the rendezvous of Juan Soreno and his band that this little party was on its way to Reynosa no one ventures to explain, bit that the information speedily reached Juan wes proved ty subsequent events. Though it was two years since he had set eyes on her, the love of the bandit leader for the beautiful and accomplished Teresa had not cooled. His fixed determination to make her his own, even by the foulest mcans if necessary, caused him to decide upon desperate plans to accomplish his purpose. At that particular time the bandit leader and his men, who numbered over a hundred, had just returned to their mountain fastness from a raid upon unprotected settlements over the line in the State of Sonora. To intercept Don Lorenzo and his party meant a forced march of more than a hundred miles across a terribly rough country. This, however, did not deter Juan from entering upon the undertaking. Had not two long years passed since he had seen the fair Teresa, and, now that he was in a position of power, would he not exercise his authority to take possession of to the granting of his demand Juan declared that he had loved Teresa since she was a little girl and would make her his bride by the law of the Church. This startling communication was delivered to Don Lorenzo early in the morning, just as the little party was preparing to break camp on their last day’s journey towards Reynosa. Dark, indeed, became the old man’s face when he read it. Miss Teresa noticed his frowning face and perturbed manner. “ What is it, father ?”’ she inquired. “ Have you had bad news?” “ Nothing of importance,” he answered, with an affectation of carelessness. Then, turning to the courier, he added :— “Go back to the man and tell him I have no answer to make to him.” The threatened calamity was hard for the old man to bear. While he had no fears for himself, he dreaded the fate that menaced his adored daughter. He shrank from telling her of the danger, but he took the first opportunity to confer quietly with Meldon and the men of the armed escort. It was resolved, after a good deal of discussion, to continue the journey, as to turn her? In his egotism he thought his pur- pose might possibly be gained without bloodshed, but to obtain her he vowed, even if it had to be over many dead bodies. Swiftly he led his men onward to the Reynosa trail. He knew the ground well, and timed his arrival at- the place where the travellers were to be intercepted so as to be there several hours in advance of them. His purpose in doing this was to send a formal re- quest to old Don Lorenzo that Miss Teresa Elerrea should be delivered over to him. He selected a peaceable ranch peon to carry this amazing message, which contained a proviso to the effect that if Miss Teresa was placed in his possession he and his men would exempt the town of Reynosa and Don Lorenzo’s valuable mine from molestation, and that the bandits would even guard the community against attack by other marauders. As a further incentive From a) On the way to Reynosa. [Photograph back on the long trail would be merely inviting an attack from the bandits, who could easily overtake them. They hoped, being forewarned, to be able to make a running fight of it and keep the outlaws off until they reached a place of safety. “ Be ready to use your rifle and pistol at a moment’s warning,” Don Lorenzo cautioned his daughter before they started. ‘‘ We are in the

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20 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. heart of a dangerous region, and may have trouble.” Notwithstanding the precautions that were taken by the little party, such as throwing out scouts in advance and protecting their rear from surprise, the expected attack of the brigands was made. The scene of the onslaught was in the Paso del Muerte canyon, some six miles from Reynosa, and the bandits outnumbered the travellers and escort by eight to one. The armed guards, when the rifles began to crack, made little show of resistance, but Miss Teresa, her father, and Meldon fought desperately. », : ity )) a |) WASEN SAN, anny “Miss Teresa and her father The battle ended in a triumphant rush by the bandits, and the capture of Don Lorenzo and his daughter. Meldon, however, escaped in an almost miracu- lous manner. To gain a more advantageous position during the encounter, he climbed up the side of the canyon, and, moving from boulder to

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22 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, work of a moment for him to grab the loose reins and mount the animal. Riding at break- neck speed towards Reynosa, he soon reached the village and gave the alarm. “ Teresa, the beautiful, and Don Lorenzo, her father, are in the hands of that murderous fiend Juan Soreno !” Like lightning the news flew round the town, and a posse was immediately organized and started in pursuit of the outlaws. Meldon, however, did not go with it. He had no great faith in the possibility of their success, and told the excited people that he would search for the captives alone. Meanwhile, what was happening to Teresa and her father? It is true of the Mexican peon that when placed in a position of authority he often displays all the latent cruclty and meanness of his Indian nature, but Juan Soreno, when he found himself before the flashing, scornful eyes of Miss Teresa, faltered for a moment and lost his arrogant air of superiority. Then, recover- ing himself, he assured the two prisoners that if his long-cherished wish to make her his bride was fulfilled no harm should befall Don Lorenzo. “It is a simple request, easily granted,” he told the mine-owner ; “but if you do not agree to it within three days your bones will be left in the mountains for the wolves to feed upon.” Ina perfect frenzy of rage Don Lorenzo turned upon the outlaw. Had not the deerskin thongs that bound his arms behind his back been strong he would have torn them in twain and pounced upon the man. “Do your worst, you villain!’ he stormed. “Your demand will never be granted.” “We shall see,” retorted Juan, with an evil smile, and turned away to give directions for moving. It was a terrible march that the brigands made with their captives. Over dim mountain trails that bordered yawning precipices, across deep barrancas, and through untrod forests they travelled. Miss Teresa and her father rode on the backs of mules, the outlaws making all possible haste to outdistance any pursuit that might be made. The girl, tired and worn out as she was, never lost hope of making her escape. She had overheard the conversation between Juan and her father, and she knew that each passing hour brought her nearer to a dreadful fate, unless Providence should intervene to save both her and him. In the hope of accomplish- ing their escape, she resolved to play a tactful game of deceit, like many a woman before her. The looks of hatred which she had at first turned upon Juan changed to shy glances, and there were smiles upon her lips when she returned the ardent gaze of her captor. Finally, bidding him to ride by her side, she asked :— “ Are you the Juan who rode with me from the San Miguel Mine several years ago, and who was foreman of my father’s property ?” “Si, senorita ; 1 am the man.” “We ought to be good friends,” she said, simply. With this opening they were soon getting on famously together. Juan, inordinately vain, like all his class, was convinced the girl loved him, and that she would ultimately obtain the consent of her father to become his bride. The bandit was thrown off his guard, and accord- ingly relaxed the watch which he had placed over her. It was on the second night in camp that the opportunity came for which Teresa was waiting. Down the slight declivity about two hundred yards off was a spring. Late in the night, when all but the bandit who was on guard were asleep, she motioned the sentry to her and told him she was very thirsty. “Get me a cup of water from the spring,” she whispered. Juan’s instructions to his men had been to treat the girl with every consideration, and he had told them confidently the day before that she was willing to marry him, only the proud old father stood in the way. The guard, therefore, had no thought that she was playing a ruse in an attempt to escape. No sooner had he got well on his way towards the spring than Miss Teresa quickly arose and, grabbing a knife from its sheath, cut the bonds that held her father prisoner and whispered to him to rise and make his escape with her. Each of them stealthily picked up a loaded rifle and belt of cartridges without waking the sleeping outlaws. Then, hurrying away from the camp a few yards, Miss Teresa rapidly explained to her father that the guard was down at the spring. “ He must be killed before he gets back to the camp,” she said. “Here is a knife; I will stab him in the back.” Don Lorenzo hardly recognized his erstwhile gentle daughter in this new réle. Her peril had hardened her heart and steeled her nerves in extraordinary fashion. “ That is work for me to do, not you,” he told her. “Give me the knife.” Hiding behind a tree close to the path that led to the camp, they awaited the return of the guard. No sooner had he passed them than Don Lorenzo stepped swiftly out from his hiding-place and struck at him. The man dropped dead without even a moan. Then, in the stillness of the night, father and daughter fled for their lives into the depths of the forest-

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THE GIRL AND THE BANDIT. 23 nosa, half famished and utterly exhausted. On their long homeward journey they had lived on the roots of plants and wild berries. ““ Where is Mr, Meldon ?” was the question uppermost in the minds of Miss Teresa and Don Lorenzo as the days passed and no word was received from him, Posses from the village and a force of rural guards were still searching for the bandits, but without success. It was on the morning of the sixth day after the returnof Don Lorenzo and his daughter to Rey- nosa that two horsemen were seen riding into the village. One of them was Mr. Meldon; the other, strapped tightly upon the back of a led horse, was the erstwhile bandit chief, Juan Soreno! Mr. Meldon is a man of few words. The only information he vouchsafed — in regard to the capture of the notorious outlaw was that he had struck his trail over on the other side of the Sonora line and followed it for several days, finally coming upon the bandit and three of his companions in a defile in the mountains. “Tt was either shoot or run,” he said. “I winged Juan’s gun arm and brought him back to Reynosa.” “ But what became of the other three ?” he was asked. Four days “Their bones are back there later they ap- in that mountain pass,” replied peared in Rey- Don Lorenzo stoped silly. out from his biding-place Meldon. covered moun- | tains, praying that no pur- suit might overtake them, for if recaptured their fate would be too awful to con- template.

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“Bill Taylor’s” Last Battle. TOLD BY JOE HACK, AND SET DOWN BY ROGER FISON. ILLUSTRATED BY F. HOLMBS. How a big grizzly bear, who seemed proof against bullets, was killed with a wooden leg. Mr. Fison writes: “I heard the story narrated dozens of times by Joe Hack, a local character living at Spinney, Colorado, on the Colorado Midland Railway, where I was stationed as night operator in 1908. I have no doubts as to the veracity of the story, as ‘Bill Taylor’ was well known to the old-timers in that section.” NE summer in the ’seventies I joined a small party of mining prospectors who had pitched camp near Sugar Creek Canyon, in the central part of Colorado, I happened to be the only one in the party who could boast of having served in the Civil War, and my wooden leg, a result of this service, was made the target of many a good-natured joke. Thirty yards from our sleeping-tents stood the commissary-shack, a rough wooden structure, in which were stored canned goods, potatoes, flour, smoked meats, and other supplies. Scarcely a week went by without an attempted theft of these provisions, either by a coyote, a mountain lion, or a bear—generally a bear. Talk about bear! Sugar Creek Canyon certainly had a variety—grizzlies, cinnamon, and black. The little black fellows were, as a rule, quite harmless; but the brown and silver- tipped grizzlies were a match for the best rifle ever manufactured. Our two dogs—Bob and Waif—usually suc- ceeded in frightening away the night prowlers by their barking, and on such occasions we paid little attention if we happened to be awakened. In spite of their vigilance, however, we got up one morning to find that our commissary-shack had been broken into during the night. Two large smoked hams were missing, a box of crackers had been smashed open, and potatoes and canned goods lay scattered over the floor. While some of us stood outside speculating as to the probable culprit, Rab Sunday, our old cook, rushed out of the shack, shook his fists, and declared with great anger, “ That’s ‘ Bill Taylor’s’ work! He’s the only thief in these parts that can pull off a job like that. Them’s tne only hams we had, too. I'll get that blessed silver-tip for this, see if I don’t. ‘ Bill Taylor’s’ gone too far this time.” “ Bill Taylor” was the largest silver-tip grizzly bear in that vicinity, and bore the name of a rancher he had killed. Though “ Bill” had been tracked by many famous hunters noone had ever been able to bag him. He seemed, indeed, to bear a charmed life, and bullets appeared only to tickle his powerful frame. Apart from his unusual size, there was a surer way of identifying “ Bill Taylor.” One of his front legs had been injured in some unknown manner, causing him to limp. But this in no way impaired his phenomenal skill as a fighter or man-chaser, for many a brave hunter had been maimed by “ Bill,” and an even larger number had been chased. Whether it was this par- ticular bear that had stolen our hams, we were, of course, unable to decide; and as soon as the wrath of our excitable little cook had subsided, the theft ceased to be a topic of discussion. We used to go to bed rather early at camp. After having trailed over rough mountain passes all day, with a prospector’s outfit strapped to our shoulders, we did not feel inclined to sit up late, and consequently nine o’clock generally found us fast asleep. One bright moonlit night, a week after the theft of the hams, I was awakened about ten o’clock by the sharp, nervous barking of our two dogs, and after listening for several moments I heard a series of deep growls. Rising from my bunk, I quickly slipped on a pair of overalls, grabbed my revolver, and then stepped cautiously outside the tent. I looked toward the commissary-shack, and the sight I beheld there was enough to surprise the bravest soldier that ever fired a gun. Standing on his hind legs, his shaggy grey coat glistening in the clear moonlight, stood the largest grizzly bear I had ever seen in my life. Backed against the commissary - shack door, his eight feet of height, as he swayed from side to side, looked tremendous. By savagely displaying his large, ugly teeth, he managed to keep the two excited dogs at a safe distance. No sooner did he observe my presence than he emitted a loud roar, slid down on to four feet, and started off in the direction of the canyon, the dogs after him. I could not fire at that moment for fear of wounding them; so I hobbled along as fast as I could on my stump. As the big brute headed for a clump of brush in the canyon, I called the dogs off and fired half-a-dozen shots in the direction of his retreat- ing hide. None of the shots took effect, but the report of my gun aroused the entire camp.

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“BILL TAYLOR’S” LAST BATTLE. 25 “That’s him! That’s him!” in- terrupted the cook, as I tried to describe the visitor. ‘“ That description fits ‘ Bill Taylor’ like a pair of wool socks. But that there toy pistol you got wouldn’t have no more effect on his hide than a squirt.” Well, we discussed “ Bill Taylor” and his thieving propen- sities for half an hour, and finally decided to set a trap for him the next eae y AWK \ night. Bear-bait- ing, however, is an uninteresting subject to discuss among a lot of sleepy campers, so we all ceased talk- ing and tumbled into our bunks. The next day, deciding to do a little prospecting on my own account, I left camp about one o’clock and headed for 39 Range, a mile distant. As I merely intended looking over some old “locations,” I carried nothing with me except my big repeating rifle, which I always took when travelling alone. “ Immediately he started up the boulder.” After climbing Sugar Loaf peak I began scratching about for specimens of silver ore. I had been thus engaged scarcely three-quarters of an hour when, suddenly turning about, I saw a sight that caused my flesh to creep. Not two hundred feet away, in a little clump of cedar trees, stood a huge silver-tip grizzly, which I recognized immediately as the same bear that had attempted to break into our commissary-shack the night previous. “ Bill Taylor !”’ I muttered, in alarm. Quickly raising my rifle, I took careful aim at his neck and fired. The bullet missed, but at the report of the rifle the beast uttered a fierce growl and headed straight for me. Having only one more round of ammunition, I took careful aim and fired again. This time the bullet grazed his right shoulder, and the big fellow roared angrily; then he suddenly halted, as if determining upon further action. Having no more cartridges, I hobbled as rapidly as possible over the jagged rocks and fallen

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26 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. trees, intent on seeking some point of safety. Let me tell you, incidentally, that running over a mountain top on a peg-ley is very exciting sport. After travelling about a hundred feet 1 came to an immense boulder, and much to my joy was able to scale it. I did so not a moment too soon either, for “ Bill” had resumed the chase and was lumbering over the rocks with surprising rapidity. He finally reached the boulder, and great was his roar of disappointment when he beheld my elevated position. Immediately he started up after me, but as he neared the top I gave him a sharp blow on his snout with the heavy butt of my rifle, which so angered him that he lost his foothold and slid to the bottom. There he sat gravely on his haunches, as if contemplating some brilliant move. Realizing that I had not a moment to lose, I quickly looked about for a more suitable place of safety. Not far from the boulder stood a tall cedar tree, with dead limbs extending from top to bottom. Could I but gain its top, I thought I would not only be much safer, but sufficiently high up to enable me to signal to our camp for help. While “ Bill Taylor’s”? attention was dis- tracted for a moment, I slid quietly down the other side of the boulder and started for the cedar tree. I was making fairly good progress when my wooden leg caught in an old branch “lying on the ground, causing me to trip and fall heavily. There was no hope of reaching the cedar tree now. The noise aroused the bear, and by the time I had got up I discovered, much to my alarm, that “ Bill Taylor” was not more than a couple of hundred feet away. As my empty rifle served only to impede my progress, I flung it in the direction of my pursuer and started helter-skelter over the mountain top. The situation was now critical. My only hope lay in the possibility that “ Bill Taylor ” would change his mind and cease following me. Never in my life did I hobble more frantically, and as I am somewhat near-sighted it was rather risky. I was making fairly good headway when my progress was suddenly cut short by a most frightful outlook. So narrow had been my escape from death that for a moment my breath left me. I stood trembling on the extreme edge of a precipice, the drop over whose well- nigh perpendicular wall was fully twelve hundred feet. All hope left me, for my pursuer was but a few yards away. There I stood, hopelessly wavering between the choice of being torn to pieces by an enraged bear or walking to instant death over the edge of the mountain side. Never in my life have 1 experienced a more dreadful moment. Happening to turn to my right, I noticed a gnarled oak tree only a few feet away, growing on the very edge of the cliff. My hopes rose in an instant. ‘Irue, the tree offered only a slim chance of safety, but I warmly embraced that chance. . Dizzy and exhausted as I was, I managed to stumble to the little oak. In scaling it, nearly every limb that I stepped on broke under my weight. Nevertheless, | was at the top—fully nine feet above the ground—before my pursuer reached the foot. It was a shaky seat which I occupied—a broken-off limb—and every time I looked down over that cliff a feeling of death- like sickness stole over me. “ Bill Taylor ” reached the tree a few seconds later. Bellowing with rage, he braced his bulky form against the trunk, rose on his hind feet, and began striking sledge-hammer blows at my overhanging legs. Each time he struck his steel-like claws came nearer the mark. Suddenly he made a vicious lunge for my tight leg, but as he did so I shoved the blade of my large pocket-knife into his snout. The big brute roared with pain, lost his footing, and rolled heavily to the ground. With him in his fall, however, went my only weapon of defence. From my point of vantage I could clearly see the tents at our camp, though they were almost a mile away. So I quickly removed my coat, intending, if possible, to signal for help. At that very instant, however, “ Bill Taylor ” made ready to renew his attack. He seemed determined not to be outwitted this time. Hugging the tree with his huge paws, he slowly rose to his full height. I shook my coat in his face, hoping to blind him ; but in an instant he had caught it in one of his paws and torn it from me. Then, before I realized it, he had my peg-leg in his iron-like jaws, and was slowly wrenching it from its strappings. Thoroughly terrified lest he should pull me bodily from my seat, I struggled madly to release the appliance, and after much twisting and one tremendous yank I finally succeeded in doing so. This so enraged the bear that he began striking furious blows right and left with his big paws. Suddenly he grabbed the trouser of my left leg and once again endeavoured to pull me from my seat. I had just about given way to utter despair when an idea came to me. Quickly unstrapping my already loosened peg-leg, I grasped the smaller end firmly in my hand. Then, summoning all my strength, I dealt “‘ Bill” a powerful blow over his right eye.

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a —_—_—_—"—~_S—r—rete™_ ets « BILL TAYLOR’S” LAST BATTLE. 27 The blow had the desired efiect. The huge grizzly Joosened his foot hold, struck heavily upwards at me from his position on the very edge of the cliff, and then, uttering one dreadful roar, lost his balance and went hurtling over its brink. My wooden leg followed him. * He had my peé-leg in his iron-lil was slowly wrenching it from its strapp' J was so weak from excitement that it was fully precipice. When we had almost reached it ten minutes before I could move. ‘Then I carefully the cook all of a sudden started on a run and Caescended the mountain, and with’ the aid of a did not stop until he came to a large grey heap. stout pine-stick hobbled back to camp. “Jt’s ‘Bill Taylor,’ sure enough!” he uttered, Here I related my experience to Rab Sunday, in great surprise. “ Fancy the bullet-proof old after which we both started for the bottom of the thief being killed by a wooden leg !”

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Round the United States in a Motor.- Car. Taking leave of a kindly pilot in Iowa. The luggage of the party was so compactly arranged that they gave the impression of being From a) ordinary motorists out for « spin. (Photograph. BY THOS. W. WILBY. An account of a wonderful journey. With his wife, the author has recently accomplished the only circular motor-car tour of the United States on record, travelling over nine thousand miles in just a hundred and five days, and traversing about twenty different States. This remarkable feat is not likely to have many imitators at present, since the route leads along rough trails through hundreds of miles of uninhabited wilderness, desert, and mountain passes. In spite of this fact, most of America’s natural marvele were seen from the car, and the author here describes how he reached them and narrates some of the perils and mishaps of his great journey. I. ir v5 facts dominated my mind when it has degenerated into an aimless. one-way (y iy in the autumn of 1911 I decided tush across the continent in which professionalism sl es | to take a car, by hook or by crook, = and dare-devil driving for records have been | as | completely round the United States. conspicuous. The idea of a sight-seeing tour of * ~ I wanted to see the country, and par- the entire country, therefore, came to me some- ticularly the West, apart from the train. I knew what in the nature of an inspiration. Only one that no one else had ever undertaken a circular man, a professional, had attempted in a measure tour of America by automobile, and furthermore, to circle the States and had failed. He had that whatever glory attached to the first motor “shipped”? the car for five hundred miles, trip across America from ocean to ocean was he had almost starved to death, his machine had already a Britisher’s — Dr. Horatio Nelson been swallowed by quicksands, he had been lost Jackson, a Canadian domiciled in the United for days in a blizzard, and was all but frozen States. In 1903 Dr. Jackson had started when the search-party found him and his com- for New York from San Francisco as a result panion. More than six months elapsed ere he of a bet made in a San Francisco club, and had _saw his starting-point again. reached the Atlantic in seventy-five days. What My route, as I laid it out, was to take me laurels, then, could another Britisher win ? from New York across the prairies of the Missis- “ Transcontinentalism,” which may be _ sippi Valley, the great plains and the Rockies, defined as the art of crossing America from ocean thence through the Sierra Nevadas into Cali- tc ocean in an automobile, has in the last few fornia, and on to San Francisco. This is what years become a kind of fad in spite of the des- is known as the Overland or Middle West Route. verate condition of roads and trails. Usually I then intended to follow the Pacific Slope to

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ROUND THE UNITED STATES IN A MOTOR-CAR. 29 San Diego, and return through Imperial Valley and the Great American Desert of the south- west by way of Flagstaff, Santa Fé, Kansas City, and Washington. Though there was no con- tinuous highway along these routes, there were at least recognized trails, and it seemed to me that those trails which had formed the natural routes of buffalo, Indian, and pioneer from time imme- morial would afford the best and most direct way to the chief points of interest. History and tradition, the desert and the wilderness, the great cow trails and the overland routes of Mormons and gold-seekers, the vast plains and rolling prairies of the fast-dying West, where buffalo and savage Indian alike had roamed until the white man had displaced them—all these floated like an endless panorama before my mind’s eye as I entered upon the work of pre- paration for the journey, which was to endure for a hundred and five days before we again saw the sky-scraping “canyons” of New York. Thus began the first sight-seeing circular tour of the United States ever made. I planned to travel and dress as an ordinary tourist, accom- panied by my wife. My driver was an expert who had crossed the continent before in a similar type of car, and who was therefore familiar with its mechanical secrets. The car was of American make, because the need of a high wilderness, where a break-down might entail serious hardship. I kept my baggage down to a trunk and suit-case, strapped on behind, two suit-cases and camera-case, tied on end to the coat-rail, so as to form an impromptu table, and a lunch-basket which we placed on the floor of the tonneau between the suit-cases and the seat. Nothing which was loose or could slip and slide was allowed in the car. The only handbags we had were placed by the side of the driver, the canteen hung on the side of the car, and the invaluable Thermos bottle, with a score of other odds and ends, was thrust under the slip-cover of the top. For that very-much-tried part of our anatomy, the smalls of our backs, we each had a handy khaki-covered pillow, and between us we strapped a buffer made up of coats and steamer rugs which, acting like an arm to a chair, helped us to hold on when the violent jerks of the car threatened physical disaster. To extricate us from tight places, we had a shovel, block and tackle, wheel-chains, and ropes forsand and mud. Sudden storms were provided against by means of a large tarpaulin, reserve oil-cans were carried on the running-board, there were a compass, a speedometer, and two odometers, two gay little flags fluttered at the sides of the wind-shield, and the device “‘ New MUTA orem EOP LAKE Ty ire an R y | HIGHWAY Le TEX 4. 5 ” ‘ Plan of the Wilby Circular Automobile Tour of the United States, August 31—December 13, t91I. Map of the route traversed during the Author's great journey. The party travelled over nine thousand miles in » bundred and five days, clearance would alone have disqualified an English car. It had seating capacity for five, Cape top, and weighed four thousand one hundred pounds fully loaded. The forty horse-power engines were capable of developing as high a speed as fifty-five miles and as low as four miles per hour without changing gears. The springs were care- fully chosen with regard to the right kind of flexibility on the rough roads, and the mud- guards gave us complete immunity from mud. Lightness of equipment was a matter of supreme importance to me, as we had before us thousands of miles of desert and plains, mountain and York to San Francisco ” was painted on the rim of the tyre-trunk with the avowed object of keeping our courage at the sticking-point on the long journey. In order to reduce liability to punctures and blow-outs, we carried unusually wide tyres, which were somewhat deflated when crossing the deserts. We selected the waning summer for the start, thus escaping high temperatures. The first part of our route was along the Hudson and Mohawk Valleys to Niagara Falls; thence along we skirted the Great Lakes to Chicago, which we reached in ten days.

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30 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a\ The roads up to the “ Windy City” were mostly smooth, and we found excellent hotels for noon and night stops. In fact, from any point of the road a big town could be reached within a hour or two. We crossed the Missis- sippi at Davenport, and then commenced the long run to the Missouri at Omaha by way of Des Moines. There had been heavy rains ahead of us, and soon we began to fairly wallow in mud of the greasy, black kind known as ‘“ gumbo.” We were now face to face with the one real, vital consideration of the undertaking—the American “ dirt” road. The foreigner, making its acquaintance for the first time, not unjustly marvels at a national complacency which tolerates this anachronism. Storms may render a “dirt” road impassable for weeks; a dry spell will smother the traveller in clouds of dust that is often surcharged with poisonous alkali. Gently, and almost imperceptibly, however, we were being prepared for what was to come, but it took many days of trial ere we acquired that degree of moral courage necessary to enable us to overcome the physical obstacles in our path. Once we had crossed the Missouri, we caught the first glimpses of that elusive West which is for ever retreating from the advancing East. Before us stretched the great plains of Nebraska, where once roamed the buffalo and the antelope ; but which have now been converted into the granary of the nation. There had been no rain- fall to speak of, and we were able to make fairly good time along these natural highways that run for hundreds of miles across the level plains between barbed-wire fences and the eternal telegraph-poles. Near Kearney we were following the old Mormon trail on the edge of the dry country. Where they had not fallen under the hands of the agriculturist, the parched, rolling hills were covered with sage-brush, which, together with the kindred greasewood, is the sign and symbol of the wilderness. We often saw a sweep of virgin, brush-covered land extending to the horizon, and amid which we The car on the great plains where the buffalo once roamed. (Photograph. seemed to be mere specks in infinity. In Wyoming lonely mountain trails, far from human habitation, recalled to us the need of extra precaution in the matter both of food and automobile supplies. Our petrol-tank held seventeen gallons, good for a hundred and sixty to a hundred and seventy miles on level roads ; but such calculations were not to be depended upon in the Rockies, where one might use up several gallons endeavouring to get out of a gully or other awkward place. Our daily runs, from an average of something like a hundred and twenty miles, had now been cut down to under a hundred on entering Wyoming. Mid- day lunch was now taken al fresco, owing to the absence of any better accommodation than a few shacks set down on the plains. We stocked frape-juice, malted milk, and beef-tea tablets, and bought whatever supplies we could before setting out in the morning. The climb of the Rockies was gradual, and we had unforgettable days when the mountain road was as smooth as glass. It was indeed difficult to believe, as we crossed the Sherman Pass at an elevation of eight thousand one hundred feet, that we were on the summit of the Continental Divide. But a sudden hail- storm struck us as we were gazing at the pyra- midal monument which marks the highest point in the Union Pacific railroad system, pelting us unmercifully with huge hail-stones until the driver had thrown the big tarpaulin over us. When we emerged again the world looked sinister and cold, and civilization remote. For still another ten days or more those rocky fastnesses were to hold us, and incident and adventure were to unfold themselves in quick succession. Indeed, only a thousand yards beyond the monument, as we followed the downward slope of the plateau, we were suddenly conscious of the fact that the car was slipping off her course like a rudderless ship. We had absolutely no control on the greasy earth. She turned sideways, then swung stern-on down a

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ROUND THE UNITED STATES IN A MOTOR-CAR, 3i cut or “wash.” There was a sudden jolt, a shower of blinding rain, and the car stopped with a crash. We crawled out in the mud and rain, and saw that she had buried her spring- hangers deep into the bank. The storm passed and found us digging out the monster of steel and petrol, which was hereafter to bear us round America, so twisted in her frame that she would never again steer “ true.” But the wound, happily, was not mortal, and we headed her for the broad uplands of the Medicine Bow Range, where streams run into sinks and are lost or disappear in alkali flats. Here the wind blew violently out of the north, the sky grew threateningly darker and darker with storm-clouds, and the trails became confusing. It was ranch-land, but we saw no ranch-houses, and seldom a wire fence—nothing but the eternal brush and distant mountains watching us in their dim, misty, blue way. We were amid the haunts of the slinking coyote, whose “kill” in the shape of bones of colts and calves began to show along our path. Some- times we caught the wolfish eyes watching us warily, but always at a safe distance. Occasionally an antelope would spring across our path, and we would catch a sudden view of the American From a) Alone in the wilderness. grey and black hare, the jackass-rabbit, as he leaped in and out of the sage-brush. We were now miles from anywhere, describing a great arc that must eventually bring us in a north- westerly direction. through the wilderness to the “cow town” of Medicine Bow. Once or twice a rude board, sticking up a few inches out of the ground, did duty as a finger-post. Then twilight fell. An antelope bounded across the skyline and disappeared ; badger holes gaped wide in the trail and sent us bouncing skyward. At last complete darkness fell, and then a confused cluster of crazy, shadowy shacks and the familiar American wooden house set down at the very edge of the sage came into view— Medicine Bow. Medicine Bow is the meeting-point of the great cow trails, as they run up from the south and penetrate to the bleak regions of Montana. Owen Wister has told of its strange life in “ The Virginian.” Lights gleamed from the windows of the saloons, where rough-dressed men leant care- lessly against the bars. A thin man, soft of speech, and with dark, lynx eyes, drifted to us out of the gloom. He might have been gun- man, gambler, dreamer, poet, or saloon-keeper, (Photograph.

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32 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. or all combined. But we were to find that he was the sublimated spirit of the new and optimistic West. for he had planned and built a hig, incongruous hotel of concrete. “That freak isn’t finished,” he said, whimsi- cally.‘ But you all come into my house, and we'll make you comfortable for the night.” We groped our way to a small wooden house, with the universal veranda, and entering by the kitchen soon found ourselves discussing fried meat, hot biscuit, and a diversity of fruit preserves at a long table crowded by the rough but good-natured faces of the hotel-builders. There was no getting into the hotel except by the fire-escapes. “You're just four days too early,” said our host, regretfully. ‘We open in true Western fashion, and Owen Wister will preside at the ceremonies. Sure, there'll be cowboys on hand, and broncho-bustin’ an’ a prize-fight, because that hotel’s to be called ‘ The Virginian.’ ” As I chmbed the fire-escape with him next morning to inspect the caravanserai, he grew communicative: ‘‘ They think me mad to lay on ‘hot and cold,’ and private baths, fire-escapes, and electric lights out in these wilds. Cowboys and ranchmen haven't much use for brass bedsteads and mirrors. Still, mirrors are ‘right handy’ to shoot up.” He chuckled as he led us over his ‘‘ palace” by the lone water- tank and the thirsty land. ‘ But I’ve been mayor and judge and sheriff of this cow-town, and I’m not so mad as not to know that Medicine Bow has a future. I’m building for the future. The city’s coming—sure !” I surveyed it all a few minutes later from the lofty, bulging drum of the railroad water-tank, he, not a bit dizzy, carrying my camera, because he had been used to dropping from the skies in parachutes before he took to building embryo cities. The land looked worth about a dollar a mile, and existence rather less. But it was the spirit of men like this which made the West— which even now is redeeming the wilderness, even though it be applied to the dignifying of shabby little towns like Medicine Bow. Finding the way in the West is by no means an easy task. As a rule, one gropes his way as best he can. However, where there is no road there is usually a trail, more or less worn. Sign- posts are conspicuous by their absence. Some- times there is a confusion of trails running ate all angles through the unfenced sage-brush or greasewood. Between these bushes grow rabbit- brush and bunch grass. I am speaking now of the wilderness rather than of the plains, on which grows only the short, almost invisible buffalo grass. Trees are universally absent, except in the higher altitudes of the Rocky plateaus. Occasionally one sees pine, but the staple tree is the dwarf cedar, whose dark green branches stand out strikingly against the tawny grey of the grass and the deep blue of the sky. On the rolling plateaux these proved a welcome shelter, under which we crept for rest, or for midday lunch. Mountains alone relieved the general monotony of the landscape, but a subtle beauty and witchery of colouring was with us everywhere—colour in the rocks, colour in the atmosphere—and pervading all a sense of grandeur and space, and the mystery of a land on which a great past has left its inexpressible stamp. Often we had to try several trails before we hit the right one. In spite of verbal directions, we were “lost”? many times. Fre- quently for fifty miles or more we were com- pelled to follow a couple of wheel-tracks on a sandy plain, gleaming white with that dreaded phenomenon of these arid regions—alkali. This was especially true of the Red Desert and the Bitter Creek country in Wyoming, where we crossed for many miles the dry and cracked surface of a former luke. We took care to avoid drinking any water which had the slightest suspicion of alkali in it, as its poisonous effect was often observable in the shape of the bleached bones of ranch cattle, which, by the way, sometimes formed excellent, if melancholy, sign-posts. “Turn left by the dead steer,” or “ Proceed to bones on hill,” were not unusual directions * for us to receive from ranchmen. Utah gave us the most surprising experiences and adventures in the art of trail-following, in which I think we can safely say that we acquired something of the instinct of an Indian. Before us was the problem which faces the Trans- continentalist in Utah, after he has passed that remarkable landmark, the Devil's Slide—the problem of which route to take, the one to the north or the one to the south of the lake. We proceeded to Ogden and took counsel there. Then we went to Salt Lake City, and took counsel there, only to find that we had exploded a veritable mine of controversy between the rival cities. The capital interpreted our advent as a proof that Brigham Young’s poplar-shaded city was in the direct line of march to the coast ; Ogden retaliated with gigantic headlines and the withering scorn of a triumphant foe. When at last we decided upon the northern route, we discovered, to our dismay, that heavy rains had preceded us, and that it was necessary to take to the mountains by way of the Mormon village of Snowville, if we would avoid miles of mud and the dangerous alkali flats. The oral directions were hardly illuminating, our

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ROUND THE UNITED STATES IN A MOTOR-CAR. 33 only source of instruction being a fur-trader, who had covered part of the route a year before. He was a fellow-guest at a log hut, which did duty as ‘‘ hotel,” and he assured us that if we went west ‘“‘a piece” we should find a fork round a “ sink,’ then by turning north we should “by and by” find another fork that led west again to a right turn that led through somebody’s ranch, where ‘‘ maybe ”’ there was still a sign-post. Anyway, we “ couldn’t miss ” the road. Unfortunately, however, as we soon found out, the worthy Westerner had forgotten to mention half-a-dozen other forks that all led around the “ sink,” and so we did immediately “miss” it to good effect, for we wandered hither and thither for several hours, through mud and as it proved, for we travelled to San Francisco before we put in a new spring. In spite of the uninviting wet alkali trail ahead, we determined to carry out our pro- gramme for the day, and to try to “ make” Lucin (an “hotel” and railroad station). But as darkness fell we were still struggling along through an interminable succession of “ wash- outs,” past the deserted towns of an abandoned railroad line. By eight o’clock we were held fast in a gully, perhaps nine feet deep, and as wet and slippery as the most adventurous spirit could desire. The engines roared and groaned as the car desperately essayed the slope again and again. We shoved, we pushed, all was unavailing. The hubs of the rear wheels sank From a) a drenching rain, before a chance human being disclosed the fact that we were eighteen miles off our course on the Idaho State line. There was nothing to do but gloomily retrace our way, discover the proper road, and start out afresh. When, at about three o’clock of a dismal after- noon, we succeeded in reaching our luncheon destination, Kelton, we were not cheered to find that we had lost a wheel-chain as well as the road, and had broken the upper leaf of a front spring. This was the first real disaster in three thousand two hundred miles—not a bad one, Vol. xxi 3, A halt for lunch in Utah. (Photograph. lower and lower into the mud. Finally, some distance up the “ wash” a small bed of gravel was discovered. Laboriously. shovelful by shovel- ful, the driver brought it to the car and, jacking up the wheels, inserted it between the rubber tyres and the wet alkali. The process was slow. We got out the block and tackle, and fastening it to the front of the car my wife and I pulled strenuously. At last by these united efforts we conquered the wretched gully, and the car stood again on ferra firma. We looked at our watches. The hour was twelve-thirty , we

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34 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A contrast ia Wag-disiancs travel. The aiudera " prairie schooner" bere shown bad already iravelled usarly iwo thousand mae From a) when it met the car. were cold and hungry, and a front tyre, as exhausted as ourselves, breathed its last—the first tyre to need attention in all the journey thus far. With a new tyre, and some material refresh- ment from the luncheon-basket, we set forth again in the chilly darkness. There were more gullies and no possible way around them. History repeated itself—and this time, being too weary for renewed herculean efforts at escape, we presently gave ourselves up to the fates. Frequently we crawled out of the car to sprint up and down in the sage to get warm ; semi-occasionally we slept, coiled uncomfortably amongst the suit-cases, canteens, and umbrellas of Transcontinental travel. Dawn saw us devouring the last of our food supply over a brushwood fire, and nerving ourselves for the impending struggle. Three hours, and we were out and on our. way again. But the “hotel” where we breakfasted towards noon, and where we should have spent the night, only served to completely reconcile us to the gully. And now there came the smooth mountain trails that unite the mining settlements of Nevada, crossing in long, yellow ribbons valley after valley, and range after range. There were wonderful landscapes of sunny, cloud-swept sky, bare mountains, and sage, lonely ranches shaded (Photograph. by a few cotton-woods, and great flats of alkali, now, fortunately, smooth and dry. Day after day we travelled, alone in the wilderness, traversing a path long ago made famous by the gold-seekers of the East, who sought the treasure hidden in these grim mountains of Nevada and the California beyond. At last we found our- selves in the pastoral scenery of Reno, the strange colony of the divorcées, and then, almost at once, we were climbing through the lofty Sierras and among the beautiful, jewel-like mountain lakes that herald the glory of California, on our way to San Francisco. It had taken us forty days to cross. Eager for new adventures, we set out along the Pacific Slope about the middle of October for San Diego, a distance of five hundred and seventy miles. We were ahead of the rainy season, and the air was balmy. We planned to follow the oldest of all the trails in the United States, the Camino Real, or old Spanish Missions Road, which is marked by mission bells as sign-posts. It traverses a veritable fairyland of orange-groves and live-oak forests, of palm-lined avenues, and flowering highways varied by mountain passes with steep grades, and by long, sandy stretches beside the blue waters of the ocean. But the charm of the landscape is nothing compared to the romantic old churches established, from the

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ROUND THE UNITED STATES IN A MOTOR-CAR. 35 Mexican border to San Francisco, by Father Junipero Serra and his sandal-shod, long-robed Spanish followers. Father Serra founded the first mission at San Diego in 1769 for the purpose of converting the Indians. During the following forty years other missions were established in a chain extending north along the coast and connected by trails across the mountains and through the forest, over which travelled the robed padres of the Franciscan order. These pathways, worn by the footsteps of the good old priests, became the present King’s highway. There are now some twenty missions of varied architecture, some built of stone and others of adobe, some in a deplorable state of disrepair orruin and others, like Santa Barbara, possessing great picturesqueness, and being still in use as monastic buildings or as churches for regular services. But the mission Indian has long since disappeared. At San Juan Capistrano, had still four thousand miles before us, and at our feet, beyond the rolling hills which guard the southern coast, stretched the Great American Desert. Almost immediately after leaving the town we were again in a world of wild desolation and trails without sign-posts. For countless miles we were to catch only occasional signs of civilization’s outpost—the railroad, for which we were generally thankful. Ever since leaving New York State we had crossed hundreds of railroad tracks without any sign of protective gates or watchmen, and the prospect of the engine going wrong or break- ing our flywheel while we were on the metals more than counteracted the feeling of assurance which a handy train might otherwise have inspired. Trails, too, had always been in a deplorable condition wherever they hugged the railroad. The car on an alkeli flat. Sometimes these deadly wastes stretched to the horizon giving the travellers an uncanny impression of From a) being the last inhabitants of a dead world. of which only a single corner has been repaired for use as a tiny chapel, we found a young Irish priest in charge, a rude tent amid the ruined cloisters doing duty as his “cell.” At scarred old San Luis Rey we were in the heart of a country which charms the eye with its soft, rolling landscapes and great sweep of sapphire ocean. There is a Southern languor over every- thing, and the country-side is still more Mexican than American in character. October the nineteenth saw us pushing our way joyfully out of San Diego, headed eastward. We (Photograph. We soon realized the advantage which we had scored in crossing the Southern Desert so well into the autumn. We were destined to escape the terrible heat which in the history of pioneering has filled its pages with tragedy after tragedy. Here is the home of the mountain lion, the vulture. and the carrion crow ; here is the land of the lonely water-hole and the poisoned pool; and here, too, are the shifting sands and the deep, overheated depressions in the wilderness which were once the beds of vanished seas. (To be concluded.)

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THE END OF AN OUTLAW. BY A. G. FRANCIS. ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE SOPER. Our issue for October, 1910, contained an article entitled “ The Evolution of a Bandit,” describing the lawless career of one Harvey Logan, alias “ Kid” Curry, who was described as having the longest criminal record ever known in the United States. Curry specialized in train ‘“hold-ups” and bank robberies, and for years, with his band, he terrorized the West, having many murders to his credit and rewards aggregating forty thousand dollars on his head. Finally, finding things getting too hot in the States, Curry and his lieutenant, ‘ Butch " Cassidy, with other desperadoes, migrated to the Argentine Republic, where they initiated further robberies. A typical exploit of the brigands in South America was described in our May, 1gtt, number, under the title of “* The Bandits of the Argentine.” Now comes the sequel, published below—the striking story of Curry’s last “hold-up” and the manner in which he and Cassidy came to theirend, told by a man who—little guessing their real identity—was their host for several weeks and, later, an unwilling ‘accessory after the fact.” T the time I made the acquaintance of “ Kid” Curry and George Leroy Parker, alias “ Butch” Cassidy, I was employed in superintending the transportation of a large gold-dredve from the village of Verdugo, in the valley of the Rio San Juan de Oro, Sud Chicas, Bolivia, to a new site near Esmoraca, at the source of the same river. The country thereabouts is very rough and uncivili-ed, inhabited principally by Indians with extremely primitive ideas. Roads, as we understind the term in England, are un- known, and consequently the work of trans- porting a large quantity of heavy and bulky machinery and constructional ironwork was a slow and arduous task, attended by many difficulties and occasionally not a little danger. The work was done by means of heavy two- wheeled carts, drawn by six, nine, or twelve mules, and owing to hard work, poor pay, and the hardships inseparable from the life, the carrcros,or carters, were recruited from a very low class of humanity. My crowd of about thirty men were made up of Argentine and Chilian criminals of various degrees and Bolivian half-castes. The pueblo of Verdugo is situated about five leagues from the town of Tupiza, in which town resided the only other Britisher within several days’ journey. I had my quarters in a fairly large adobe house, in which I also kept a store for the supply of the necessities of life to the men. One evening during the month of August, 1908, I was enjoying a solitary meal, when a loud outcry on the part of my dogs announced the arrival of visitors. Going to the door of my house I was in time to greet two riders, who, from their saddles and general appearance, I judged to be Americans. This opinion was confirmed when one of the new-comers, a burly, pleasant-looking man with a moustache, said cheerily :— “How do? We have seen Teddy ”—my friend—“ in town, and he told us you wouldn’t object to having us stop here a while to rest our animals.” “Get your saddles off, boys,” I said, “ and come right in.” I then called my boy to attend to the new- comers’ animals, and after secing that this was done I rejoined my visitors. The big fellow, who I afterwards found was the famous “ Kid ” Curry, informed me that his name was Frank Smith, and the other, a rather slightly - built man of middle height, with a fair beard and moustache and eyes like gimlets, was George Low (George Leroy Parker, alias ‘“ Butch” Cassidy). They had been in the stock business together, and later on intended to proceed to the Argentine. During the next two or three days, while the men were busy loading the carts for the next journey, Smith and Low proved very pleasant and amusing companions, and I was therefore not at all sorry when, as we were about to start on our trip to Esmoraca, they offered to accom- pany me. For the following few weeks the transport work went on as usual, Smith remaining with me and Low spending a good part of his time in visits to Tupiza. At the time I had no idea that he had any other motive in this but that of enjoyment, but that there was another object will appear later in my story. Of course, it was impossible to live for any period with these men in such intimate com- panionship without becoming aware that they were somewhat out of the ordinary run of men to be met with, even in Bolivia, although no suspicion of the real truth had so far crossed my mind. Then, one night at Verdugo, an incident occurred which gave me an insight into the character of Smith (or Curry) when roused.

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THE END OF AN OUTLAW. 37 We had returned one afternoon from a fort- night’s trip with the carts, and as was customary on these occasions, the carreros, after unhitching and feeding the mules, gathered in the big room of my store to indulge in a debauch for the evening. After some two or three hours spent in this manner, Curry—as I shall now call him—who was always ready to promote fun of any descrip- tion, ordered a barrel of native wine to be taken “Curry drew his revolver and dropped two shots between the Chilian's legs.” down to the men’s camp, distant about a hundred yards from the house. This being arranged, I closed the store, and accompanied Curry to watch the dance which was already in progress amongst the carreros and their womenfolk. Curry was extremely fond of dancing, and for some time enjoyed himself in this way. However, becoming thirsty after a while, he seated himself opposite to me at the fire, and we amused ourselves by watching the antics of the various dancers. Suddenly I saw a man named Martinez, a great hulking Chilian, with a most unsavoury reputa- tion, who had taken a dislike to Curry, start up and, drawing a formidable knife, rush towards him, uttering at the same time vile threats and imprecations in Spanish. Before Martinez reached him, however, although only a few yards away, Curry drew his revolver and dropped two shots between the Chilian’s legs. Martinez stopped, and the other men, their attention drawn by the shots, rushed towards Curry, with the evident intention of espousing their

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companion’s quarrel. Without an_ instant’s pause, Curry swung his weapon round and fired straight at them. It takes a fairly brave crowd to face even one man under such con- ditions, and my carreros were not made of the stuff required to walk up to the guns of the enemy. They scattered in all directions, and were lost in the dark- ness. Curry immediately walked up to Martinez, who had __ remained rooted to the spot, and, seizing him by the hand grasping the knife, dug the muzzle of his revolver in his ribs, saying, “ Quiere mas?” (Do you want any more?) The big Chilian promptly disclaimed any desire for further trouble, and when Curry released him he sullenly retired. All this occurred much more rapidly than it From a Photograph, Curry, the outlaw. From a Photograph. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. takes to tell, and it is principally worthy of record as showing the readiness and rapidity of action of this famous bandit when in a tight corner. Curry and myself then returned to the store, when he remarked, “ I'll kill that man, sure.” Regaining the store, we barricaded the door, as well as the inner room, for we feared further trouble. - Some little time later we were startled by the one window of the room in which we were sitting coming in with a terrific crash, followed a second later by the outer door of the house, which yielded to the impact of a huge rock. The carreros, mad with fury and their copious libations, at once poured into the outer room, uttering threats of the vilest description against “los Ingleses.” Curry’s first action was to reach over and extinguish the solitary candle which illuminated the inner room. Then he planted himself against the PPS plank door leading to the _ big outer room of the house. Meanwhile, the threats and | curses of the men with- | out continued, while some | of their number searched for some means of illu- mination to enable them to see how best they could break down the frail door that separated us from them. “What do you say, kid?” said Curry. “ Shall we open the door, get out at them, and make a break for the corral ? ” “T don’t fancy our chance,” I replied. “ There are too many of them in the open.” “All right,” said Curry. “I'll try a shot through the door at the big savage,” meaning Martinez. “Martinez and Bartolo are right up against the door now,” I told him. With that Curry fired. There was a yell, and then silence, which I immediately took advantage of to call out to the capataz, Bartolo, that unless he and his men returned at once to their camp we would open fire on them through the door with our rifles. Evidently the shot and my threat as to what would follow had a salutary effect upon the now partially sobered carreros, for after consulting a few moments a second shot from Curry caused them to vacate the premises hurriedly—not, however, without giving us to understand in very unequivocal terms that their vengeance was only postponed. During the remainder of the night Curry and George Par! “ Butch ~ Curry's accomplice. From a Photograph.

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THE END OF myself relieved each other on watch, not knowing at what moment our assailants might return. As soon as the dawn appeared I suggested to Curry that, as their quarrel seemed mainly with him, it would perhaps be as well if he saddled up and rode into town, leaving me to deal with the men. He was very reluctant to do this, and wanted to remain and, as he said, “ Kill the big savage.” However, I pointed out that if anybody was killed an inquiry would result in Tupiza, and that this would probably interfere with the transport work, which we were very anxious to get finished before the rainy season came on. This—and possibly the reflection that an inquiry in Tupiza would upset his own plans—decided him, and he rode away at daybreak, while the carreros were still under their blankets. I had not long to wait after his departure before Bartolo, Martinez—with his shoulder bandaged —and several other carters made their appear- ance. They were still very angry, but for- tunately sober, and after a good deal of recrimina- tion and big talk, the affair was more or less smoothed over, it not being to my advantage on account of the work to still further antagonize the men just then. Starting on our next trip, Parker went ahead with the carts, while Curry remained with me to settle a few outstanding matters. We were delayed longer than we anticipated, so that it was late in the afternoon of the follow- ing day before we set off to catch up the men. Overtaken by a mist on the pampa, we were forced to make the best of our way to the Argentine Custom House, in order to obtain food and shelter. On our arrival, however, we found that their supply of forage was very small, and consequently, on leaving early next morning, we wended our way to the frontier pueblo of Santa Catalina, in order to obtain a square feed for our animals. The Comisario (magistrate) of Santa Catalina was a friend of mine, and in addition to his official duties kept a store, so we decided to fill our requirements at his estab- lishment. On our arrival we found that my friend had two other visitors, the Comisarios of Cordoba and Jujuy, two important towns in the Argentine Republic. It will give my readers some idea of the coolness of “ Kid” Curry when it is explained that this noted bandit had for some years been sought after by the Argentine police, and his photograph and description circulated throughout the country, on account of several daring bank robberies committed by him and his associates in that Republic. After our host had introduced us to the two AN OUTLAW. 39 magistrates, the whole party settled down to the enjoyment of several aperitivos together, and later on, when breakfast was announced, Curry and myself were invited to join our new friends at this repast. At breakfast we became quite a merry party, and on the conclusion of the meal we amused ourselves for some time by various trials of strength. It was while one of these was in progress that I saw Curry suddenly break away from the two Comisarios and disappear through the door. A moment later I heard his horse gallop past. Although ignorant of the cause of this sudden departure, I lost no time in following his lead, and mounting my animal, standing ready in the patio, I clattered away in pursuit. On over- taking Curry, which he only allowed me to do on seeing that I was unaccompanied, he explained that the men had tried to take away his revolver, and he did not allow anyone to do that. Some time afterwards he further enlightened me by saying that he thought that the Cordoba man had recognized him and wished to disarm him in an apparently friendly way. On leaving the village a mile or two behind we quitted the road, and for the next four or five hours climbed up one side and scrambled and slid down the other of some of the most rocky, rugged, and barren mountains possible to conceive—habitation or vegetation there was none—until we finally reached the camp about eleven o’clock at night. On our return to Verdugo, Curry paid a few days’ visit to Tupiza, and on his return had a long private conversation with Parker, following whic . the latter rode off to town, and Curry and I went down the river to take up our quarters at Tomahuiaco, distant about a league from Verdugo. There we remained until, some five days later, Parker returned. The following day Parker requested me to lend him my big grey horse and rode away with Curry back to town. Arriving in Tupiza, they put up at the Hotel Internacional, passing the evening with cards and drink in the fashion prevalent in that country. Next morning they were astir early, unostentatiously watching the offices of Senores Aramayo Francke and Cia., and at about ten a.m. they saw the manager of this company’s smelting works near Cotagaita, his son, and two muleteers ride out of the town with several pack animals, on their return to the works. The two Americans then returned to the hotel, saddled their animals, and entering the bar for a last drink exchanged remarks with several men whom they knew. “Where are you off to, boys?” said one. “We're going to get a nice little packet,” replied Parker, smiling. “Such a nice little packet.””

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Pry . THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Then without further explanation they rode away. Thit same night I was sleeping in a hammock slung between two posts on the veranda at Tomahuiaco, when about one o'clock I was awakened by the barking of my dogs, and, lookiny towards the road, dimly dis- cerned two horsemen approaching, one leading a spare animal. I called out, “‘Quienes son?” (Who are you ?), and Parker’s voice answered :— “Don’t you know your old horse in the dark, kid?” I immediately tumbled out and helped them to unsaddle. Parker appeared to be sick, and after taking his gear into my room immediately turned in. Curry and I, however, went into the dining-room, and he made a very fair meal on “The bandits sternly commanded them to pat their bands up.”

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THE END OF AN OUTLAW. 4 whatever I could find, during which he enter- tained me with an account of their latest exploit. : When they first arrived in Tupiza from the north of Bolivia, he told me, their intention was to hold up the National Bank there. However, a few days after their arrival the Albaroa cavalry regiment arrived to take up their quarters in the town, and as this regiment was in barracks in the same square as the Bank, and only a stone’s-throw from it, they decided that it was too dangerous for the moment to attempt this proceeding, and that it would be necessary to await the regiment’s removal to another part of the country. It was then that they looked about for an out-of-the-way retreat in which to pass the time, and came out to me at Verdugo. Their funds getting low, however, and no signs of the departure of the regiment being apparent, they had to alter their plans. During their many visits to Tupiza they made unobtrusive inquiries, and learnt that it was the custom for Messrs. Aramayo Francke and Cia. tc send the pay-money for their employés at the smelter and neighbouring mines (amount- ing in value to sixteen thousand pounds), once every month by means of pack-mules escorted by two or three arrieros. After completing their inquiries they went over and made their final arrangements for carrying out a “hold-up,” and then quietly returned and waited for the next remittance to be sent. After watching the departure of the escort on the morning in question, and singling out one of the pack-mules possessed by the party for capture later on, they returned to the hotel, and left almost at once, as I have already stated. Taking a much shorter and rougher track over the mountains, they reached the spot already selected by them for the scene of the “hold-up ’ some time in advance of the pay escort, taking the precaution on their way thither to cut the telegraph wires in several places. They then hid their animals near by, and masking their faces with large handkerchiefs kept a good look- out up and down the track with the field- glasses which Curry always carried slung over the front of his saddle. Entirely unsuspecting, Messrs. Aramayo Francke’s employés drew near, and on rounding a slight bluff were taken completely by surprise by the bandits, who, on foot in the middle of the road, Winchester rifles in hand, sternly com- manded them to put their hands up. This order being obeyed with only a slight hesitation on the part of the escort, Curry kept guard over the party while Parker caught the mule carrying the remittance and rapidly transferred the con- tents of the “ petacas ” (raw-hide trunks) to his ,saddle-bags. Finding, however, that the amount was not nearly so much as was anticipated, he thoroughly searched the “ petacas”’ carried by the other animals. His search revealing nothing further of value, he ques- tioned the chief of the party, and the robbers then learnt to their dis- gust that, with the excep- tion of the sixteen thou- sand dollars of which they had already taken posses- sion, the pay-money had been sent on some days previously. Parker and Curry wasted no further time, but with- out molesting the escort in any way ordered them to continue their journey to the mines on peril of being shot if they turned back. After watching the party well out of sight the

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42 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. two bandits mounted thei- animals and, leading the mule they had taken from the escort, made their way across the mountains to a desolate spot, where they decided to wait until nightfall before pursuing their journey to Tomahuiaco. As soon as darkness came on they resumed their march, and finally de cended into the valley of the Rio San Juan, about a league below the house in which I was quartered, having encoun- tered not a soul since the departure of the escort. After giving me these particulars, Curry joined his partner in my room, and I returned to my hammock to pass the rest of the night. I thought deeply over the story I had just heard, and did not at all care for the position in which I found myself, practically the accessory of a couple of brigands. I did not see what I could do to alter matters, however ; any attempt to give the men away would undoubtedly have cost me my life, and that very quickly. We were all astir shortly after daybreak, and nothing having yet been heard in the neighbour- hood regarding the affair, everything went on as usual. At about ten a.m., the two bandits and the writer being seated on the veranda, we received our first tidings from Tupiza by the arrival of an acquaintance on a spent horse, who exclaimed as he dismounted :— “You had better get out of this, boys ; they are saddling up a hundred men to come after you.” After he had refreshed himself with a drink, the new-comer told us that the news of the “hold-up” had reached Tupiza the previous evening, and that parties of soldiers, accompanied by Indian trackers, had been out all night search- ing for traces of the outlaws. He had heard just before leaving Tupiza that tracks had been found, and had seen the soldiers mustering in the Plaza. on which he had secured the best horse he could obtain and galloped ail the way to Tomahuiaco to warn the two friends. After telling us that the soldiers could not be very far distant, he again mounted and rode away. When he had gone Curry turned to me. “You might tell that boy of yours to get breakfast ready quickly, will you, kid?” he said. “I suppose we had better be moving.” Curry and Parker then began to get their riding gear ready, deciding to take with them the mule they had stolen the previous day, but leaving their pack behind. ‘They displayed no Nervousness or hurry in their proceedings, and, when breakfast was ready, we disposed of the meal in very gvod spirits and with considerable appetite. “Say, kid,” said Curry, suddenly turning to me, “‘ you had better saddle up and come with « ” us. Needless to say, that was the last thing I wished to do, but argument was useless. Evidently Curry wanted to make certain of my silence. I accordingly saddled up, and shortly after the three of us started up the river at a gentle trot, Parker leading the stolen mule and Curry and myself following behind. “Suppose the soldiers arrive” said I, “what are you going to do about it?” “ Why, we’ll just sit down behind a rock and get to work,” replied Curry, calmly. Reflecting upon my position, I felt it to be a very unenviable one, as, should the soldiers catch us, I should certainly stand a very good chance of suffering the same fate as my com- panions, although entirely innocent of any complicity in their crimes. However, no other course being open to me, I decided to put as good a face on the matter as possible, and trust to my good luck to pull me through. Presently I asked a question. “ Where are you going to—the Argentine ? ” “No,” replied Curry, “we can’t go there. We want you to guide us up that narrow quebrada (canyon) to Estarca. We are going to make for Uyuni and the north again. Once we get there we know a place to lie low in until this affair blows over.” “T think you're foolish,” I answered. “Oh, they won’t get us,” said Curry, con- fidently. Shortly after this we turned off the main bed of the river into the narrow and winding canyon leading to the small Indian pueblo of Estarca, having seen nothing of our pursuers. Now, for the first time, I felt that I had a fair chance of escape should we be overtaken, as this canyon turns and twists to such an extent that the track is not visible for more than about a hundred yards at one time throughout its length, very frequent fordings of the river being necessary, with inaccessible heights on either side. Late in the afternoon we drew near the village, and I was then instructed by my companions to ride ahead, make inquiries as to whether all was safe, and should such be the case return to the river road, when they would enter the village I did so, and finding that no news of the “ hold- up” had been received, returned and awaited the arrival of the two bandits. Engaging a room, which I had occupied on many previous visits, we made our arrange- ments for the night, the two partners occupying a bed in the corner, and I a mattress placed on the floor immediately opposite the door. “ Good night, kid,” said Curry. “I wish we could celebrate to-night, but in the circum- stances it won’t do.” I fell asleep very soon, and did not wake until

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THE END OF AN OUTLAW. 48 roused by the daylight, when I went into the village to make inquiries and purchase _pro- visions. Finding that everything was quiet, I returned to the house, and shortly afterwards we left the village on our journey towards Uyuni. About eight o’clock that morning, after learn- ing all the particulars I could give them regarding the road they wished to follow, Curry and Parker suddenly pulled up their animals, and the former held out his hand. “Well, good-bye, kid,” he said. ‘“ You don’t want to come any further with us. If you meet those soldiers, tell them you passed us on the road to the Argentine.” Exchanging farewells, I turned my horse and rode towards Tomahuiaco, catching the last glimpse I ever had of the bandits alive as they rounded a bend in the valley. The following day an Indian passing Toma- huiaco informed me that two white men had been killed the previous evening at San Vicente, a village about fourteen leagues from where I had left Curry and Parker. His description of these men tallying with that of the robbers, I saddled up at once and rode to San Vicente, learning on the way further details which con- vinced me that it was indeed my late com- panions who had come to their untimely end. On reaching the scene of the tragedy, I learnt that two “ gringos”” had arrived at the village demanding lodgings, and had been directed to the house of the correjidor (Indian justi e of the peace). It being quite customary to seek enter- tainment for man and beast at the houses of these officials, our two “ gringos ’’ proceeded thither, and were at once shown to a room opening on to the patio of the house. Unsaddling, their animals were put into the corral, and the new arrivals, leaving their saddles and rifles in the patio, went into their room and ordered a bottle of beer. In the meantime, the correjidor’s attention had been drawn to the led mule brought by his visitors, and the particulars of the “ hold-up” having reached him he had no difficulty in identifying the animal as that stolen from Messrs. Aramayo Francke and Cia. On his own initiative this man would probably have done nothing, but it happened that a troop of soldiers, sent out from Uyuni to search for the bandits, was at that very moment resting in two of the rooms of his house. He therefore lost no time in communicating his suspicions to the officer in command of the detachment, who promptly dspatched one of his men to inquire of the visitors their names and business. The unfortunate soldier, in pursuance of his instructions, entered the room in which the bandits were consuming their beer, and before he had time to enunciate a word was shot twice in the throat. (From the bullets extracted, this was proved to have been done by Parker). He staggered out of the room and collapsed, dying almost immediately. Alarmed by the shots, the troop instantly commenced a siege of the room in which the bandits remained. With only one means of egress—the door—in front of which the attacking party were entrenched safe from their revolver fire, and separated from their rifles, there was only one ending possible for men who had no intention of ever seeing the inside of another prison. For some hours the bandits’ shots answered those of the besiegers, but at last all was silent within. The officer then ordered one of his men to clamber upon the roof and, by tearing away a part of the thatch, ascertain the position of affairs within the room. This manceuvre being very gingerly executed, the man reported both bandits as apparently dead. ; On entering the room Parker was found in a line with the door, a pile of empty cartridges by his side and five bullets in his body. Curry was seated on the floor in a corner with two bullet-marks in the wall close to his head and abulletin his brain. This bullet, when extracted, was found to correspond to Parker’s revolver, a ‘45 Colt, so that it is only to be concluded that, finding escape impossible and Parker being too badly wounded to live, Curry had requested him to put a bullet through his (Curry’s) head. This Parker succeeded in doing, evidently at the third attempt, and he then ended his own life by putting his last bullet into his own brain. Both men were buried in San Vicente, in uncon- secrated ground. ; The whole amount stolen—sixteen thousand dollars—was recovered intact, and in addition a sum of one hundred and seventeen pounds in gold and a small sum in notes. : I must confess that it was with a feeling very much akin to grief that I wended my way homeward. “ Kid” Curry told me once that he had made several attempts to settle down to a law-abiding life, but these attempts had always been frustrated by emissaries of the police and detective agencies getting on his track, and thus forcing him to return to the road. He claimed that he had never hurt or killed a man except in self-defence, and had never stolen from the poor, but only from rich corporations well able to support his “ requisitions.” I certainly knew him as a most amiable and cheerful companion, possessed of a very equable temper. To conclude, I may mention that his favourite book was Rolf Boldrewood’s “‘ Robbery Under Arms,” in which he greatly admired the character of “ Old man” Marston,

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Across the Wilderness Our Bedouin guides in the desert. of Judea. BY FURMAN O, BALDWIN. An account of a trip across the Wilderness of Judea, one of the least known and most desolate regions on the face of the earth. Nevertheless, it is full of historical ruins, and a description of these and the incidents of a most interesting journey are here set forth. From a Photo. by Anerican Colony, Jerusalem. y, N South-Eastern Palestine there is WA a stretch of country, some twenty miles in width and seventy miles or | so in length, known as the Wilderness of Judea. It is virtually an arid plateau dotted with small conical hills inter- sected by deep ravines. It is mentioned many times in sacred history, and yet, although within easy distance of Jerusalem, is practically never visited. The reason is not far to seek, for a more desolate and dreary region it is impossible to imagine. For a small party to cross it, moreover, is considered dangerous, on account of the frequent robberies committed by roving tribes of Bedouins. For some time several of the members of the American colony in Jerusalem had expressed a desire to see this region and obtain any new botanical specimens that might be found there. Hearing that the Dominican Fathers were about to penetrate into this little-known country for scientific research, they were approached and the necessary arrangements made to join them, so that it was quite an imposing caravan that left Jerusalem carly one morning a few days later and wended its way down the Kedron Valley towards the Wilderness of Judea. There were eighteen of us in the party, all well mounted on sure-footed Arabian steeds, some of them looking rather the worse for wear, yet all travel- ling splendidly. Our tents and equipment were on mules, hardy, enduring animals that carried their heavy burdens over some of the roughest roads in Palestine with seldom a stumble or a fall. We sent the mules with the camp on in advance to aspot near Tekoa, the birthplace of the prophet Amos, a few miles south-east of Bethlehem. We ourselves took a much longer route, as we desired to visit Mar Saba, an old’Greek monastery. now used as a sort of prison for unruly monks. Virtually hanging to the sides of the precipitous cliffs, in the heart of the wilderness, the convent presents a strange spectacle. It is reached, not as in most other cases by ascending to it from below, but by descending to it from above.

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ACROSS THE WILDERNESS OF JUDEA. 45 The various buildings of which it is composed rest on small areas formed by the aid of massive buttressing walls built up from below, terrace above terrace. There are grottos and tiny gardens of flowers and fruit trees. The convent is most substantially built, and is surrounded by a massive wall. It was a necessity that it should be solid and fort-like, as it has often had to resist sieges, and several times in the early centuries it was sacked by the Persians and all the monks massacred. In the centre of the pile of buildings is the church, across country to get to our camp. There was no road at all, but we had two Bedouin guides who knew every foot of the desert. They took us down a terribly steep cliff to the bed of the Wady-en-Nar, which we followed for several miles. We passed two Bedouin camps, one of them having the tents pitched in a triangle, so as to form a protection at night for their flocks and camels. On climbing a deep ravine, more rugged than any other we had met, one of the horses slipped on the smooth rock and fell over the shelving The wonderful old Greek monesiery of Mar Saba, which no woman is allowed to enter—By kindness the monks have so tamed wild birds of the neighbourhood that they will eat out of their hands From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem, and grouped around it, hewn out of the solid rock, are the rooms and cells of the monks. Their lives are spent in prayer and fasting, and their diet is of the most meagre and simple sort, black bread and herbs being their daily fare. It was an interesting sight to see how the monks had by kindness tamed the wild birds, so that they had no fear of them and would alight on their heads and shoulders and eat out of their hands. A peculiar law of the community forbids any woman from entering the premises. After spending an hour or more here we cut edge to a depth of nearly twenty feet. A pro- jecting rock just saved him from rolling any farther and being dashed to pieces. We all thought that the poor brute must be seriously injured, and that we would have to shoot him, but he seemed none the worse for the fall, and continued the journey as if nothing had happened. Although the native horseshoe, which is simply a piece of sheet iron, protects the hoof from injury over the stony roads, yet it is very bad on the smooth polished rock, as it has no caulks to prevent slipping.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Another view of Mar Saba, showing the massive protecting wall. From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalen. From a Paoto. by’ A Bedouin camp io the wilderness. (American Colony, Jerusalem.

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ACROSS THE WILDERNESS OF JUDEA. 47 cave in this locality that Saul fell into the hands of David, who so magnanimously spared his life. The name Ain Jidi means “the spring of the goat,” and it is still the haunt of the ibex. By noon we had left behind us the bril- liantly-carpeted hills, as at this time of year, early spring, Palestine abounds with wild-flowers of the most dazzling colours. For the next few hours our way led over the desolate desert, with hardly a shrub to relieve the monotony of the road. Then, all at once, as we approached the moun- tain overhanging Engedi, we could look down upon a wonderful contrast to the arid wilderness behind us. There, nearly two thousand feet below, lay the briny waters of the Dead Sea, and fringing its shore was an oasis of exquisite beauty, on a little plain about a mile in width. Here were two abundant springs giving ample water for the irrigation of small gardens of cucum- bers, which the Bedouins raise. To descend this wall of rock was no easy task, as we had to lead our horses over the slippery way. Our mules were all unloaded, and the men had to carry their loads over the worst parts. We pitched our tents at the upper spring, some seven hundred feet above the Dead Sea, as we knew from a former visit the quantity and qualityof the Engedi mosquito. The descent to Engedi. From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem. It was now sundown, and we were still far from our camp—an awk- ward predicament, for in this part of the world there is no_ twilight. After travelling in silence and darkness for a long time, however, we were gladdened at last by the sight of our camp fires brightly burning. Early next morning we started for Ain jidi (Engedi), a : «The view from just above Engedi—It was near here that Saul, who hed hidden in « eave, fell place often mentioned in into the hands of David. the Bible. It was ina From a Photo, by American Colony, Jerusalem.

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48 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A typical view of the Wilderness of Judea. From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem. The poor Bedouins living there get no rest at night unless they build a bonfire and sleep in the smoke. Here were many large Shittim and Apple-of- Sodom trees, which we used to tie our tent-ropes to, as a violent wind springs up late in the after- noon. The fruit of the Sodom Apple tree (the Calotropis procera) is much like a large yellow apple in appearance, but on being opened is found to. contain only a few soft, silk-like fibres. The poorer Bedouins use this fluff for pillows. To refresh ourselves after the toils of the day we took a swim in the Dead Sea. Unless one takes a fresh water bath after it, a coating of salt and other minerals is left on the skin, giving a-very unpleasant feeling. Next morning about sunrise we proceeded south, following the shore of the sea. For the next two days of our journey we did not meet a single living being or see a trace of life except an occasional eagle soaring high above us, or at night the camp fires of Bedouins some thirty miles away on the highlands of Moab. The experience gave us a most uncanny feeling of being out of the realm of mankind, in a dead and forgotten world. A ride of five hours brought us to the foot of Masada. This is one of the strongest natural fortresses imaginable, severed almost entirely from the range of mountains on the west and towering to the height of seventeen hundred feet above the plain of the Dead Sea. Its sides are not. slopes, but mighty precipices, up which no army could climb. Only to the west is it connected by a narrow neck of land to the plateau, and from this point alone could an enemy assail it. We left our horses in charge of the muleteers at the foot of the Approaching Masada from the north. From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem,

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ACROSS THE WILDERNESS OF JUDEA. 49 Ascending to the wonderful fortress of M. From a Photo. by American Colony, Jer mountain and started, after a light lunch, to climb to the ruins on the top. Instead of commencing to ascend Masada itself our guide took us up the slope of the range to the west, and then by the narrow neck of land connecting the two. We saw later that it would have been impossible to have reached our goal by any other way, as the sides are so steep. Masada was the last Jewish stronghold that held out against the Romans after the fall of Jerusalem in the year 7o. ‘To it fled a band of the most fanatical of the Jews, under Eleazar, who, knowing the natural strength of the location, and how Herod the Great had added to it by building a wall round the summit, thought the Romans could _ never force them to surrender. Only after one has been over the ground and seen the lack of water, and and war materials, can one realize their courage, determination, and ability. A wall was built by the Romans at the base of the mountain en- tirely closing in Masada, and at different points along it were camps for the soldiers. ‘To this day these camps can be plainly seen. The Roman general had the greater portion of his army en- camped on the highlands to the west of Masada, and set up his battering- rams and towers on the narrow connecting neck of land before mentioned. It was at this point that he made a breach in Herod’s wall and set fire to an inner wall of wood and stones, vhich the Jews had hurriedly built, We examined carefully the ruins of the old wall, the palace, the citadel, and the two colum- baria, but were more interested in the huge cisterns for collecting rain-water, and large under- ground vaults, where quantities of oil, wine, and the distance the Romans Looking down from the fortress upon the main camp of the Romans who besieged it. had to carry provisions From a Photo, by American Colony, Jerusalem. Vol. xxxi.—4.

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50 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. dates had been stored by Herod. The Jews found that these were still in perfect preservation, although a hundred years had elapsed since they were placed there. The largest cistern we found was about sixty feet underground, with steps leading down to it. It was ninety feet long, thirty feet wide, and would hold about thirty feet of water. We could see that for many years no water had collected in it, as we found near the bottom the name of Sir Charles Warren, written in lead pencil and dated 1875. The panorama from the top of the plateau is wonderful, embracing all the Dead Sea, especially as well as their wives and children, rather than surrender. Before doing this, however, they gathered all their valuables into a heap and set them on fire, so that the enemy would find no spoils. They then each ran to his wife and children, tenderly embraced them, and then slew them with all possible haste. Ten of them were appointed by lot to kill the other men, and after bidding farewell to one other each man lay down by his friend and presented his neck for the blow. After. the ten had executed their deadly mission they again cast lots for one of their Looking east from the fortress towards the Dead Sea—The three enclosures shown are the remains of the Roman camps, From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem, the Lisan and the southern part and the plain at the base of the mountain, looking much like a raised map. The Roman camps and the encircling walls stood out as plainly as if built only yesterday. We hurled huge boulders of rock down from the heights above, and in their headlong descent they started many others rolling, which would have proved fatal to an attacking party. It was here that the most tragic ending happened to the besieged that has ever occurred to any armed force in the world’s history. After the Romans had succeeded in taking the first wall and had burned the second one, they decided to storm the citadel next day. The Jews learned their intentions, and agreed to kill themselves, number to dispose of them in the same way, which was done, the last man then killing him- self. In all, nine hundred and sixty persons perished by their own hands. Two women and five children hid themselves in one of the under- ground vaults, and when the Romans came next day to assault the place and found no enemy, but only a deathlike stillness, they were met by these women with the terrible tale of what had happened. We have little history of Masada after this siege, but the early Christians must have rebuilt it, as the remains of a Byzantine church prove. On the plaster walls of this chapel there may still be seen some queer mosaic work. Very reluctantly we left this romantic spot and

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ACROSS THE WILDERNESS OF JUDEA. 51 Sg es Cae “Sane Maral mosaics in an Early Christian Chapel on the summit of Masada, dating from the Byzantine period. From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem. retraced our steps down the mountain to the Roman camp where our horses were awaiting us. In our descent we had to keep close together, as it was impossible to avoid starting loose stones rolling, which would have proved exceedingly dangerous to anyone in advance and below us. Our camp was to have been pitched ina valley a few miles south of Masada, but on arriving there we found no trace of it. As it was getting late we sent two young men, who were well mounted, to search in all the valleys we had passed, thinking that we had missed it. They returned after dark with the news that they were sure no camp was behind us, so we pushed on. We had to travel in single file, as the ground was very rough. One of the party was a re- tired colonel, over seventy years of age, and his horse fell with him “Ria Photo. This whitewashed rock covers a holy man's tomb—The natives sacrifice here annually, bn sag that in return the 29 good crops. [American Colony, Jerusalem. several times, so that we had to put him on a pack-mule, as they are splendid little animals for such roads. We were delighted at last to see the lights of a search-party, who had come from the camp. There was general rejoicing when they found us. but our joy diminished when we found that there was not a drop of water available. The poor animals had had none during the whole day’s march, and through the night they kept upa con- tinual whimpering and crying for water. It was not until near noon of the next day that they could quench their thirst, when we got to Wady Umm _ Baghrek. Here there is a beautiful stream of water gushing out of the valley, only to be lost in the dry soil after running a short distance. It was the only living it of the departed will give them water we struck

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52 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. An ancient reservoir at Carmel—Thi during the three days’ journey south of Engedi. How the horses drank! It seemed as if they would never stop. Our ride during the afternoon was close to the shore of the Dead Sea, and the sulphur springs gave a very obnoxious odour to the atmosphere. We visited the salt mountain of Jebel Usdum, which is seven miles in length and about seven hundred feet in height. The only trace of man that we could find was a mound of worked stone, probably some ancient tomb. The heat was so great that we were glad to leave the hollow of the Dead Sea and go west up the Wady Zuwera. We camped for the night by an interesting old castle built on a hill in the centre of the valley. We could not learn by whom it was built, but it was evidently for the protection of the caravans passing along this route to Petra. From a} vi From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem, Inhabitants of Mount Carmel watching the travellers at lunch. From this point we ascended through the wilderness to Carmel, which was the home of Nabal in the days when David was wandering in the wilderness fleeing from Saul, who was seeking to kill him. Here David was saved from shedding the blood of the churlish Nabal by the wisdom of Abigail, who soon after became David's wife. This Carmel is not to be confounded with Mount Carmel in the north, near the sea. Here we encountered the first life in the dreary wilderness we had traversed. A crowd of Bedouins pressed in around us, whom we watched closely, as on a former trip they had stolen a donkey from our Dominican travelling com- panions. We lunched near an old pool filled with water from four neighbouring fountains. There were extensive ruins, which would repay exploration, but we had no time to visit them. From Carmel we ascended to Hebron, and thence journeyed the next day to Jerusalem, this concluding a most interesting expedition. (Photograph.

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SHO RT STORIES. is. B. mEnALy A f CoLONEL COMMANDANT ROYAL ARTILLERY. ILLUSTRATED BY G. M. SULLIVAN. An amusing little story concerning a quaint character whom General Richardson describes as the most remarkable Chinaman he ever met. table in the veranda of No. 74 Cantonments, Ran- goon, a bungalow I had just bought. Looking up, I beheld a sad-faced, blue- clad Chinaman, squatting some twenty yards away on the drive in the hot sun. He was regarding the house very earnestly, though seemingly taking no notice of me. He said nothing, nor did I, and as I was sketching at the time. I took advan- tage of the fact that he formed an excellent and cheap model, and painted away at a portrait of him. He remained quite motion less for fully an hour, when. hav ng finished my picture, it occurred to me to cal him up and inquire what he wanted. “Can do. One carpenter, six coolies, seven hundred and seventy -four rupees,” he replied, abruptly. 'Y acquaintance with Ah Loke began in the following fashion :— I had lately arrived in Burma, and about noon on a very hot day " in March, 1873, I was seated at a "Can do. hundred and seventy-four rupees,” he replied.” T had not the faintest idea of what he referred to, so I told him to explain. One carpenter, six ooolies. seven Forthwith he dived under the house, but returned in a minute or two and remarked :— “ Teak, twenty posts. six feet six inches ten inches twenty posts five feet five inches six inches.” This was said in the peculiar singing intonation of the Chinese. Needless to say, I was little the wiser for this explanation. “My good man,” I told him, “I do not deal in either rupees or timber. What are you talking about ? What’s your name ?” “Ah Loke. Come see. Shocking.” Taking this as an invita: tion to come and see some- thing or other, I went down to him. He led the way under the house, produced a knife and dug it into the lower parts of the support- ing posts, with the result that I realized they wer: mostly rotten. The houses in Rangoon, and in Burma, generally, are built on posts, the floors

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being raised five feet or more from the ground to avoid the splash from the heavy rains. I had given three thousand two hundred rupees for the house, but before IT had been in Ah Loke’s company for half an hour he had thoroughly convinced me, in his “pidgin” English, that I had made a very bad bargain, and that, if I left it to him, he would so repair the house that I could sell it again when I wanted to for what I had given for it, plus the price of his repairs and that in this way I should live rent free. Until I bought it I had paid eighty rupees a month, and I had purchased it because nine hundred and sixty rupees a year had seemed to me an exces- sive interest on the three thousand four hundred rupees I was originally asked for it. It should be stated here that Ah Loke’s esti- mate proved in the sequel to be very nearly correct, but how he made it during the time he had stared at the bungalow has always been a wonder to me. When, on leaving Rangoon, I sold the house,’ it was for a sum within forty rupees of all I had expended on it. But to go back “ Forthwith he dived under the house.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Isaw no more of him during the five days, but early on the sixth he appeared with one Chinese, two native coolies, and two loads of wood, and set to work at once. I soon caw that he was a marvellous workman. The splices and complicated “scarfs” he devised were wonderful—regular Chinese puzzles, in fact —and that with very few measurements. It was worth paying much to watch him. From time to time he asked for more money, and in something under two months the posts under the house, and other parts of the structure, were as good as new. Some- times he came with many men, sometimes with few, and some days he never cameatall. Atsuch times I used to think he was bargaining for timber. However, when he an- nounced that he had “done finish,” I paid him the balance of the amount and wished him good-bye. He expressed no desire for more, took his bag of tools, and departed almost as silently as he had come. I supposed that I had seen the last of him, and for several weeks I really missed him and his work. One day, however, I saw him squatting in : the compound to our first inter- view. I said I would agree about the seven hundred and_ seventy - four rupees, and told Ah Loke to come next day. “ No can do,” he said. ‘ Five days. Give rupees one fifty. Catchy coolie man, Teak.” Itpassed through my mind that it was foolish to give a stray Chinaman so much money, but Ah Loke had so impressed me, even in this short time, that I gave him a chit for a hundred and fifty rupees, and he departed. Major Richardson's bun; From a Sketch) story: ntoon, the scene of this amusing little again and told him to come in. He proceeded to busi- ness at once. As before, he named a sum, and proposed to match- board two rooms in teak, the price to be in- cluded in the value of the house when I should sell it. Not to weary my readers, he made several incursions of a similar nature, adding a tykhana (a sunken room under the house for the hot weather) and several other structures. But his greatest triumph had no connection with my lay the Author.

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SHORT house. It chanced that the Commander - in- Chief was coming to Burma, and it was resolved to welcome him and his wife with many festivities, amongst others a big ball. I was a member of the ball committee, and I was told off to do anything I could to improve the ball-room, and to disregard expense. The assembly-room where the ball was to be held was a very large barn. Its floor was like the waves of the sea, for the posts supporting it had sunk in many places. It would, I esti- mated, take a month to put it to rights, and I had but forty-eight hours for decorating and everything ! Fortunately I thought of Ah Loke, and sent for him. He came, and I explained that I “wanted the whole of the big floor made perfectly level, and that I could give him twenty-four hours to do it in. He could have as many men as he liked. Could he do it ? He spent about a quarter of an hour under the house. Then he came and squatted in the middle of the room motionless, and seemingly gazing into vacancy. I thought he was wasting much precious time, but I left him and went home to breakfast. On my return I found him in the same position. I do not believe he had moved a muscle, and I was convinced that I had set him an impossible task. I went on with the wall decora- tions, and still he sat stolid. At the end of four hours he suddenly rose and came to me. “(Can do,” he said. “ Twenty- four Chinaman carpenter two rupees sixty rupees one hour four hours.” I closed with him at once, but | couldn’t think how hé would do it. I understood his estimate this time. I knew he would begin i. an hour’s time with twenty-four carpenters at two rupees an hour, an extravagant wage price, and would finish in four hours. Though I hardly believed it possible, I had much blind faith in Ah Loke. His method of levelling the floor was most ingenious. He arranged his Chinese carpenters round the room at intervals of ten feet or so. Each bored a hole right through the floor close to the wall, and then with fine saws, seemingly © “Seemingly gazing into vacancy.” STORIES. 55 made of hammered and tempered hoop- iron, inserted through the holes, they sawed completely round the room through the joists and everything until the floor, simply held up by posts and props, was otherwise quite free. He then levelled the floor, nailing blocks of teak to the posts and walls for sup- port. He had not drawn a nail out of the floor boards or injured them in any way, and when, before the four hours he had named had expired, he had finished the job, it was difficult to see where he had sawn through the floor. A few days after he came and asked me to recommend him as a contractor in a small way to the Public Works Department. My house, he said, was “Done finish. Plenty good.” I was able to strongly advocate his employ- ment, and he was taken on at once. The officers of the Public Works Department later on told me that they found him an excellent man, and he was soon able to contract for large works. For a year he occasionally came with tools and looked over my house, doing some odd job or other which he thought was an improvement. For this work he positively declined any pay- ment, and I am sure that he had in his mind, as he did these jobs, that they were part of his agreement that when I sold the house I should get the whole sum I had expended on it. He had made a great ad- vance in his use of English by this time, and I in my know- ledge of “ pidgin,” and we had, I think, struck up a mutual attachment. We had long talks over his contracts, and I learnt that he was accumulating many rupees, and could provide caution money for large contracts. Then I saw no more of him for about a year. I concluded he was up country, but he came one morning dressed as prosperous Chinese in Burma do dress themselves. He did not squat in the sun, but after asking permission to come in, said, abruptly :— “T go China.” “What!” I said. up all your work?” “ Are you going to give “Yes. Plenty much money got. I go China ; gamble. My family Chinese man plenty fools,

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56 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, no savvy nothing. I go cheat them proper, same like Burma. Make plenty much more money.” “Ah Loke,” I said, “are you quite sure that your conduct is strictly moral?” No expression of shame escaped him, but then no expression of any sort ever did ap- pear on his immobile countenance, so I bid him good-bye. About four months afterwards I again saw a strange, blue - coated Chinaman squatting on the gravel in the sun, and asked him what he wanted. “Making proper porch. Rupees one hundred. One carpenter. Two coolies.” “I ¢0 cheat them proper.” “Good heavens!” I said. “It’s Ah Loke.” “Ah Loke,” he re- plied. “What has brought you back in coolie dress?” “My people Chinese men plenty bad men, not gamble proper. Three weeks cheated. No money. Come back. Junk.” So this was the end of his enterprise against his village. He made a porch with a room over it,got his hundred rupees, rejoined the Public Works Department, and I believe became prosperous. He did not go to China again in my time, for he frequently visited me, generally expressing his unbounded contempt for his Chinese relations. \ ' ' “UY CA THE OME, BY H. M- Lome. ILLUSTRATED FP", waRWICK RBYNOLDS. Sailors have a superstition that rate “avariably desert a sinking ship. This little story proves that sometimes, at any rate, the roden’’, appear to possess a useful ability to anticipate future events. INCE ships of ste’g) and steam have 1 O° the romance and more of the *"iperstitions that centred around “lve latter have departed. It is not hard to discover why this is so. Nowadays, the mar. who obtains his livelihood by “ going down the sea in ships ” does so for the most part by acting as a coal-shoveller, a mechanic, or a steward. There is no more going aloft in fair weather or foul, for the place of the mast has been taken by the funnel, and the sailor has given way to the “ deck-hand.” ee Nevertheless, some of the old superstitions remain, including the one that has to do with rats leaving a ship that is doomed to destruction.

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SHORT STORIES. 57 Sometimes the facts fit in so closely with the fiction that one’s common sense receives a shock. That which is about to be related is a case in point. Mr. Albert Mansfield is a young Englishman who is now the social secretary of the American Seamen’s Friendly Institute of New York City, which is financed by Mrs. Russell Sage. A sailor by profession, he was persuaded by friends to give up the sea some four years ago and devote himself to the duties of his present position. Here is the tale as it was told to the writer by Mr. Mansfield a week or so since. Like the majority of boys of British birth, T had salt water in my blood and wanted to be a sailor. When the time came for the choosing of a profession, therefore, I voiced my desire to go to sea so earnestly that my parents at length yielded, and in due season I donned the braided cap and brass buttons of a “ merchant- man midshipman,” as we lads liked to call ourselves. My second voyage was made on the Regent Murray, a fine steel barque of about a thousand tons burden, a clipper-built, speedy craft that flew the red burgee, which meant that she had been surveyed and found to be in first-class condition. Captain Routledge was in command, and the crew consisted of twenty-six souls all told, including four of us apprentices. We sailed from Sharpness Point, Gloucester, in August, 1906, our cargo being salt and our destination Rockhampton, Queensland, Australia. The voyage was a rough one, the weather off the Cape of Good Hope being especially severe. For days and nights we were wearing and tacking, shortening or setting sail, wet to the skin meanwhile and nearly half dead with work and loss of sleep. In spite of the fact that our cargo consisted of nothing more palatable than salt, the ship swarmed with rats—big, gaunt, fierce-looking brutes that had a courage and appetite possessed by no land-rat that I ever came across. It is a popular belief among sailors that the animals only breed on ships whose cargoes are of a more or less eatable kind. Our experiences, however, showed that this belief has no foundation in fact. Our rats included those of all ages, from the baby to the half-blind grizzled veteran of many voyages. The salt in our hold made from five to six inches of water daily, and the pumps were going all the time. Yet, somewhere and somehow, the rats lived and thrived and added to their numbers all the time. On what did they feed? On the scraps and crumbs that the men left in the caboose, on the odds-and-ends of the galley, on rope-ends, on our sea-boots if we forgot to put them into our chests at night. Forward was a sty that was the home of a couple of pigs. Every night the vermin made a descent on this sty, ate every- thing that they found there that was swallow- able, and even nibbled the bristles and thick skin off the protesting porkers. When darkness fell the pigs would begin to squeal vigorously, and if you tip-toed toward them and struck a match you’d be sure to find half-a-dozen big rats on the back of each, industriously browsing there. Just before we reached Queensland one of the unlucky piggies was found one morning in a state of collapse, the ravenous rats having tackled him so fiercely during the night that he had nearly bled to death. Well, we reached Rockhampton, which is on the Fitzroy River, after a voyage that lasted a hundred and thirty-two days, and proceeded to unload. This was on a Saturday. On the Tuesday following it was noticed that the rats were leaving the ship wholesale. It wasn’t a case of a few of the animals taking a run ashore in order to relieve the monotony of a long voyage; it was a steady and evidently pre-arranged evacuation. A curious feature of the emigration was this. In accordance with the law that was then in force at all the seaports of the world outside of those of the United States, the hawsers or thick ropes that moored the ship to the dock had around them broad discs or plates of iron for the express purpose of preventing rats from landing, because, as you probably know, bubonic plague—which was raging at the time—is con- veyed from port to port by infected vermin. In the case of the Regent Murray rats, however, when they reached the discs they examined them for a moment, tried to climb over them, and, fail- ing, dropped off the rope into the water and swam to shore. Attempts were made to prevent their landing, but ineffectually. They were too many and too crafty to be caught while law- breaking in this fashion. On the Wednesday a labour newspaper that is published at Rockhampton came out with a sensational story about the exodus of the rats. The writer laid stress on the extraordinary nature of the occurrence, stated that literally thousands of the creatures had left the ship, and that more were leaving, and wound up by recalling the old belief that such an exodus was a sure sign that the vessel from which it took place would be lost in the near future. I may add that some of the old sailors on board had already voiced the superstition, to the accompaniment of gloomy looks and shakings of heads. Well, we boys got hold of the newspaper,

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58 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and our so doing didn’t make us any the happier. That same afternoon, and the two days that followed, we watched the outgoing rats with sinking hearts. We were firmly convinced that when the Regent Murray departed from Rock- hampton, which she was to do on the coming Saturday, it would be the last time that she would leave port. The only part of the subject that remained in doubt was who was to be drowned and who—if any—survive. Friday came, and our nerve by this time had totally disappeared. We were in a deep blue funk, and the unceasing scampering of the rats along the hawsers didn’t help us at all. Neither did the crowds of spectators who lined the wharfs from morning to night to gaze upon the “doomed ship,” as they kindly christened the Regent Murray. That afternoon we apprentices took secret counsel. After a long talk two of them, Halloway and Saltern, decided that they would stick to the craft; not that they weren’t as badly scared as we were, but they dreaded the certainty of the captain’s anger if they skedaddled more than they did the uncertainty as to the ship’s fate. John Small and myself, however, determined to “skip.” Now, I’m not going to offer any defence of our decision, which was wrong, and even cowardly. But we were just a pair of panic-stricken youngsters, and because we were we lost all sense of what was due to ourselves and our duty. So that night at about nine o’clock we slipped down a rope at the stern of the ship and into a small boat. Once ashore, we made our way up the river, Three miles or so from the ship ro is VOTeC v Google

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SHORT STORIES. 59 we found a Chinaman, who, in return for the modest sum that we managed to muster between us, agreed to give us food and shelter in the hut that stood in one corner of the garden from which he gained his living. At the end of a week Small grew tired of a diet of rice and onions, and made his way to Rock- hampton, where he was promptly seized by the de- tectives that were on the look-out for us. I stuck it out for a few more days, when I concluded that I would go and look for my chum. I had scarcely entered the precincts of the town when a heavy hand was laid on my shoulder. “ Well, youngster,” said the owner of the hand, “ we’ve got you at last, have we?” “Who are you?” said I, knowing quite well who he was. “ Officer ——, and I’ve been on the look-out for you for a couple of weeks.” ““And I suppose you are going to send me on ; to Newcastle to join the Regent Murray?” “Hardly. She isa total wreck, She was lost two days The rats told true.” after you quitted her. On the Saturday, it appears, the tugs Taldora and Vlissingin took the Regent Murray in tow, she then being empty of cargo and in light ballast. The intention was to take her to New- castle, New South Wales, where she was to load with coal for Taltal, South America. When about a day from Rockhampton, and just off the “They tried to climb over the discs, and, failing, dropped off the rope into the water. Noby’s Light, a squall struck her, the strain on the tugs’ hawsers proved too much, and they sake Before another rope could be got on oard of her she went ashore on a body of quick- sand called Oyster Bank. Fortunately the weather was calm and all hands were saved. Had it been rough, a very different tale might have been told. The quicksands never let go their grip on a vessel. The remains of the unfortunate Regent Murray were sold to a firm of wreckers for something like fifty pounds, and it is question- able if they managed to salve enough material to cover that amount. Now, I’m not going to say that the rats knew that the ship was to be lost. But the fact remains that they left her without any apparent cause, and in the manner described. The reader must supply his own explanation as to why they did so.

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cnn ae TOLD BY RICHARD SIMPSON, AND SET DOWN BY D. W. O. FAGAN, OF MANGAPAI, NEW ZEALAND. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN CAMERON. An amusing story of the old Colonial days in New Zealand, showing how the old chief's pretty young wife eloped with her handsome lover; how the pair were caught and brought back; and what happened afterwards. FWAY back in the ’sixties, when Europeans were few and natives many in New Zealand, it was not always politic to enforce a too = strict observance of the recently- imposed British law. This was especially the case in far-away out-districts, where the majesty of the said law was represented by single and solitary constables, stationed perhaps at intervals of thirty and forty miles’ distance. For obvious reasons the. Government was content to leave minor native disputes to be dealt with by the tribes under their own ancient code. The legality of the Maori form of mar- riage, however, was not recognized. Hence, in those days, it was quite possible to legally marry another man’s wife, and the thing was done on more than one occasion. Strange and incomprehensible to a pakeha (white man’s) mind are the vagaries of Maori law, and probably among the most wonderful of all are the workings of the laws affecting utu (revenge, or compensation) and muru (which has no equivalent in English). The chivalry of the old-time Maoris toward their women-folk was of so whole-souled a nature that peccadilloes of all sorts were over- looked, and in cases such as the following no blame or odium, private or moral, rested on the lady. Punishment and responsibility alike fell entirely on the shoulders of the other sex. A Maori lady of rank could do pretty much as she liked, without fear or question. Under the ancien régime even a suffragette would have been hard put to it to find any further “ rights” to fight for. The finding of the native Court in the case of “ Hona versus Witow ” is not in the least over- drawn, and the following story is substantially correct in every particular. I had the tale from old Dick Simpson, a veteran colonist of over sixty years’ standing, and himself an eye-witness of the affair. Assured that, from a literary point of view, the story as told could scarcely be improved upon, I have set it down, as far as possible, in the words and phraseology of the narrator. There are many still resident in Mangapai who remember Kupapa’s elopement, Witow’s grotesque punishment, and the flighty lady’s subsequent second elopement with a Government surveyor. Witow is still to the fore, and is proud to point to his honourable ‘scars. The official whose identity I have disguised under the pseudonym of Carson, having espoused Kupapa according to the rites of the Established Church, became thereby possessed of five thousand acres of land, in fee simple, to which his wife was heir. He subsequently rose to a position of some eminence in the public service, and later, with Kupapa his wife, passed away in the odour of sanctity. Hona-te-Horo, chief of Toi-Toi, is also dead. He fought against the British in the war, and on the cessation of hostilities his land was confis- cated. The whares (huts) of his kainga (village) have been destroyed or have fallen to decay, but the old fighting pah (tribal fort) of Toi-Toi still crowns the hill-top, and on its slope the dead chief’s weather-board house remains as a memento of past glories. And now to Simpson’s story.

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A DOUBLE We were camped at the time on One-Tree Point, rooting beach-gum out of the sandhills. Dennis Flannery and I had been mates for years. Good luck or bad, we'd battled it together, and a better mate no man ever had. There are two sorts of Trishmen—black Irish and red Irish. Dennis was the red kind, and very fond of a shindy. Not that he’d go out of his way to look for trouble, for he was soft- hearted as a lamb; but if there was any fighting to be had, Dennis was bound to be in it. Away across the river, opposite our camp, old Hona- te-Horo had his kainga. The chief of the Toi-Toi tribe he was, and a fine old fellow to boot—tall and straight, with a head of white hair and a dignified, handsome face. All the sky- pilots and missionaries had tried to rope him in, but they couldn’t fix it, so he remained a heathen. And, because he was a heathen, he had two wives. There were about two hundred and fifty Maoris living in the village, all very friendly. They were mighty fond of music and danc- ing, and many a time they’d fetch us over for a bit of a jolli- fication. Dennis would brin along his fiddle, and all hands would foot it on the green, by the light of the camp-fires, till morning. Whare-Nikau, Hona’schiefwife, was a bent old crone with long, skinny claws and a face like a nightmare. But it’s about the other, Kupapa, that I want to tell you. She was daughter to old Piriata, of the Ngatipa tribe, who had his village about a mile farther up- river, My word, she was a clinker! Not more old From a) Mr. Richard Simpson, a years’ standing, who tells this amusing little story. From a Photograph. colonist of over sixty once the “* Digger's Joy.” ELOPEMENT. 61 than eighteen or nineteen, she was as fine a lass as ever you set eyes on. Not dark, like the others ; she was just whity-brown in colour, with a wonderful pair of eyes in her head. Large brown eyes they were, soft like a collie dog’s, and when you looked into them you could see yourself away back inside, as in a looking- glass. It was those eyes of hers that made all the mis- chief. She looked more like a beautiful Jewess than a Maori, and she stepped like a queen. There was a Ngatipa fel- low by the name of Witow, who used to come over to these jollifications of ours, and while the dancing was going on I often used to see this buck throwing sheep's eyes at Kupapa, and she laughing back. It appeared that this Witow had been sweet on the girl before Hona got her; but Piriata was a greedy old beggar, and when Hona offered twenty head cattle and a new canoe for the girl, he glad to let her go at that. Said I to mayaelh “There'll be mischief before long. All this eye-play don’t go for nothing.” Our luck was good, and Den- nisand I knocked up a tidy cheque by Christmas. So, after paying the tucker -bill and having a nip with the storekeeper, we started for the township to put the money in the savings bank and buy a farm. But we didn’t get there. A blazing day it was, and the road like a white-hot — rib- bon. The dust Tose up and fairly choked us at every step. At the cross-roads there was Maurice Casey, looking cool and com- fortable in a boiled shirt, on the veranda of the Digger’s Joy. (Photog: port a

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62 THE. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Good day, boys,” he said. hot.” “Tt is that,” answered Dennis. “ Then come and have a drink,” said Casey. The chink of glasses was enough to draw the virtue from a cherub. Down went Dennis’s swag in the dust of the roadway. “ Arrah, Dick, me throat’s as dry as wood,” he said. “ Sorra fut will I go farther till I wet my whistle.” That settled it, for I had to go in and look after my mate. Maurice drew us a “ long-’un ” apiece to wash the clay from our mouths, and after that we had to have another. We had hardly got outside the half of the second lot, however, when a fearful racket started up over in the kainga. The noise came down-wind “It’s powerful opposite the kainga. Hona wanted the surveyor and his crew to join in and hunt the runaways, but Carson said it wasn’t his palaver, and he started in to take soundings. So they launched two big canoes, old Hona was lifted in, and we started away up-river on the trail. Piriata and fifty of his crowd came along from their place to see fair play, for Witow was their man, and they weren’t going to let Hona have it all his own way. Where the river shallowed we took to the bush. A horse was found for Hona, and we hunted the elopers in and out through swamps and gullies all day long. We came upon them at sundown, in the high scrub beyond what is now Ormandy’s. Witow had built a bit of a mia-mia, and there they were, The beach where the fight took place—In the centre is the dead mangrove tree to which the unfortunate Witow was tied. From a Photograph, across the river fit to wake the dead. There were horns blowing, men shouting, dogs yapping, and women screeching. We drove the dug-out across double quick to see what the riot was about, and there we saw old Hona hopping around on one foot—he had scalded his toe the night before—and brandishing his tomahawk. He was raging like a lunatic, and swearing vengeance on all and sundry. It appeared that Kupapa had dosed old Whare-Nikau overnight with a double whack of tum, and then, stepping across her to the door of the sleeping-hut, had vamoosed up-river with Witow in a one-man canoe. In the middle of the shindy the survey cutter came sailing up-river and dropped anchor snug as bandicoots in a burrow. Hona fell off his horse and hopped towards Witow to brain him with his tomahawk, but two or three Ngatipas got hold of him. “ Hold on, Hona,” said Piriata. ‘ This big trouble. Kupapa a chieftainess. We make korero (talk) to-morrow, and you get your utu (revenge) right enough.” Witow, tied to Hona’s saddle, looked a bit shamefaced on the way back; but Kupapa carried her head as high as ever, There was murder in Hona’s eye, and, thinks I, “ I wouldn’t be in Witow’s shoes in the morning.” The prisoner was tied to a stake in an empty hut, and four men mounted guard over him. In the morning Piriata and a hundred Ngatipas

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A DOUBLE came over to the trial. There wasn’t room for all hands in the whara-runanga (talking-house), so the court was held outside on the grass. Piriata and two of his headmen were put up to represent the prisoner, and Carson, being a rangitera-pakeha (a white man of some account), and two Ngapuhis spoke up for old Hona. ELOPEMENT. 63 to pay in his person, and he hoped they would make it hot, as an example to others. A real moral chap was Carson, and it did us good to hear him, After a long discussion and more than two hours of speechifying, the finding of the Court was that Hona, by way of ués, should be allowed i Wey ys f, “*Hona hopped towards Witow to brain bim with his tomahawk.” Carson spoke up fine. He said that Witow had been guilty of a gross breach of morality. Being a man of straw, with no cattle or horses that might be taken in payment, he would have to prod Witow twenty times in the body with the point of an old bayonet. He was not to go deeper than half an inch, and the number of jabs was strictly limited. They also put a muru on

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64 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Hona, and he was fined twelve head of cattle for not looking after his wife properly, and so causing all the trouble. Half the fine was to go to Witow as some compensation for the jabs. The sentence was to be executed at once, so as to get it over before dinner-time. Meanwhile, some law-abiding soul had sent word to Constable Abrams at Waipu, and he came over to represent the majesty of the law. He talked big of arrest and imprisonment, demanding in the Queen’s name that Witow should be given up to him; but he was shoved to one side. “ Taihoa (keep quiet), Apa- rama,” they told him. ‘‘ Queen Wikitoria werry big chief. The law is all right; him do very well for pakehas and kaure- karekas (white men and no- account folk), but Maori customs are better for big chiefs.” Abrams drew his revolver, but a Maori jumped on him from behind, his gun went off in the air, and he was held down and sat upon by four men. No; the law didn’t run much in old Mangapai in those times. _ When this was settled the Ngapuhi crowd stood to one side and Dennis and me and the Ngatipas on the other, in a kind of ring. And there was Witow, stripped and strapped up to a tree, with Hona stand- ing in the middle and pulling horrible faces at him. Carson had gone off to comfort Ku- papa, who was screeching away back in the kainga. The old bayonet, which was sharpened up to a needle-point, and all wrapped round in flax till only the point showed, so that it shouldn't go too deep, was handed to Hona, and with this instrument of torture he solemnly proceeded to prick out patterns in the tenderest spots of Witow’s carcass. Dennis was dancing with excitement. My nerves got the jim-jams, and I lost count. But about the sixteenth jab Witow let out a howl and fainted—and Dennis jumped at Hona and floored him with one on the chin. That was enough. The two crowds went at one another with a shout, and there was a glorious shindy. Carson came down hot-foot to take a hand. Being white, he naturally sided with us. He could use his hands beautifully, and ’twas pretty to see him knock over the Ngapuhis. He said it reminded him of the Trojan War, and Kupapa was a second Helen. There was no malice—just rough-and-tumble fisticuffs, and, one down, t’other come on. That’s what I like about a Maori crowd ; they’ll fight fair and for the fun of the thing. If it had been Dagoes, now, someone would have drawn a knife or gun and spoiled the show. We scrummaged and shouted up and down that beach till sundown, and then the Ngapuhis broke back for the kainga. That ended the battle. A black eye or two and some broken teeth was all the damage. The women had got the ovens going, and all hands sat down, quite chummy, to a glorious spread. Hona borrowed a keg of rum from the survey boat, and we kept it up late. The women had put Witow to rights, and he was there as well, all done up in leaves like a “‘ Jack-in-the-green.” The last thing I saw was him and Hona, with a can of rum, hobnobbing like two brothers. All hands slept heavily that night. First thing in the morning Hona’s son, Haurau, burst into our shanty and shouted that “ that dratted stepmother of his had given them the slip, and was away aboard the survey boat!”

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65 A DOUBLE ELOPEMENT. “He solemnly proceeded to prick out patterns in the tenderest spots of Witow’s carcass.’ Vol. xxxi.—5.

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66 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Sure enough, the cutter had slipped her moor- ings, and was standing down the river before the land breeze. From the rise we saw her bowling round the last bend, with Kupapa and the surveyor waving good-bye from the taffrail. It was a bit rough on Hona, and at first he was for petitioning Government to send his wife back. But this the tribe would not hear of. They said there had been no peace in the kainga since stand the racket. The Ngapuhis came over in a crowd and put a muru on us to square things up. They put away all the liquor in the Digger’s Joy ; they drank the old place as dry as a sandhill and shouted for more. When it wasn’t forth- coming they put Maurice Casey on his horse and sent him to Whangarei to bring down more beer. He took our cheques along to pay for it. and never came back. So the Maoris stove ‘a Yrangehia ss a wallin Veal anaes TG bowling 4 ek en Bremer ree newton o Resp dele, ia aes Spasregerpow 7 Mr theanrtion fo FE (- ign. Facsimile of « letter from Mr. W. Harrison, J.P., formerly postmaster of Mangapai, testifying to the authenticity of the story. Kupapa put foot in it, and they wouldn’t have her back on any account. Bigamy? Not a bit of it! Kupapa and Hona were married fast enough Maori-fashion, but they’d never been churched. So Carson took her down to Tauranga and got married fair and square before the bishop. Five thousand acres of land he got with her, and he stood for Parliament before he died. Carson had given the Maoris the go-by, so we others, being the only whites present, had to the casks, smashed the demijohns, pulled the old house off its piles, and floated it over to the kainga for Hona to live in. You can see it standing at Toi-Toi to this day. It was rough on Dennis and me, too. We’d| saved up our money to turn over a new leaf.) If it hadn’t been for a bit of a thirst that day, and our dropping into the Digger’s Joy to quench it, we should have been out of hearing of the rumpus before it started. But things happen like that ; the innocent often suffer for the guilty,

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. Adventure and Discovery in Dutch New Guinea. BY CAPTAIN C. G. RAWLING, C.LE. A typical pygmy of the tribe discovered by the expedition. From a Photografh. An account of the doings of the British expedition dispatched in 1909 to Dutch New Guinea for the purpose of exploring the vast unknown regions of that part of the great island. The expedition, besides making valuable collections of birds and beasts, destined for the British Museum, discovered a strange new race of men, the Tapiro pygmies, none of whom reach five feet in height. The hardships undergone by the explorers were terrible, only eleven men out of four hundred remaining fit for duty at the conclusion of operations. In these articles Captain Rawling, who was latterly in command of the expedition, describes some of the discoveries made and paints a vivid picture of the strenuous work and hardship entailed upon the explorer in the interior of New Guinea, where all the forces of man and Nature conspire against the intruder. EW GUINEA, the largest island in the world—larger, in fact, than England and France put together— was known to Europe nearly three centuries ago, but on account of its pestiferous swamps and the treacherous and ferocious nature of its inhabitants, it was for a Jong time avoided by explorers and _ traders. More recently, however, some of those dauntless spirits who are ever seeking new lands to conquer have in certain parts effected landings and penetrated some distance into the interior. Nevertheless, vast stretches of country remain as unknown at the present day as they were at the beginning of the world. In fact, it may be stated without fear of contradiction that of all regions still open to exploration New Guinea affords the greatest scope to the pioneer for making new geographical discoveries and bring- ing to light new races of men, and to the zoologist and botanist of enriching the scientific world witb new fauna and flora. Everything, however, is against the traveller—the climate (one of the wettest in the world), the swamps, the density of the jungle, the fevers, the scarcity of local food supplies, and, above all, the treachery and disinclination to work of the inhabitants. All these facts combined tend to make the explora- tion of the country as strenuous and exciting as the most ardent adventurer could desire. It was to investigate some of the secrets of this unknown land that a British expedition was dispatched in 1909 to the south-western coast, a district in the possession of Holland, but hitherto totally unexplored. Men well known as successful and scientific explorers, inured to hardship in other out-of-the-way portions of the globe, were appointed to the expedition, together with the pick of ornithologists and collectors, the whole being dispatched with the assistance and permission of the Dutch and British Govern- ments. In this condensed account of the work undertaken and of the vicissitudes undergone I shall confine myself to those facts which would appear to be of the greatest interest to WIDE Wor tp readers.

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:] THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. After two months of sea travel Eleven Men the expedition, consisting of six Left Out of British, one Dutch officer, and Four Hundred. forty Javanese troops, together with a hundred convict carriers, ten Gurkhas from Nepal, and one hundred coolies from the East Indian Islands, landed on the coast of the Mimika district in January, 1910. Our numbers were subject to consider- able fluctuation as time went on, for the casualty list was a heavy one, twenty to thirty men having to be sent home by every visiting boat and fresh men_ brought in their places. Of the four hundred who entered the country in the first year, only eleven lasted out the ex- pedition, the death- tate being twelve per cent., whilst no less than eighty-three per cent. were in- valided. Such a roll of death and sick- ness suffices to in- dicate the hardships undergone. Some idea of the excitement caused by the arrival off the coast of a large steamer may be judged by the fact that only one other ship had ever been seen by these people, and that they firmly believed we came out of the sea and that to the sea we would return, A few small boats have been __ occasionally sighted and com- municated with, as the Kei islanders to the south are known to have come over on more than one occasion. They came, however, under more favourable auspices than those which attended a British yacht wrecked a few years previously some ten miles to the west of our landing-place, the entire crew being killed and eaten. As to whether the savages amongst whom A man and woman of the river country—A_ New Guinea wife can be beaten, disposed of, or killed with impunity. From a Photograph. we had cast our lot were cannibals or not we were unable to determine, and at any rate our force was too strong for them to attempt any open hostilities. That cannibalism does exist in the island and is very prevalent in many districts is proved beyond doubt. It is carried out either in revenge and in order to utterly destroy the enemy in the most complete and degrading manner possible, or simply through a longing for human flesh, which, whatever may be its dis- advantages, is said never to induce in- digestion, no matter how great the quan- tity consumed. If captured alive, the victim is taken to the village of execution and there slain, in many cases_ being first wrapped in leaves, then bound to a tree and set fire to. This ensures both the killing and the cooking at the same time—a con- venient process, no doubt, but one which possesses the disadvantage that the captive has occasionally —_ burst his half-burnt bonds and escaped, fear- fully mutilated. However, as we were not to experi- ence any of these horrible practices, I need say no more about cannibalism, except to add that many of the men had their teeth filed to a point, or rather chipped away with flints or sharpened shells, which custom is believed by some authorities to be a sure _ indication of cannibalistic propensities. A finer body of men than the New Guinea savages I have never seen, or men so imbued with physical force. Slightly above the average height of the European, their chests measure at least two and a half inches more, whilst their arms and bodies, masses of whip-

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 69 cord tendon and muscle, show corresponding development. The women, as a result of the Where _—_ degraded and strenuous lives that Women Have they lead, are hideous in the No Rights. extreme. From childhood on- wards they work in the sago swamps from the first streak of dawn till night- or another, had offended them. Anyhow, they intended to make an example of her, and, casting her into the river, placed over her a heavy fishing-net stretched on a bamboo frame. Then, sitting on either end, they proceeded to drown her. It was only through one of the Europeans shouting across the river and threatening to fire that they were induced to release their fall, day in victim. The and day out, wretched girl month after drageed _her- month, till self to the their bodies bank and there collapse under the strain or become so at- tenuated as to tender them objects of com- passion. No pity is shown to these poor wretches, how- ever ; they are merely the slaves of their lords and masters, and receive no consideration whatever. The marriage ceremony alone suffices to illustrate their standing. A down-river woman on one occasion was to undergo the happy state of matrimony, and for this purpose was brought to the town of Wakatimi, where she was to undertake the duties of wifehood. Several canoes proceeded down-stream and brought her to the river frontage of her new home, the men then going off to their respective huts and paying no further attention to the bride-elect. She, preceded by the duenna, emerged from the canoe and knelt in the mud and slime of the river, and in this degrading position crawled through it on her hands and knees, dragged herself along the village street, and.so entered into her future home. The New Guinea wife appears to have no rights whatsoever ; she can be beaten, disposed of, or killed with impunity. Not a soul raises a protecting hand. It is no business of theirs, so why interfere? While at this base camp a disturbance was heard in the village of Waka- timi, and a man, well known to us, assisted by the elder wife, was seen dragging a screaming and resisting girl to the water’s edge. She proved to be his younger wife, who, in some way The main street of Wak: |. the chief village of the district. From a Photograph. collapsed, half an hour pass- ing before she hadsufficiently recovered to crawl back to her “happy ” home. Not a soul gave the slightest heed to this drama or raised a finger to pre- vent the at- tempted murder, al- though it was carried out in full view of the entire village. They beat one another indiscriminately, men and women alike, though the women prefer to keep. to their own sex, where they can give as good as they receive. Why more bones are not broken I can never understand, as the blows are delivered with stone clubs, the resounding thuds of which can be heard a hundred yards away. Death or serious injury rarely results from these brawls, however, striking on the head being apparently tabooed. Altogether, they were a lively lot, and, when socden with the potent beer brewed from the sugar-palm, made the forest resound with their wild yells. When in this state they lost all sembiance to human beings, becoming very demons of uncontrolled passion, and in such a quarrelsome mood that they even ventured to fire arrows into our camp. Fortunately their muddled condition rendered their aim anything but accurate. Still, severe measures had to be taken to protect ourselves, for the wound of an arrow, more especially when that weapon is tipped with bone, and often human bone, is highly calculated to result in blood-poisoning. Five miles from the river mouth the base camp was built, facing the village of Wakatimi. Our

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7° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. laid, and the giant log hauled by the united efforts of the village community to the river-bank, there to be hollowed out and decorated with carvings. When it is remembered that the only implements in use are stone axes and sharpened shells, some idea may be obtained as to the arduous labour entailed. In these rickety craft we travelled for seven days, finally arriving at Parimau, the head village of another tribe, and within a few miles of the mountains. These people were at enmity with the coast tribes, and proved themselves far more pleasant companions. Their method of greeting, how- __.aeEeee = we = 4 One of the native dug-outs used by the expedition—A fifty-foot canoe, requiring months of From a) labour to construct, was bought for a penknife! (Photograph, first ambition was to reach those great mountains of which occasional views were obtained, their snow - capped crests visible seventy miles or more away. We were situated close to the Equator, but these mountains rise to such a height that their summits are perpetually covered with snow and glaciers. As it was only possible A Canoe for to attain our object by a Penknife. river transport, canoes were obtained from the natives, who were only too eager to enter into trade relations. At this stage of the journey it was impossible to carry on any form of conversation except by signs, no one having visited this land before, and conse- quently no interpreter was available. The canoes were therefore purchased by the simple expedient of exchange, and as the Papuans were exceedingly anxious to obtain any iron implement or cloth goods, bartering became an easy matter. For a fifty to sixty foot canoe, hollowed from a single tree- trunk and necessitating months of labour, a small butcher’s knife, a pen- knife, or half a handkerchief sufficed, whilst paddles were bought for half-a- dozen beads or a couple of fish-hooks. To build a canoe a huge tree must be felled, often far away from the : New Guinea “ship-building'—Preparing a felled tree prior to hauling it river-bank, a pathway cleared, sleepers “}om'aj"" through the foreat for conversion into a canoe. [Photograg:

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. rh ever, was astonishing and rather embarrass- ing. At our arrival men and women covered their eyes with one hand and burst into tears, their bodies rocking with excitement and sweat pouring down in streams, the whole process being accompanied by such shrieks and cries as are usually regarded as characteristic of the most poignant grief. This scene was enacted, as we afterwards found, whenever it was intended to offer a specially hearty welcome, being in reality a form of invocation or prayer. Still, considering that the same process was carried out on the decease of a member of the tribe, we were never very enthusiastic over this mode of reception, nor quite certain as to its exact meaning. In addition, the feminine element added further interest to the scene by wallowing in a pool of mud, smearing themselves all over, more , { . | | - t | 4 From a} The expedition camp on especially over the hair and face, and then dancing with a peculiar shuffling gait. Some- times they would go on their hands and knees and wave their sterns in the air, but this latter posture was only assumed at our first arrival, probably dying out through lack of appreciation, and possibly to be revived on the advent of the next exploring party. Months of labour were spent in accumulating a sufficient store of food at the upper camp, for it was consumed almost as fast as it could be collected. Except for the great crown pigeon, a bird as large as a small turkey, the country produced nothing that could be eaten by the members of the expedition. Not so for the Papuan, who devoured anything which lived— wallaby (a small species of kangaroo), the furry night-loving kus-kus, alligators, turtles, snakes, the headwaters of the Mimika. and all manner of grubs found in the dead wood. Everything was warmed, if not cooked, except the grubs, these being devoured alive and with evident relish, to judge by the crowds that gathered around when a particularly well- stocked tree-trunk was brought in by the lucky finder. Opposite this village of Parimau the up-river base camp was constructed, mainly through the ingenuity of the Gurkhas, a race always ready to turn their hands to building purposes. Our first attempt to reach the mountains was carried out to the we tward, in which direction we did not wish to proceed, but which we were compelled to adopt, as the natives declared that no other route was practicable. On the very first day we struck a new river, considerably greater in size and volume than the Mimika, up which we had (Photograph. so far made our way. Progress was slow, as the savages who were carrying the loads showed much aversion to manual labour and disliked the proximity of the mountains. It was during one of the attempts The Discovery at persuading them to transport ofaNew the camp kit that the first men Race. of a new race were discovered. I was ahead at the time, with the Papuans following sulkily in the rear, when the leading men raced past me uttering loud cries of “Wah! Wah!” It was very evident that they had seen something and were giving chase. I naturally concluded that they had spotted a pig, and, being equally hungry and desirous of obtaining fresh food, joined in the hunt. But the European cannot approach the Papuan in rate of travel, and I soon trailed hopelessly in

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72 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the rear. As they turned into the forest my eye caught the impression of human feet in the sand, and I realized that they were in chase of human game and not of pig. My interest considerably diminished, and, seated on a log, I awaited the course of events. For a time all was silence ; then voices could be distinguished, coming nearer every minute. From the forest emerged my twelve men, divided into two parties, and dr.gging two very small but resisting men between them. They were both treated with scant ceremony, being pulled, pushed, and hustled along, despite manful resistance. What little clothing they had originally possessed had been removed, their bags taken from them, and their bows and arrows distributed amongst their captors. Poor little wretches! They looked miserable indeed, and in addition terrified, for they knew that they were in the hands of their enemies and in the presence of a weird and wonder- ful white man, of whose existence they must have been in complete ignorance. For a long time I could not induce them to utter a sound, nor even to look upon me. I collected all their goods, down to the smallest item, and then gave them back one by one; but it was not until the bows and arrows were returned that they dared to raise their eyes. Even then one fleeting glance was sufficient ; my appearance was too much for them. Presently I discovered three or four red and blue beads in my pocket, and gave them A couple of py¢my hunters—Though they tried on many occasions, the ex- plorers never succeeded in catching a glimpse of the women of the tribe, From a Photograph. to our nervous guests. The result surpassed my most sanguine anticipations, for they were grasped eagerly, the avaricious little eyes literally glaring with excitement. They were then told that they could go, for I was anxious that a good report should be conveyed to their friends. Two days afterwards, when in the foot-hills with the same followers, I saw two others of the same tribe who had left the path so as to avoid us in case we were approaching and were wading down the river, presumably with the object of spy- ing out the land. Without a word my twelve men split into two parties, one tak- ing to the forest, the other to the torrent. So rapidly did the forest party travel that they burst through the trees at the very moment that the river squad reached the un- suspecting waders. The surprise was complete. A splendid fight with fists and hands took place, but all to no purpose; the Pygmies could not resist for long when the odds were six to one, particularly when the six were twice their size and possessed twice the physical power. The pant- ing little creatures were hauled before me and assailed with a volume of questions, but as they could not speak the same language as our guides we were unable to learn the object of their visit. Again I gave them back their possessions and again doled out more beads. I then realized that a new race had been discovered, a race hitherto entirely unknown to the civilized world. (To be continued.)

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JAMES GAULD. The story of a missing foster-brother and a dramatic coincidence. exactly as related,” ILLUSTRATED BY G. HENRY EVISON. “The whole thing happened writes the author, ‘“‘my informant being present as one of the guests, Only the names are fictitious.” Ww. <V e were a mixed crowd. Five hundred o A miles from Buenos Ayres, in the | heart of the ranching country, where fs; Spanish is the prevailing language, ——— and where one thinks nothing of ite twenty miles to dine with a friend, you must be prepared to find the company somewhat cosmopolitan. It happened at Jack Gillingham’s house- warming. Having just come into a bit of money, he had bought an estancio and built a nice new house, more in keeping with English tastes than that of his Spanish predecessor. When he moved in he invited all his neighbours for fifty miles round to spend the week with him to cele- brate the occasion. It was the evening of the third day, and, after a capital dinner, we were all sitting on the veranda smoking and spinning yarns. Outside, the moonlight turned everything to silver, and the semi-darkness within, studded with about thirty glowing cigar-ends, like so many hovering fireflies, gave just that touch of eeriness which makes the right atmosphere for effective story- telling. There were several queer yarns told that night. Some of the fellows had handled sword or rifle at one time or another—there is usually a row on somewhere in South America—and the others could nearly all tell of hairbreadth escapes or thrilling adventures by land or sea. It came at last to the turn of one of the few other Englishmen, a retired Army captain. He told us the following story. Although I have been a soldier, I have had an uneventful career. I have seen active service —I was through the Boer War—but found it a very prosy business. Holding lines of com- munication, or peppering an enemy a couple of miles away for days, without knowing if a single one of your bullets has found its billet, may be useful, but it isn’t exciting. You must understand, gentlemen, that I am an only son, and that my mother died when I was a week old. My foster-mother was the kind-hearted buxom wife of one of my father’s tenants, and her son, my foster-brother, became greatly attached to me. We played together as children, and when I obtained my com- mission he enlisted in the same regiment in order to be near me. Finally he became my body-

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. servant, and together we fought through the war. On one occasion I pulled him out of a tight corner, which made him, if possible, more devoted to me than ever. Our battalion was retreating from Dunsdorp, my company forming the rearguard. We were passing through difficult country, with plenty of cover, the Boers hanging on to us and harassing us at every step. It was very galling, for so well did they conceal themselves that we could not tell whether we were being followed by a large or by a small body. So many men did I lose by their sniping tactics that I grew desperate. I decided to try to draw the enemy out into the open by a ruse, and then, if they were not too numerous, to attack and crush them, or, if that proved to be out of the question, to continue the retreat and ask for reinforcements. We were just then holding a kopje which com- manded a wide plain dotted with scrub and low trees. My plan was to evacuate this position during the night, moving my men a few miles nearer the main body, and to leave a trusty soldier on the kopje, a swift horse being con- cealed at the foot ready to aid his escape. His duty was to watch for the enemy to reveal them selves, to yet an idea of the size of the force, and then to rejoin us with this information. It was a dangerous task, of course, and one which called for a volunteer. I brought the men together, explained my plan, and added that I proposed to place a good horse at the disposal of the volun- teer. Davie Glen, my foster-brother, was the first man to step out, and, although I tried to dissuade him, he insisted on undertaking the perilous duty. Darkness came at last. Half of the men lay down and rested, while the others maintained a desultory fire to keep in touch with the enemy’s movements. At three a.m. we struck camp, and were svon ready to start. Having disposed my men in proper marching order, I ran back to say good-bye to Davie at the top of the kopje, after seeing that his horse was securely fastened toa tree in a gully at the foot. It was a painful parting, for we were like two brothers, and the black darkness, lit up now and again by a distant flash, with the stillness of the veldt broken only occasionally by a faint report and the “ ping ” of the bullet on some neighbouring rock, filled us with a sense of foreboding which all the horrors of a daylight fight never raise in the breast of a soldier. I left him at last, wrapped in his blanket, stretched at full length on the top of the kopje, where “* We were passing through difficult country with plenty of cover, the

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THE LONG ARM. 75 Boers banging on to us and harassing us at every step.”

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76 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. presently he would be able to see without being seen, and hurriedly rejoined my men. I am not ashamed to tell you, gentlemen, that there were tears in my eyes. We marched swiftly and quietly southwards for an hour, and then camped to await develop- ments. Soon after daybreak we heard distant firing and waited anxiously, straining our eyes for the first glimpse of our brave comrade. At nine o'clock in the morning, unable to bear the suspense any longer, I sent out a party of men to reconnoitre. By ten they were back again with the report that the enemy, in strong force, occupied not only our old position, but part of the track we had already traversed, and I realized that we had only just saved our- selves from being trapped by a flanking move- ment. Before long we were so fully occupied in cover- ing our own further retreat that we had no chance to take any further steps to ascertain what had become of Davie, and to this day, although I have tried every possible means, I have never been able to learn anything about his fate—wheth r he escaped, or was made a prisoner, or died on the top of that lonely kopje at the post of duty. It’s the uncertainty which worries me. If I knew definitely what had happened to him, my mind would be at rest. The captain stopped, and overcome, doubtless by old memories, sat in silence which none of the company seemed inclined to break. At last a sneering laugh rang out discordantly. “It is all very sad; but the sefor need be troubled no longer.” The whole company started to attention as one man, and twenty-nine pairs 0 eyes were fixed on the speaker, Rodriguez Manaos, a Portuguese rancher, whose estanoio lay fifteen miles to the westward. Just then someone turned up the light indoors, so that we were able to see one another’s faces. “ What do you mean, sir ? ” asked the captain, sharply. “T mean what I say, sefior,” replied Manaos. “ You say your mind will no longer be troubled if you know for certain what befell your Davie. Is it not so?” “Certainly,” what me “ Pardon me, sefor, but I can tell you all about it. He died—half-way down the kopje.” “ But how do you know that ? ” “Very simple, sefor. I shot him.” “Good heavens !” cried the captain, gripping the arms of his chair and staring fascinated at the man’s yellow, sneering face. Nobody else moved or spoke. replied the captain. “ But “Yes,” continued Manaos, complacently, evidently enjoying the sensation his remark caused. ‘“ As I say, I shot him. I, too, go troo the Boer War, but on ze opposite side from you, senor. Ze night of which you teil I vas of ze flanking party which came stealing round to catch you and, snap! crumple you up like ze fly between my two hands. But ven we get there, chut ! ze bird vas flown. We vas mad, and ven I spy this fellow crawling down ze hill he had been hit in ze leg by a stray bullet and couldn’t walk—I go up and, bang ! bowl heem over. He nevare move again after zat. And zat vas a good horse of yours, senor. I find heem and ride heem all ze rest of ze time. So worry no more, senor. It vas ze fortune of la guerre. Why trouble? Come, have a drink !” All this time the captain sat with a face set like steel. He clung to the arms of his chair, apparently afraid that otherwise he might hurl himself at the fellow’s throat. At his last words, however, the soldier found speech. “ Drink with you, you hound !”’ he yelled out. “T’d sooner drink with the devil !”” As he spoke he sprang to his feet and walked into the house, making straight for his bedroom. Evidently he intended to pack up and go, feeling that he could not remain under the same roof as the man who had killed his helpless, wounded foster-brother. I went after him, and a few minutes later Gillingham came to us, greatly perturbed. “ This is a terrible business, captain,” he said. “ What am I to do about it ?” “Oh, it will be all right, Jack,” he answered, forcing a smile. “I am sorry to go for your sake, but you quite understand I couldn’t stay here any longer.” “Certainly not,” replied Jack. “ But it hasn’t ended with you. Do you know that after you left us the other fellows got up one by one without a word and followed you ? I was left alone with Manaos, and finally I had to ask him to excuse me for a minute until I could see what was to be done. I hate the brute as much as any of you now, but he is my guest.”” “Quite so, Jack,” said the captain. “T understand your position perfectly, and shall run over again very soon to see you, but I must go now.” “Yes, yes,” continued Gillingham, despair- ingly. “I can quite understand your going, but the other chaps—every one of them, mind you—are going as well. They say they won't stay another hour in the same house with such a cur.”

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THE LONG ARM. ” In spite of his raw nerves the captain couldn’t help smiling at Jack’s troubled face. “ There’s only one course open to you, then, Jack,” he said. ‘ You must ask Manaos to go. Better to turn out one guest than twenty-eight. And I don’t think anyone will blame you in and told the beggar he would kick him down the steps if he didn't quit in five minutes, Manaos decided to go, though he swore furiously. Anyhow, he went, after which good riddance we all settled down again, and the latter half “Very simple, sedor. I shot him.” the circumstances. If he goes I shall stay,” he added, “and I’ll see to it the others do 60 also.” Gillingham went off, and in due course re- quested the Portuguese to retire. Manaos omptly got angry and stood on his dignity, but when at last Jack lost his temper, of the week proved to be by far the more successful. There was a curious sequel to the affair. The story got all over the countryside, and though Manaos tried to brazen it out, the neighbours boycotted him, and after a bit he sold up and finally cleared out.

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LIEUT.-COLONEL Ning Wo and the Amateur. MACKENZIE, DONALD ILLUSTRATED BY THOMAS SOMERFIBLD. Another of Colonel Mackenzie's experiences while acting as Chief of Police in one of the Federated States in the Malay Peninsula. In this story he describes how his orderly asked permission to investigate a case, with Ning Wo, the Colonel's Chinese detective, holding a ‘watching brief" in the background. The amateur thought he had achieved success, but it was Ning Wo who scored at the finish. EEDIN, my Malay orderly, when I once asked him if he would like to try his hand as a detective in a somewhat complicated case, declined with thanks, remarking that a detective was born, not made, in which statement there was probably a considerable amount of truth. Nevertheless, he had apparently not declined to sit at the feet of Ning Wo, my private Chinese detective, and gather from him some scraps of wisdom in the art, which he was one day tempted to put to the test. I confess I have often wondered since whether the astute Ning Wo did not engineer the whole matter for his own glorification ;_ if he did do so he succeeded admirably. The thing happened thus. One day a Tamil named Ramasawmy, an overseer in charge of a gang of coolies engaged in railway construction, reported that some time during the past twenty-four hours his hut had been burgled and money and jewellery to the value of about two hundred dollars stolen. Accompanied by Beedin and Seryeant-Major Etot. I proceeded down the line on an engine to investigate the matter. The gang of some thirty Tamil coolies, over whom Ramasawmy held sway as overseer, lived in a collection of huts in a clearing in the jungle close to the line. He lived in one of them by himself and was the possessor of a wife and daughter, but for some reason best known to himself and them, they had departed some three months previously to work on a coffee estate called Situ, about twenty miles away. The jewellery of which he had been robbed belonged to them ; the money to himself. We made the fullest inquiries, but without the slightest result. At first I fancied that the woman and her daughter had walked off with the jewellery ; there had possibly been a family row, and the old man had invented the story of the burglary. All the coolies, however, declared that his story about the women having gone to the coffee estate was true, and two of them said that on the day following the ladies’ departure Ramasawmy had shown them the jewellery. He gave me a description of it—the usual stuff possessed by Tamil women, and therefore, probably, unidentifiable. There was, however, one article—an ankle bangle of apparently unique design—which a dozen of the coolies, who, of course, had crowded round to hear the pro- ceedings, declared they could, one and all, recognize at sight. This, then, was the only thing we could rely on to give us a clue, if it still existed and had not been melted down. I was starting to walk up the line when Sergeant-Major Etot suggested that we had, perhaps, better search the adjacent jungle ; possibly the thief had left some traces of himself. I did not believe it for an instant, but it would not have done to let any of those present think I did not take the keenest interest in the job, so I told him and Beedin to go and do so. At the same time I walked into the jungle, intending to proceed a couple of hundred yards, sit down and smoke, and let them search for the needle in the hay. I had not gone this distance when I espied an

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NING WO AND THE AMATEUR. 719 orchid hanging from the branch of a tree about six feet above my head. I was at the time bitten with a mania for collecting orchids, and always carried a large knife about with me, containing a small saw with which to cut off the branch on which an orchid was growing. This particular (lower I had never seen before, and I determined to get it. Now, there is a devil which inhabits the Malay jungles. His name is Kerenga—in Anglo-Saxon, an ant—and he measures about half an inch in length. Likewise he is red, Nature having evidently endowed him with a perpetual danger- signal. I have never seen him under a micro- scope, and I don’t want to; he is hideous enough normally. He appears, however, to be organized for battle at both ends, and he is as game as a hornet. As I said, the orchid was only about six feet above my head, and in a few seconds I was up the tree and, sitting astride the branch, with my saw commenced severing it. I had been at work about half a minute when I felt a fearful bite on my arm, and then a second, and a third. Looking at my hand I saw dozens of red fiends swarming on it and others coming on. I dropped my knife to the ground, likewise myself; I had no time to climb down in a leisurely and dignified manner. Having alighted on my feet I tore off my jacket and threw it about a dozen yards away, for it was probably full of ants. The next few minutes were devoted to a conflict between myself and the remainder, whom I finally got rid of after they had left my arm one mass of bites. I then went and picked up my jacket, which I vigorously shook. After turning it inside out to see that none of the enemy were left, I was about to put it on, when I saw, not three feet from me, a human skeleton lying on the ground. Now, it was no very uncommon thing to find human remains in the jungle, but what struck me as curious was that this skeleton appeared to be intact. Usually the bones were scattered about, probably the work of animals of the rodent tribe. No murder had been reported of late, nor had anyone been reported as missing, so it was little use speculating whom the individual might have been when alive. I was about to walk on when I heard Sergeant-Major Etot hail Beedin. “Ho! Beedin!” he cried. “ Come and see what I have found.” “‘ What have you found, Etot ? ” I shouted. “Will the Tuan come and see?” he replied. Guided by the sound of his voice I found him in a few minutes. He stood in a small, open space, beside a tiny stream, and, in his turn, he was gazing at the remains of a human skeleton, consisting of a skull, three or four large and double that number of small bones. As we stood looking at them Beedin joined us. “ That is very curious,” I remarked. “Why, Tuan?” said Etot. ‘ Surely we have many times found dead bodies in the jungle. There are many tigers about here; as the Tuan will remember, a man was killed by one ten days ago.” “ Come with me,” I said. We returned to my find, and talked the matter over, but as no one had been reported missing, we could only come to the conclusion that it was a curious coincidence. It behoved us, however, to make what inquiries we could, and we therefore returned to the coolie huts for the purpose. As was natural, they were greatly excited about it, and accom- panied us in a body to see our discoveries, Ramasawmy amongst them, but not a ray of light could they throw on the matter ; their own tally was correct. Etot, Beedin, and I caught a ballast-train about two miles up the line, and in it we returned home. As I walked up from the station towards my house I encountered the Residency surgeon. Now, Brydon and I had often to work hand-in- hand in the matter of detecting crime, for in a country where post-mortem examinations were forbidden on account of religion, a medical man’s opinion was absolutely necessary in many cases. He was very fond of working out a crime in his own mind and then saying. ‘I'll tell you what happened ” ; but what he liked best was for me to tell him my idea about it, so that he could advance an entirely different one. I am bound to confess that more than once he has been right and I wrong. “A curious thing has occurred to me to-day,” I said. “I was investigating a robbery, which I have not elucidated, and I found two corpses close to the spot.” “ Murder, of course.” “Not that I am aware of,’ I replied. “Nothing of the sort has been reported for weeks, nor, so far as I know, is anyone missing.” “Can’t you tell from the bodies ? ” he asked. “No; they are skeletons.” “Tl bet you a dollar I will find out some- thing about it. Take me there to-morraw.” Next morning he accompanied Etot, Beedin, and myself down the line. I first showed him the skeleton I had found. “There is nothing extraordinary about this thing,” he remarked, after a couple of minutes’ examination, “ beyond the fact that the skeleton is intact, which is odd, and I'll bet you won't

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80 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. come across another im like condition again in the jungle.” “What was it when alive ? ” I asked. “ An Indian or Malay woman, though of what particular race I can’t, of course, say. Why Indian or Malay ? Because any fool could tell you it isn’t that of a Euro- pean or a Chinese. Age about fifteen.” Etot then conducted us to his find. Brydon picked up the skull and looked at it for a moment. “ Have you examined these remains ? ” he asked, sharply. I had never heard him speak like that before. “1 saw a human skeleton lying on the ground.”

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NING WO AND THE AMATEUR. 8r “No,” I replied. ‘“ What would have been the use? I could have inferred nothing.” “And you call yourself a policeman!” he sneered. ‘Look here ; you three fossick round and see if you can’t find some more bones and bring them to me.” Etot, Beedin, and I searched, and within ten minutes produced between us some twelve or fifteen bones, large and small, and brought them to Brydon ; he was still minutely examining the skull. “Now, go away and play marbles, or anything else you like, and come back here in twenty minutes or so,” he said. We left him, for I saw he wished to be alone, and at the end of the stipulated time we returned. He had laid out the bones in their proper order, making allowance for missing ones, and the thing was now, if I may so term it, the outline of a skeleton. “ This, when alive,” said Brydon, “ was an Indian woman, rather over middle age. How do I know the age? Knowledge of anatomy, for one thing. this for another,” and he picked up with the point of his stick a long, black tress of hair, slightly streaked with grey. “To continue. She was murdered by some- one who approached her from behind, and the instrument which caused her death was one which I myself have never seen in this country —an English bill-hook, or a very good imitation of one. Likewise, the motive was robbery.” To say I was astonished would be to express my feelings mildly ; I half thought he was trying to “pull our legs” as a practical joke; but then I knew Brydon to be a most acute reasoner and an extremely clever man. I therefore humbled myself and admitted I was a fool for not having examined the skull myself, at the same time confessing that I did not believe I was nearly clever enough to arrive at conclusions which seemed so evident to him, and I frankly asked him to explain. He picked up the skull and handed it to me; sure enough the top of it was split across the crown, “T see so much,” I said, putting my finger on the place, “ but why a bill-hook ? ” “Why does a paternal Government entrust the unravelling of crimes to men who simply won’t use their common sense?” he asked, impatiently. “If your eye won’t help you, run your finger along the skull as if prolonging the split.” I looked again, and about three inches beyond where the split stopped there was another small indentation. “Have you ever handled a bill-hook ?” he asked. “If so, you would know that a weapon Vol xxxi.—6, of its kind is the only one which would cause two wounds like these at the same blow. As for robbery being the motive of the murder, look at the right foot. You will notice that the big toe and one joint of each of the next two are missing ; they have been cut off. The woman was wearing a toe-ring, and the murderer wanted it. Iam going to have a look at the other skeleton again.” He examined that most minutely. “Tt tells me nothing,” he said. “TI would hazard a guess, though, and say it also is a case of murder, and for this reason, that it is lying on its face. A human being does not naturally die in this position. I have told you all I can; the rest of the job is yours, and it ought not to be difficult.” “Tell me one thing,” I said. “In your opinion did these two people meet with their death; at the same time ? ” “Ask me an easier one,” replied Brydon. “I will, however, again venture a guess and say, “yes?” Needless to say Sergeant-Major Etot and I, assisted by Beedin, then and there held an earnest consultation, but without arriving at any conclusion. If these two women had_ been murdered, then it implied that they would have been missing and their friends or relations would have reported the latter fact, but no such report had been made during the past year ; therefore, who could they have been? It is very easy to be wise after the event, but at the time we three were befogged. The most searching inquiries which could throw any light on the matter were made throughout the State, but no one scemed to know anything about the disappearance of anyone, let alone of two women. Daily, for the following fortnight, old Ramasawmy travelled up by the afternoon train and besieged us with inquiries about his lost property ; the loss seemed to be preying on his mind, One evening after dinner Beedin came to me while I was sitting on the veranda; he was accompanied by Ning Wo, and from the pair being together I knew something interesting was going to happen. “T have been thinking, Tuan,” said Beedin ; “ likewise I have been talking to Ning Wo.” “ Two very sensible things,” I said. ‘“ About what ?” “This robbery of Ramasawmy’s, Tuan. I have till now believed the old man’s story, but Ning Wo says he does not. If any other Chinaman had said this to me I should have told him he was a fool, but with Ning Wo it is different. Have I not seen him do many wonderful things as a detective ?”

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82 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ Well, Ning Wo,” I said, “ suppose you have a try and see if you can find out anything.” “No, Tuan,” he replied. “If it had been a Chinese case, which Detective-Sergeant Cassim could not find out, I know the Tuan would have given it to me long ago, but I know nothing about the ways of Klings (Tamils). I have told Beedin he had better try.” “ Beedin !”’ I exclaimed, “ Beedin a detective! He would give himself away in five minutes.” Beedin seemed hurt at my remark ; perhaps he felt justified in being so. “T told the Tuan I had been thinking as well as speaking to Ning Wo,” he remarked. “ The Tuan does not speak Tamil ? ” My knowledge of that somewhat unmusical language consisted of about a dozen words, so I merely shook my head. “ But the Tuan surely knows that the Kling oftenest talks about money ; after that he speaks about women.” I knew that much, for every Kling case concerned one or other of these two subjects. “ Ramasawmy has said a great deal about money in the last two weeks,” continued Beedin. “ Also he has said a little about two women. We have not been able to find the money ;_ had we not better try and find the women ? ” Saul among the prophets! Fancy Beedin thinking of this! Why on earth had it not occurred either to Etot or me before? And yet it was a thing neither of us should have overlooked. “Good,” said Ning Wo. “ Let Beedin try, Tuan.” “Well, Beedin, what do you say to doing so?” I asked. “Yes, I will try, for I have thought much of this case.” “ How are you going to set to work ?” “ First,” he began, ‘I will——” “With the Tuan’s permission,” interrupted Ning Wo, “I would speak to Beedin.” I nodded my assent. “ Beedin,” he said, “if you mean to be a detective never say what you are going to do. If all happens as you say it is well, but it seems to have been too easy, and that is foolish ; if it does not happen, then you look a fool. A secret is only a secret so long as you do not speak it. If you speak your thoughts a bird may carry them.” “ Ning Wo speaks true words, “and I will do as he says.” “Wise man!” I remarked; but whether he took this as meaning himself or Ning Wo I do not know. “ With the Tuan’s permission I will be absent for a few days,” he went on; “also I would ” said Beedin, ask that Constable Ramalingam, from Rassa Station, may go with me. Likewise, will the Tuan give me a letter to Tuan Stuart (the Chief of Police of the neighbouring State)? Of course he knows me as the Tuan’s orderly, but it may be necessary to ask him to help me in secret.” I sat down and wrote a note to Stuart, briefly stating the case, and asking him to do anything in reason which Beedin asked him. I then gave it to Beedin, said he could have leave for as long as necessary, and ordered him to tell the sergeant-major that Constable Ramalingam was also granted leave. As they went down the stairs I heard Ning Wo say, ‘ Before leaving, I would talk a few words with you, Beedin.” An hour later Ning Wo returned to me with a paper in his hand. “T have had much talk with Beedin,” he said, “Cand he has now told me all the case. Why did not the Tuan tell me also ?” “Tt is a Kling case, and I knew you would not undertake it. You said so yourself just now.” “ Nevertheless, most cases of crime are much alike, and I think I can tell exactly what happened in this one.” “Then tell me,” I ordered. “The Tuan forgets he has given the case to Beedin, and it would not be fair for me to take it away from him till he falls. But I have written on this paper in Chinese what I think ; this I will give to the Tuan, knowing he will not get it translated till Beedin has succeeded or failed. But I hope he will not fail, for I have given him much advice, especially to use his eyes and ears more than his tongue.” I should greatly have liked to read that scrap of paper, but I was on my honour, and so I put it away unopened. Five days later I was again sitting in the veranda after dinner when Beedin appeared. He could not hide his feelings as Ning Wo could, and I saw at once by the bland smile on his face that he had succeeded. “ Well, have you arrested the thief or secured the stolen property ?” I asked. “ First, with the Tuan’s permission, I will call Ning Wo. It is a long story, and I would wish him to hear it from the beginning ; it is foolish to tell the same thing twice. Ah, ho, Ning Wo! Come hither.” ’ “ Ah!” said that individual, when he arrived on the scene, “I see. Beedin is now a detective and will no longer wish to be the Tuan’s orderly. Perchance he will one day get the three stripes, like Sergeant Cassim.” “No,” replied Beedin, hastily. “ I will remain the Tuan’s orderly; what would he do in a Kongsi riot if I were not by his side?” Beedin

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NING WO AND THE AMATEUR 83 had evidently a great opinion of himself as a fighting man, in which I admit he was justified. “Nevertheless, by the favour of Allah, I have this time succeeded as a detective ; I owe also thanks to Ning Wo. “Have I the Tuan’s permission to talk ? Good. I will tell from the beginning. “As I told the Tuan I had been thinking much about this robbery. In itself it did not trouble me, for since I have been the Tuan’s orderly— may Allah prolong the Tuan’s days—I have not been as other constables, my duty now being to go where he goes and, if necessary, protect him ; but I saw he was greatly wearied by Ramasawmy, and I thought I would try and help in the matter. So I went to Ning Wo and spoke to him. “© Tf you wish to find out all about the matter, you must first find the two women,’ he said. “© But I do not know them,’ I answered. “Tf you are blind,’ he replied, * everyone else is not. Find someone who does know them, and make him help you to find them.’ “Ning Wo’s words were wise, as I knew they would be, or I should not have spoken to him. Therefore I went to Rassa Station and inquired of the Kling constables whether any of them knew the two women. Constable Ramalingam said he did. I took him on one side and told him my thought was to find them, and through them see if I could not discover the thief. I then told him to go and see Ramasawmy and find out from him all he could about where they had gone, and when. “T then returned and told Ning Wo and asked him what I should do. “* Ask the Tuan for leave,’ he said; ‘ take Ramalingam with you and go and search for the women. And,’ he also said, ‘ remember Ramalingam is a Kling; see that he does no drink or talk.’ “ Therefore, I asked for leave, and the next morning Ramalingam and I went to the coffee estate called Situ, where Ramasawmy said his wife and daughter had gone. We arrived there that afternoon. I went to the Penghulu (the headman of the village) and asked for lodging for the night, and I told Ramalingam to go to the coolie lines and see if he could find or hear anything of the women. I told him that if he found them he was not to speak to them, but to come and tell me. “ He returned in about two hours and said that he had not been able to hear anything of them. “ The next morning he and I walked about the coolie lines and the bazaar, for I thought, per- chance, he had not made too diligent inquiries the day before. Suddenly he shouted :— “Took! There is a woman wearing the foot ornament Ramasawmy said was stolen.’ “ The Tuan knows how all Klings shout when they talk. But, as all the Klings round us were talking too, I hoped he had not been heard. “© Be silent, fool,’ I said. “We walked away, saying nothing to each other, and when we were alone I asked what he had seen. “«T saw a coolie woman wearing the foot ornament which was stolen. I know it, for I have often seen Ramasawmy’s wife wearing it. “ «Will you know the woman again ? ’ J asked. “© Ves,” he said. “* Keep silence, then, for I must consider how we must act.’ “Much did I wish then that Ning Wo was present so that I could ask him what to do, for I did not know. I could not arrest the woman, for I had no warrant, and if I did so without one 1 knew I should get into trouble. Perhaps she had not stolen it, though, for if she had she was a fool to wear it so openly. What if it had been given to her—though I did not think that likely’ —or sold to her? My business was to find Ramasawmy’s wife and daughter, and if I could get this woman to speak the truth I might find out where they were, so I made up my mind I would ask her where she got the ornament. “Why does not Beedin go and give the letter he has to Tuan Stuart and ask him what to do?’ said Ramalingam, though I had told him to be silent. ~ Ramalingam was not such a fool as I had thought him. What he said should have occurred to me at once, but I did not tell him so. “©That is what I am about to do,’ I said. ‘While I am away you will make diligent search for the two women, but you are not to speak to the woman who has the ornament or to anyone else about it. I will return this evening.’ “As soon as Tuan Stuart read the letter he ordered me to tell him the whole story, as without such knowledge he could not instruct me. This, therefore, I did, and when I had finished he said he had better send a Kling detective with me to help. I said I did not wish this, my desire being to find out the whole case myself if I could. “©You will never do that, Beedin,’ laughed Tuan Stuart. ‘Without doubt your Tuan has only one detective, and as he is a Chinaman he is no good for this case, so he sends anyone to try and work it. Fancy Beedin a detective!’ and he again laughed. “This made me angry, so I explained that I had asked the Tuan to let me see what I could do in the matter and that he had allowed me, whereat Tuan Stuart whistled. “<All right,’ he said. ‘I will give you a letter to the Tuan in charge of the estate and ask him to help you. If you do not find out anything,

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84 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and I do not think you will, tell Tuan Mackenzie Ihave a very good Kling detective who shall take up the case.’ “T got back to Situ that afternoon and at once went to the Tuan’s house and delivered Tuan Stuart’s letter. After explaining the whole matter to him. he said the first thing to do was to find out from the woman where she got the ornament, and he told me to bring her to him. I therefore went to Ramalingam and told him to do this, and in ten minutes we were back at the Tuan’s house. “She said at once that one of the coolies on the estate, named Seetiah, had given her the ornament about three weeks before; also she said she was a poor woman and had done no harm in taking it. She then began to cry, though no one had said she had done any harm. “© Call Seetiah here,’ ordered the Tuan. “The woman was about to leave to do so, when I stopped her, and I told Ramalingam to go and bring him, but to say nothing about why he was wanted. If the woman had gone for him I knew she would talk. “When Seetiah came the Tuan asked him where he had got the ornament which he gave the woman. He said first of all that he had not given it to her, but she said something to him which Ramalingam translated as ‘liar.’ Then he said he had bought it in a pawnshop, and when I asked him where, he said he did not exactly remember. I told him that was foolish talk, for he could not have forgotten, and he then said it was in Madras. Thereupon the Tuan said he had not left the estate for three years except for a few days, and why had he kept it so long? Truly the woman was right and Seetiah was a liar. “T knew it would be no use talking before the Tuan, so I asked him to allow me to speak to Seetiah alone. He laughed, and said, ‘ All right.’ “Ramalingam and I then took him into the jungle and talked to him for a long time. At first he remembered nothing, but in the end he remembered everything. ‘Truly it was hard work making him talk, but in the end he told us. “And yet ail he confessed was that he had received the ornament from Ramasawmy, the Tindal of the railway gang. I asked if Ramasawmy had also given him the rest of the jewellery and his money. He did not seem to understand me. and asked what I meant, so I told him that Ramasawmy had reported that he had been robbed of everything, and that as I had found the man who confessed to receiving the ornament I had also found the man who had received the rest, and that, being a policeman, I should arrest him for robbery. Likewise that I should at once go and search his house. “ After that, being frightened, he told us that about three months ago (he was not quite sure how long it was) he had gone to see Ramasawmy to settle about his being married to his daughter, for the marriage had been arranged. “When he arrived at Ramasawmy’s house he was much astonished to find that his wife and daughter were not there ; Ramasawmy told him they had gone to work on a coffee estate about fifteen miles away, but he could not, or would not, say why they had gone. Seetiah did not believe him, but, instead of saying anything, he went to the estate (I forget the name of it, Tuan) to look for them. But they were not there and no one knew anything about them, so he returned to Ramasawmy’s. “ And here is how he became a thief, Tuan, for he is as much a thief as if he had truly robbed Ramasawmy. He told him he had been to the estate and found the women, and that the wife had told him he was to ask Ramasawmy for all her and her daughter's jewellery, and to bring it to them. This Ramasawmy for a long time refused to do, but in the end he did as Seetiah told him. “He then took us to his house and he gave me all the jewellery, but he said he had taken no money from Ramasawmy. Likewise I made him get me the ornament from the woman he had given it to, and give that alsoto me. I have brought them all with me, Tuan. Furthermore, I told Seetiah he would have to come with me and explain everything to the police in the presence of Ramasawmy, and, seeing he was obliged to obey, he consented. The Tuan in charge of the estate, when I explained every- thing, said Seetiah could go with us. Have I done well, Tuan ? ” I said I thought he had done very well, at which he seemed highly delighted. “ But where are the two women, Beedin?” asked Ning Wo. “What further use have we for them?” he replied. “Have I not recovered the stolen property ?” “Oh! I thought it was they you went to look for, and it was how to find them that you asked me. Still, if the Tuan is satisfied, that is all that is necessary.” Needless to say, after hearing for myself what Seetiah had to say, I ordered the sergeant-major to go down and arrest Ramasawmy on a charge of giving false evidence to the police. Late that afternoon he was brought before me, and when I formally charged him he said he did not know what I meant. “ Bring in the witness,” I ordered Beedin. No sooner had Seetiah entered the room than an extraordinary change took place in Rama-

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NING WO AND THE AMATEUR. 85 sawmy. His jaws dropped, he stared at Seetiah for a second or two; then a look of the most abject fear appeared on his face, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor in a dead faint. When he recovered I sent him to jail for the night. I was going to parade early the following morning when the jailer met me. “The Tamil, Ramasawmy, whom your Honour sent to the jail last night, was found dead in his cell just now,” he said. I told him the story. “Exactly so,” he replied ; “ I remember the case, though to my mind that is hardly a suffi- cient shock to have caused death. I'd look deeper if I were you.” When I got back to my quarters I called for Beedin and Ning Wo and told them what had happened. “Has the Tuan the piece of paper I gave him ?” asked Ning Wo. “He collapsed in a heap on the floor.” I told him to call Brydon and bring him to the jail ; when he arrived he minutely examined the body. “Without holding a post-mortem,” he said, “T cannot swear to the cause of death, but I can almost positively assert that it is a simple case of heart failure. He evidently received some obi shock. Natives have not much hold on ife.” Thad forgotten about it, but I went and got it. “ Will the Tuan have it translated ? ” he said. “ Read it yourself,” I replied. “ When the Tuan has had it translated he will see that that would not be right. How does he know what I may have written, it being in Chinese ? ” I sent Beedin with the paper to the court interpreter with a request that he would write

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86 _ THE me a translation. He returned in about a quarter of an hour, and this was what was written on a piece of paper attached to thes original. “The man, Ramasawmy, was forced to give the jewellery to some one who knew he had murdered his wife and daughter, and who threatened to expose him.” And there stood Ning Wo, wooden-faced as ever, serene and calm. He had known the whole case from beginning to end, and he had coolly watched us floundering about exactly as a cat watches a mouse! I could have beaten him! “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I asked, angrily. “ The Tuan did not ask me ; he gave the case to Beedin. Who am I to interfere with the Tuan’s orders? Nevertheless, will he send for this man, Seetiah, and let me question him?” I told Beedin to go and bring him. “ Answer any question this Chinaman asks you,” I said. “And don’t lie, for if you do I will charge you with murder.” At that he commenced to grovel at my feet. Was not I his fater and his mother, and how could he lie to me? He would speak the truth. I told him to get up and mind he did so. “ How did you know Ramasawmy had killed his wife and daughter ?” said Ning Wo, with a suddenness which startled me. It also startled Seetiah very considerably, for he simply stared at Ning Wo for a full minute. Beedin somewhat unceremoniously took him by the shoulders and shook him, but he had apparently lost the use of his voice and he was trembling from head to foot. “ Answer the question,” I ordered, sharply. He moistened his lips with his tongue several times before he could speak, but finally he recovered himself and told us the following story. What he had told Beedin as to his visit to Ramasawmy to arrange about his marriage was quite true, and also about his going to the estate Ramasawmy had said his wife and daughter had gone to. Not finding them there he returned with a view to making the old man say where they really were, when, on coming through the jungle, he stumbled on the corpse of the wife, who had not been dead more than two days; he saw she had been killed by her head being fractured with a sort of knife. He was hurrying away to tell Ramasawmy about it when he discovered the body of the daughter. Finding the two bodies so overcame him that, for a time, he must have lost conscious- WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ness. Finally, he found his way to Ramasawmy and told him. Ramasawmy refused to believe him and said such a thing could not be, and that he, Seetiah, must have dreamt it, but the latter persuaded him to come and see for himself, which Ramasawmy most reluctantly did. For a long time the old man seemed utterly stricken with grief and would not talk. Finally, Seetiah said they had better go and tell the police, but to his utter astonishment Ramasawmy would not hear of such a thing, and gave many reasons for not doing so. Then it dawned on Seetiah that Ramasawmy might have murdered them himself, though why he could not conceive, and he accused him of it. Of course, Ramasawmy vigorously denied this, but when Seetiah again urged him to go with him to the police he begged and prayed him not to do so. ‘This made Seetiah more certain than before that Ramasawmy had killed them, so he said he was going to report the whole matter, when Ramasawmy offered him all he had, including the jewellery, if he would keep what he had discovered to himself. Seetiah argued that if he reported the matter it would possibly put him in a very difficult position, for how did he know he himself might not be accused of murdering the women? In any case, he would gain nothing by his action, whereas by doing as Ramasawmy wished, and keeping silence, he would benefit considerably. After all, the women were dead and nothing he could do would bring them to life again, so he took the money and jewellery and departed. I sat thinking for a long time. The thought which was uppermost in my mind was why, if Seetiah’s story was true, had Ramasawmy invented the story of the robbery ? And, above all, why had he said his wife and daughter had gone to Situ, where he knew Seetiah lived ? He must have known we should inquire there. The working of the Oriental’s brain is too complex for the Occidental to follow. I sent Seetiah to the jail charged with being an accessory after the fact of murder. When he and Beedin had departed Ning Wo said :— “T would ask one thing. Will the Tuan take me to Ramasawmy’s house ? ” I asked him why, but he only replied that he had a wish to go there. Knowing he would not ask such a thing without good reason I consented, and two hours later he and I arrived there. He searched round for several minutes, and finally, without saying a word, handed me something. It was a bill-hook !

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Frontier Life in South America. The Madre de Dios River. (Photograph. BY W. O. SIMON. The story of four years’ wanderings amidst the forests and mountains of Peru and Bolivia. During this period many curious and exciting adventures befell the Author, and these he relates in chatty fashion, illustrating his narrative with some very interesting photographs. III. N my last article I described how I canoed down the Inambari River, n Peru, to Puerto Alianza, a small the Madre de Dios River. The Madre de Dios is a majestic waterway, some four hundred yards wide at Puerto Alianza. Later on it joins another river to become the Beni; farther down again, it flows into the Marmore, and finally—more than a thousand miles below Alianza—is merged into the mighty Amazon. On the banks of the Amazon there are large towns boasting of a so-called civilization, but in the remote reaches of the affluents and sub- affluents, and in the great forest tracts along these spacious waterways, force and Nature reign supreme. Human, animal, and plant life battle hard for existence. In this vast and little-known region law and order are not codified; they are merely the product of self-defence. If an evildoer be caught retribution is swift and terrible. And slaves— the aboriginal forest savages—are bought and sold freely, When I was in the Madre de Dios the market price of a man was sixty pounds, a woman forty pounds, and a child ten pounds ; although, for good men used to collecting caucho (low-grade wild rubber), much higher prices prevailed. One land-owner I know had just bought twenty families—say, eighty persons in all—for five thousand pounds. I myself was offered a hundred people by their master, who was retiring from business. He appeared quite surprised when I told him that Englishmen did not deal in human flesh. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that these slaves are not, as a rule, unhappy. Instead of wandering wild about the woods, they are brought into the rubber camps, given some clothes and a gun, and introduced to alcohol. Then they are sent out into the forest to cut down caucho trees and collect the rubber that flows from the trunks. It is true that, in some places, flogging and other ill-treatment follow when the quantity of rubber picked is small, but on the other hand, increased

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88 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. (OOOO, ot a i ad BaP. } From a) supplies of alcohol, good guns and ammunition, and finery for the women are attendant on a good crop. Moreover, if the ill-treatment be excessive—that is, more than the men think they deserve—the next morning may find the master assassinated. During my stay in the district two slave-owners and their staffs met their fate in this way—all were wiped out in a night. The Peruvian and Bolivian Governments endeavour, though somewhat spasmodically, to prevent the trade in slaves. Unfortunately, the distance from the central authority is so great that these civilizing efforts have but slow results in the Amazon basin. In September, 1910, I left Puerto Alianza in an eighteen-inch-wide dug-out canoe, accom- panied by three Japanese, two half-breed Indians, and my dog, Bunny. We journeyed up the Madre de Dios to prospect for gold, and also to see what oppor- tunities there might be for trading. As we were going up-stream we had to punt with long bamboo canes that we cut from the adjoining forest. We were obliged to keep quite close into the bank so as to be in shallow water, and thus avoid, wherever we could, the force of the current. This end was, however, only attained at the expense of much personal suffering. Hordes of mosquitoes, “ manta blancas,” and other flying and creeping pests came out gaily from the jungle-clad banks to feast on us poor mortals. We were even glad when we had to haul the canoe up rapids, and were thus given an oppor- tunity to dip our swollen and aching bodies in the muddy river. All day long we toiled in and out of the canoe, a fierce sun beating down upon On the Madre de Dios—The man in the aay, is about to wash for gold. (Photograph. us, and blistering the insect bites. The excite- ment and danger of negotiating rapids became almost monotonous with constant repetition of the exercise. A short rest and a scanty meal at midday were not very refreshing, since the insects did not seem anxious to use this hottest part of the day for the purpose of a siesta. No animal calls are heard then ; all the jungle life is asleep in the cooler and deeper glades of the forest, except the insects, which never seem to sleep during their short life. They possess, too, insatiable appetites. By punting hard we made about a kilometre an hour. Frequently we panned out gravel and sand from the beaches and banks, and always found flakes of gold adhering to the wooden pan when we had washed out the earth and stones. Now and again the limitless tracts of flat forést land would be broken by a clearing, with a log house or two in its centre, and a plantain or yucca patch around the house. There were canoes tied up to a mound that did duty for a wharf ; perhaps a woman would be washing clothes in the river, and the Peruvian owner of the domain could be seen smoking a cheroot, lying in his hammock, thinking, no doubt, of how, if the season’s crop were good, he could buy more slaves, and, perhaps, purchase a pearl necklace to tempt that bright-eyed, soft-skinned Loretana lady whom he had seen in Iquitos last year, to come out to his lonely bush-station. Monkeys chattered in the trees as we went by, and once I shot a large tapir—very good eating. On another occasion I missed a drove of wild pig that was hurriedly crossing the river—to disap- pear into the forest as we rounded a bend. Again, when in the water, and bumping the canoe over

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FRONTIER LIFE IN SOUTH AMERICA. &9 the stones of a rapid, a large water-snake was carried down-stream, close tome. I grabbed my stout punt-pole in time, and got in a sturdy hit on the ugly head of the beast, which disappeared in the water, although I do not think it was killed. I expect it came up again, lower down the river. At one place on the bank where I particularly wished to pan for gold I saw three alligators basking on the mud-flats by the water’s edge. There was nothing for it but to try to shoot them. It is not easy to kill alligators with a Winchester rifle of small calibre, owing to the toughness of the hides, but by good fortune I finished animal number one with a shot in the vulnerable part at the back of its head. I had no time for numbers two and three. Frightened by my first dis- charge, they dropped into the river like stones. Gold-washing at this place was, consequently, attended by more than usual discomfort. Up to my knees in the dun-coloured river, I washed out the mud and sand from my pan, while a couple of the crew, standing in the canoe near by, endeavoured to create a diversion for the alligators by splashing the punt-poles around in the water. Towards nightfall we had to make camp. We looked without success for a beach high enough above the river to avoid risk of sudden floods. Everywhere, however, the forest came so low down to the water that we could not find a place suitably cleared by Nature for our purpose. We were therefore obliged to do Nature’s work and make our own clearing ; we landed, after scaring away the alligators by the water’s edge, tied up the canoe, and then clambered up the bank, A rubber station in the forest. (Photograph. machete in hand, to cut down the jungle round a circle some ten feet in diameter. In this small space we rigged up palm-leaf rain-shelters—four poles stuck in the ground to support a sloping roof of palm leaves. Although I am not, myself, very partial to it, one of the greatest delicacies to dwellers in an Amazonian forest is monkey. While our rice and plantains were boiling in a stew-pot over the camp fire, we heard, close by in the woods, the “chp, chp” cry made by monkeys. I at once ordered my men to keep silent and, attended by one of the half-breeds native to the forest, crept along, rifle in hand, towards the sound, with the intention of obtaining a substantial addition to our evening meal. When we had cut our way some few yards through the thick under and over growth, I was tired of being torn and cut by brambles and nettles—not to mention a giant grasshopper, the size of my hand, that bit me painfully on the wrist. So we sat down at the foot of a great tree and began to “ chp, chp,” ourselves. It was not long before an answering call came, followed by the noise of large animals, swinging along from branch to branch and tree to tree, some sixty feet above us. Between the leaves of the tree- tops I caught sight of four large ‘‘ sambos ’”” — animals that look half monkey and half gorilla. I had a very poor target, owing to the density of the foliage that almost obscured the monkeys. However, I let fly with my Winchester and hit one beast in the shoulder. He gave tongue to a dreadful screech, in which his companions joined. Another bullet did not succeed in killing him, and it took a shot from the half-breed’s shot-gun

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90 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, to make the animal rclease his hold of a branch from which he was hanging by one hand. I was not anxious to fight the three remaining monkeys that were screaming at me from the branches ; and consequently we returned to camp, where our victim, who measured four feet six inches, was skinned, cut up, and cooked, to the delight of all the camp save myself. Half an hour later one of the men brought me my tin dinner-plate. On it was Sambo’s right hand, cut off at the wrist and fried black. The hand is supposed to be the most delicate portion of the animal, and our Jap cook was quite offended when I declined to eat his chef-d’euvre. I rigged up my mosquito-net after dinner and Krom a) was glad to escape into it from the noisome hosts of stinging things without. Soon the rest of the camp was peacefully sleeping. For a long time I lay awake, the magic spell of the forest upon me. The charm of that spell may be likened to the witchery of fast-running water ; both drive away all definite thoughts, leaving Fancy to drift quietly and aimlessly into sleep. I was awakened from my light sleep by a ‘The Huitoto chief's wife, who presented the Au-hor with several gifts. |/"/ocrgap tops. crunching of the long grass and creepers around me. Some large animal had evidently come to view the intruders in his domain. I lay quite still, and then, as two fierce, green eyes glittered through an opening in the brush, I reached out my hand for my rifle, but did not shoot. I reflected that, as I could not see the body behind the eyes, I might well fail to kill, and that a wounded tiger or puma springing on me, tied up as I was in my mosquito net, would not be an agreeable way of ending my life. I therefore remained quiet, with hand on rifle, in case of eventualities. I was pretty sure, however, that, like almost all animals in the forest, the owner of the green eyes would, if unmolested, depart in peace. My sur- mise proved cor rect, as shortly afterwards I heard a crunching soun | again, and the animal dis- appeared. As night wore on the wind rose, and, with the wind, black clouds came fleeting by, hiding in their passage a_ bright moon. Then a faint lightsuffused the eastern hori- zon—the ap- proach of dawn. The camp was aroused, cooking- pots set to work, blankets rolled up, cargoes stowed away in the canoe, all in the desire to set out before the tropical sun —a great, red ball of fire — should appear — burning above the tree- As we up- camped the black clouds broke to cold sheets of rain that chilled our scantily-clad bodies to the bone. And still the pink light on the horizon remained faint ; the dawn was not yet. We had seen but a mirage—the false dawn that many have read about but few witnessed. We crouched round the camp fire, waiting and shivering, our eyes ever to the east to greet the rising of the sun which should light us sufficiently to continue our

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FRONTIER LIFE IN SOUTH AMERICA. or Some of the Indians at Puerto Huitoto—The ladies are Huitoto cannibals; the two men ia the centre are IMaparis. From a Photograph. journey on the dangerous river. While we toasted one side of our bodies the other would be cold with the rain and the chill wind that blows in the last hours of the night. After about two hours of waiting we were so cold and miserable that we decided to risk getting away in the semi-dark, any fate seeming preferable to our present suffering. We were glad of the strenuous exercise of punting and hauling. This work, and the excitement of passing over almost invisible rapids, with little but their roar to guide us, soon made us forget our chilly vigil. Thus, when the sun rose, an hour later, we were quite in good spirits once more. On the third evening we arrived at a small settlement called Puerto Huitoto, owned by a Peruvian cauchero, or rubber-worker, named Torres. We made camp by the side of the river opposite the settlement, and I paddled across to visit the owner, who, in the hospitable manner customary “in the rivers,’ at once invited me to dine and sleep. I accepted only the first half of the invitation, and sat down to a meal of many viands, all, save the tea, strange to civilization. Attached to, every rubber station are a couple of professional hunters, who go out daily into the jungle and return with food for the succeeding day. The mainstay of our meal was part of a nicely- roasted monkey, a rather tough meat, not unlike venison. Turtle eggs, wild pig, wild turkey, and’ a species of flour grown in the settlement, and baked into hard little cakes, made up the dinner. While we were smoking the local (and very strong) tobacco afterwards, a huge, copper- coloured savage appeared. He was in process of taming, preparatory to being sent out to gather caucho. A “trade” shirt and trousers clothed part of his huge frame, and on his head was an old felt hat with a greasy silk lining. I myself wore an unlined felt cowboy hat that greatly interested the savage, as felt hats are a rarity in the Madre de Dios. Suddenly, monkey fashion, he leant down and grabbed my hat, looked at it, noted the absence of lining, gazed at his own resplendent headgear, and then laughed and danced about in great satisfaction that he was the owner of a more elegant hat than mine. I noticed a strong muscular development about the knees of my savage friend, and ascertained that it was the custom of his tribe— —the Inaparis—to play a sort of football with a ball of pure rubber made by themselves. The knee is used for “ kicking” instead of the foot, and although there are no proper goals or set rules, the Ifaparis greatly enjoy ther game. The tribe lives some three days’ march back in the forest from the Madre de Dios. A month before they were wild, naked, and unknown denizens of the woods. One day Torres, search- ing with his men for new rubber-grounds, found what he sought, and also a tribe that might be set to collect caucho for him. He determined to “conquer” the new-found people. By peaceful means a few of the savages were induced to come to Puerto Huitoto. There they were kindly treated, made drunk, given guns and clothing, and then sent back to the tribe, which, at the time of my arrival, was quite under Torres’s influence. After a month’s idleness the men were just being put to work for their “ owner.”” Should they give too much trouble, he intended to sell the Ifaparis to a trader trom a distance, and to purchase strange men, not

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92 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. used to the locality—and, therefore, unlikely to escape—in place of them. The bulk of Torres’s workmen, and those who substitute alcohol drinking fo. their former man- eating orgies. As will be seen from my snap- shots of a few of the wome:, the Huitotos are Huitoto cannibals making pottery. gave their name to the station, were Huitoto cannibals, whom he had purchased wild and cheap, on the Putu mayo River, a thousand and more miles away. The Huitotos had been with Torres four years when I had arrived, and in that time had been taught to work satis factorily. He had en- deavoured, with some success, to make them The same women sitting down—Notice the curious squatting position of those in the rear, which is common to all the forest dwellers. From a Photograph. Fiom @ Photograph. a well-made people, and, s> far as I could tell, they seemed to be happy enough in their slavery. The chief of the tribe lived in a sort of kraal. With muchcourtesy and some grace his princi- pal wife assembled her people in front of the house, and there pre- sented me with a grass hammock and a basket made by her dusky hands, which also placed a necklet of monkey’s

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FRONTIER LIFE IN SOUTH AMERICA. 93 teeth around my neck. The Huitotos are a clean people, and, lik: all other forest-dwellers, they bathe at least once daily. At the time of my visit nearly all the men were away working in the forest ; thus the ladies were rather lonely. They were filling up their time, however, by labour on the settlement farm—where maize grows twelve feet high in five months—weaving from native cotton, and by pottery-making. The Huitotos have invented a very ingenious system of wireless telegraphy, similar, I believe, to that in use amongst some African tribes. In Ashanti, for instance, I understand that the news of Queen Victoria’s death was known in the capital some days before mail-runners arrived Fron a) there. The Huitotos, who are said to number many thousands spread about in the Amazon basin around the Putumayo River (the scene of the recently reported atrocities), are subject to continual raids by slave-hunters. Like all good woodmen, they have acquired a working knowledge of many of the forces of Nature, as displayed in the forest. Urged probably by the necessity for co-operation against the invading man-hunter, they en- deavoured to find how the earth, as a natural sound-conductor, could be made to serve as the means of giving timely warning and obtaining assistance. They cut a certain kind of stout Repairing a canoe that was damaged in a rapid. bamboo-cane, and placed two lengths of it, parallel and some few feet apart on the ground. Over these poles they laid two similar pieces of bamboo at right angles to the lower lengths. By tapping on the upper poles with a mallet made of hard wood, t ey found that the sound or vibration of the knocks would carry up to thirty miles through the forest to a listener who placed his ear to a receiving station made in the same way as the “ transmitter.” Many a slave-chase has been frustrated by means of the Huitoto “ wireless,” and many an adventurous man-hunter has been overpowered and eaten by hordes of savages summoned by its aid from distant parts of the forest. I took break- fast at Puerto Huitoto the following morn- ing, and then paddled down stream to Puerto Alianza. On arrival there all hands were set to repairing the canoe, which had become —_some- what battered in the rapids. Whilst this work was in progress a gun- shot rang out— the customary salute when a boat is calling at a settlement. A canoe, with nine men in it, came swiftly to the bank below our camp, and a Spanish Peruvian named Perez, with an assist- ant, got out and came towards me. My game-hunters had not yet returned from the daily chase, so I could offer my guests but scanty hospitality in the form of rice and plantains. The meal over, they told me their errand, They and their crew, seven _half- tamed and drunken Chama _savages—ugly little brown men from the Manu River—were seeking a Peruvian named Denos and his lady- love. The canoe, provided with rifles, manacles, a chain, and a knotted whip, had come down from the Upper Manu River, twenty-eight days up-stream from Puerto Alianza. It appeared that Denos had been an assistant

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04 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at Perez’s rubber-camp on the Manu. Now Perez was a very rich man, owning many slaves, and maintaining a regular harem. ‘The flower of the flock, the apple of his eye, was a beautiful Campa savage damsel named Estela. Un- fortunately, young Denos fell in love with her, and she with him. One night the two eloped in a large canoe, Denos taking with him, besides the lady, a large sum in gold, a jewelled watch, and twenty slaves—all the property of his master. ‘The money, the watch, even the slaves might be forgotten; but not Estela. Perez swore a vendetta. Being a wealthy and in- fluential man, he sent agents out a month’s journey to the nearest town, to secure Denos’s arrest in case the thief left the forest country. At the same time, three separate parties in canoes were dispatched to search the rivers for the fugitive, who was, if possible, to be ’ brought back alive to the Manu, there to undergo torture as an example to the settlement. Perez had heard that the most likely route of escape from the Madre de Dios (into which the Manu flows) would be the Inambari River. Five or six days up the Inambari is an affluent called the Marcopata. Close to the junction of these two rivers there is a mule-road running over the Andes to the railway and civilization. It was not likely that Denos would go out over this road, as he would thereby run great risk of arrest by the police. The probability was that he would attempt to canoe up the almost impassable Marcopata River, and then cut his way through the forest to an unfrequented part of the mountains ; later on travelling by lonely trails to Arequipa, a large town on the railway, where he had friends who would assist him to escape to another land. I myself knew that Denos had left via the Inambari only three days previously, but, as it was not my business to help in a man-hunt, I kept silent. The news, however, had reached Perez from a number of the escaped slaves, whom he had picked up on his way down the Madre de Dios; all save four had deserted Denos and Estela A few days later I returned up the Inambari, and on my way along the river came across the deserted camps of both Denos and his pursuer. From the appearance of these resting- places I could tell about how many days had passed since they had been occupied, and I feared a tragic end to the love idyll when I saw that Perez was daily gaining on his prey. Three weeks later I was sitting in my room at headquarters on the road, chatting and smoking with an English assistant, and glad to have for once a good shelter from the thunder- storm that was raging without. Suddenly the door opened, and the gaunt, haggard, not to say haunting face of our Australian camp-cook appeared in the doorway. ‘The cook, by the way, was an ex-sailor, who had turned up one day after a five hundred miles walk from the coast over the Andes. I strongly suspected that he had known the inside of more than one jail in his lifetime. However, he was a fairly good cook, and thus suited us for the time being. As he entered the room, he looked for all the world like the old burglar in the first act of “ Raffles ”»— he had the same hunted, shifty glance. The storm was at its height when the Australia 1 came in out of the dark, and in whispers said that a shadow of a bruised and wounded man, calling himself Denes, had crept into the kitchen As administrator of the district, I had received orders from the Government to arrest the fugitive if he came within my jurisdiction. I could not, therciore, take official cognizance of Denos’s arrival without having him locked up, which weuld officiaily mean his subsequent dispatch for trial before the Government Delegate in th: Madre de Dios; though, in reality, the prisoner would be handed over to the clutches of Perez. I therefore resolved to smuggle the runaway out of my district by unfrequented roads, until he could reach his friends in Arequipa. ‘To that end I sent private instructions to the keeper of the bridge giving access to our camp that Denos was to pass out without question - by night. Denos seemed to be more dead than alive, thin as a skeleton ; his almost naked body was lined and seared with weals and cuts from the knout and the chains. Ants and other insects had entered into the wounds, and made them horrible to see. It appeared that Perez and his men, stalking successfully, had made the very dangerous passage up the Marcopata, and then tracked their victim on foot for three days through the jungle. In the early hours of one morning they arrived at a small clearing where Denos, with Estela, and his four remaining men, were peacefully sleeping. The horror of the scene may be imagined. The two white human bloodhounds, and the seven wild savages, suddenly emerging from the forest and silently jumping on the sleeping man and woman lying bencath a mosquito-net. In a moment the woman was tied with thongs, and the man chained to a stake in the ground, his followers escaping in the confusion. A fire was lighted near to Denos. Mingled with the crackling of the flames, and the shouts of the savages, as they danced around the fire, was the thud of the whip as it broke across his body. Knives were heated in the embers and then stuck red-hot into his flesh till he

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FRONTIER LIFE IN SOUTH AMERICA. 95 fainted. Estela, though bound, was not gagged, nor blindfolded ; thus her shrieks added to the horror of the night. When the pursuers were tired of their orgy they lay down on the ground and fell asleep. This was the opportunity for a faithful servant of Denos to creep out of hiding in the jungle for a moment, and to push a machete under Denos’s back. The feel of the cold steel brought him to from his faint, and he set to work, very painfully, to break open the chain links. He finaily severed them, just before dawn, and crawled away into the forest. No sooner had he reached shelter than the camp was awakc and aware of the escape. Yelling with rage, Perez and his men rushed into the woods in pursuit. Denos had just time to take refuge inside the trunk of a large tree, of which the core had been eaten out by ants. He lay in hiding throughout the day, hearing the savage cries of his hunters as they passed to and fro in the search. They thought, evidently, that their victim of overnight would not be capable of going far, on account of his wounds. All the time he was without food or water, and the large red ants, whose home was ini the trees, were eating into his dreadful sores. It was only the next morning, when Perez and his men finally gave up their victim for dead and went away with Estela, that Denos came out of his awful prison to seek some relief in a little stream near by. For the next fortnight he lived on -leaves and worms, as he journeyed wearily and warily (avoiding the road) through the virgin forests to my headquarters. Even there he The road through the forest from the Inambari- ave the men’s huts a wide berth, and came in the dark of night to seek mercy from the Englishmen. The reader will be glad to hear that Denos made good his escape and arrived at last in Arequipa,where, by the exercise of some influence and ingenuity, he obtained the re-cission of the order for his arrest. Many strange things happen in forest life, and so some months later, when I myself was in the town of Arequipa —I had forgotten the fugitive—I was surprised to receive a visit from him there. It appeared that by some means he had obtained sufficient money to outfit an expedition, and, with eight young men friends of his, intended to go back down the Inambari to the Madre de Dios and the Manu, there to kill Perez and take away the fascinating Estela. I warned Denos that his journey would end in failure, that he would be caught and tortured to death ; but he replied he was ready to risk everything if he could only see Estela again. All I could do was to forbid his passage over the road under my control, telling him that I could hardly be expected, after saving his life once, to assist him to lose it, and to connive at possible murder as well. In the end he set out by another route, but so far as I know he has never been heard of since. News reached me, however, that on Estela’s return to the Manu she tried one night to kill Perez in bed; but her attempt was not successful. She received a flogging for her pains, and according to last advices had become a dutiful wife. Such is love in the Amazon Valley ! —_ ee [Photograph

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ODDS anno ENDS. The Largest Cocoon in the World—Making Maple Syrup—Round the World in a Barrel, etc. HE photo- graph here reproduced shows the largest cocoon in the world, which hails from New Guinea. The portion of the cocoon _ illustrated measures fifteen inches long by the same distance round, but some of the cocoons when opened measure a yard across. This speci- men was discovered attached to the branches of a high tree in the Arfak Mountains. The cocoon is made by hundreds of larve, Deported,” setting forth the remark- able experiences of Mr. H. H. Dunn, a WipE WoRLD con- tributor, who was expelled from Mexico on suspicion of having written “The Master-Ban- dit,” which appeared in our pages, we reproduce _here- with an interesting photograph _show- ing Mr. Dunn (seated on left) giv- ing evidence before the United States Senate Committee deputed to investi- gate the Mexican revolutions. Mr. each having its own — Fyom a} The largest cocoon in the world. | Photograph. Dunn swore to the separate cell of silk. The silk is of a golden brown colour, is extremely tough, and is probably of great commercial value. The pup are a source of food to the natives, while the cocoons themselves are used for blankets. With reference to our recent narrative, “ Arrested and information con- tained in THE WiDE WorLD story before this committee. Most Japanese towns have a shrine or temple dedicated to the tutelary deity of the city. At Ueno, in the Iga province, several beautifu!ly-decorated cars are kept at the shrine, and figure annually in a curious procession. Mr. H. H. Dunn, the author of our story, “Arrested and Deported,” giving evidence before the United States Senate Committee deputed to investigate the Mexican Revolutions—Mr. Dunn is seen seated to the h From a Photograph.

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When the day of the festival arrives hun- dreds of pious wor- shippers drag the cars, by means of ropes, through the gaily- decorated streets of the city — thereby, they believe, greatly pleasing the gods of the shrine. The cars are wonderful examples of Japa- nese decorative art, richly ornamented with gilding and Scan The jotograph = repro- duced below shows ~ ek the most ornate of fro» a) these vehicles. The above photograph shows a scene in Ontario, Canada, during the months in which real maple syrup can be made. ‘The sap is procured by inserting A wonderfal specimen of Japanese decorative art—One of the temple cara at Uenc, Japan. From a Photograph. Vol, xxxi.—7. ODDS AND ENDS. Tapping maple trees for syrup in Ontario, Canada. [Photegraph. a thin tube into the trunk of the tree, out of which the fluid exudes. This sap, when first taken, is as clear and thin as water, and tastes exactly like a glass of water in which a lump of sugar has been dissolved. When it begins to drip from the tube it is caught in tin pails, and these again, when full, are emptied into large barrels drawn in a sleigh —the most convenient vehicle for driving through the maze of trees and underbush. Ar iving at the “ boiling-house,” the contents of the barrels run down a spout into the boiling- pan, which is about six or eight feet long, two feet wide, and three inches deep. It is placed on a slight incline, to allow the sap to run down it into the receptacle at the end. In order that the sap shall not run down too fast to get tho- roughly boiled by the fire which is kept constantly br:.ning under- neath, it is checked by thin strips of wood laid across the pan, and which only allow about an inch of space through which it can pass. The nearer the sap gets to the lower end of the pan the thicker it becomes, until, when it reaches the final receptacle, it is that beautiful clear brown colour and has acquired that delicious taste that has so many imitations and no equals. The price of the syrup at the boiling- house itself is usually a dollar and a quarter a gallon. Maple sugar is practically maple syrup in a solidified form, caused by a continuation of the boiling process, and, as it necessitates the use of more sap, it is natur- ally more expensive. Away in Cheyenne County, Wyoming, there is a slender, deli- cate-looking, natural spire known as Chimney Rock. Even with- out the tapering upper pinnacle

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98 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) this rock would be a striking landmark, rising as it de over three hundred feet above the surrounding country ‘but with this added seventy-five-foot shaft Chimney Rock is a most remarkable formation. The several bases and the rock itself are a series of sandstone and clay strata, showing that at some distant age this part of the United States, now thousands of feet above the sea-level, was the bed of a mighty ocean. Accord- ing to the photographer, Geologist N. H. Darton, of the United States Geological Survey, in one of the early geologic ages the whole of Wyoming and the ad- joining States was covered by a shallow sea. Later, the land was uplifted and, still later, much of it washed and eroded away, Chimney Rock, being somewhat harder than the surrounding floor of this ancient sea, is one of the last remaining fragments of the great layer of rock which, after the land uplift, covered this por- tion of the country. There seems to be no limit to the foolish things some people will do for the sake of a wager. Early in 1910 two Venetian brothers named Vianello, black- smiths by trade, made a bet that they would travel round the world in a barrel. During the month of June they duly set out from Venice, and later arrived at Berlin, where they received an enthusiastic reception. The ac- companying picture shows the “Chimney Rock,” a remarkable natural landmark in Cheyenne County, Wyoming. (Photograph. two men and their barrel. This was a special constructions open at the end, and having a “ perch” inside so con- structed as to remain always upright. On this one brother sits while the other trundles the barrel along. Food is stored along the sides, and at night, if no other shelter is available, both brothers sleep in their queer rolling home. They estimate that the trip round the world will occupy “Rolling round the world in a barrel!“—The two men here shown have undertaken, for a wager, to travel round the world in an open-ended tub. From a Copyright Photo, by Argus,” Milan.

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HOW WEAK EYES ARE STRENGTHENED BY EXERCISE By C. Gilbert N this, which is undoubtedly the most active period in the history of man, every one of our faculties is called on to do more, and to respond to a longer continued extraordinary strain than ever before. “Take things easy” may be very good advice, but most of us, who know how our competitors are hustling, fear that the practice of it would furnish us with a free seat on a bench in the park, instead of a cash income. More energy, more concentration, are re- quired to keep up with the leaders nowadays —hence our nervous exhaustion is greater. Busy city life with its clang, clatter and rush, even most of our time-saving inventions and modes of travel keep the nerves on edge, and give them no opportunity to rest during our waking hours. Now the eye is one of the most delicate centers of the nervous system. This is clearly proven by the fact that the first place a physician looks for symptoms of paralysis is at the base of the optic nerve—if there are none in evidence it is taken as positive proof that there is no danger. This will clearly evidence that nerve ex- haustion means eye-exhaustion and _ finally eye affection if nothing be done to correct it. If, however, the blood circulation in the eyes is kept normal by the proper kind of simple and safe exercise, they continue healthy, normal and strong. Beside this nervous strain that I speak of there are many other features of modern life which tax the eyes unduly. Our schooling, once confined to the simple rudiments of educition, is now so extended that the books of a schoolchild of to-day Percival, M. D. would cause a child of thirty years ago to look aghast—hence at the threshold of practical life we start to unduly tax our eyes. The glitter of city streets—the speed of traffic—the riding in fast trains—the viewing of scenery from train-windows as it flashes quickly by—and above all, the habit of reading every time we have the opportunity in our busy careers, under all sorts of unfavorable conditions—these all add to the extraordinary burden which our eyes are asked and expected to carry without assistance of any kind. And, remember that though your arms may rest, your body may recline, and every limb, and other sense may be to a great extent dormant at times, your eyes are always seeing unless they are closed—always active during every waking hour. Hardly any wonder then, that eye strain is so common and up to recently so many have had to call on artificial aid in order to see at all. You know the eye is just like a little camera. It has the lens with the iris opening which enlarges and contracts agreeably to the amount of light existing. It also has a dark chamber which may be compared to a camera bellows, and the retina corresponding to the sensitive plate. It has three sets of muscles—one turns the eyes in any direction, one controls the iris, and one operates the focus. When, through nervous exhaustion or over- taxation, the circulation of blood in the eyes becomes weaker than is normal, these muscles become flabby and refuse to act up to their usual standard, and the eyes do not focus easily if at all. Premature old-sight is the result. The muscles still do their best to focus properly; eagerly struggle and strain ~ tc

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE properly do the work which your brain com- mands them to do—strain and struggle so hard in fact that they affect the tired nerves, and not only cause headaches of which this is the most fruitful cause, but put the entire nervous system under a pressure which extends to the stomach and digestive organs, and brings on nausea and dyspepsia. What eye specialist is there who has not heard from his patient: “Why I had no idea in the world that it could be my eyes.” There are many physicians in fact, who look to the eyes for one of the first causes of stomach trouble. It is perfectly amazing in reviewing the progress of science, surgery and medicine in the last fifty years, that the methods of cor- recting eye afflictions, even of the simplest kind, seem to have been entirely overlooked. Science in physiology is correcting de- formities which used to require harnesses or mechanical support. Surgery is correcting displacements which heretofore caused __life- long confinement. Physicians are departing more and more from the old-fashioned practice of continual drugging, and using more rational methods of restoring and preserving health. But, until the recent discovery of this sys- tem of exercise to which I refer, no matter how simple your eye-trouble was, you were told that you had to wear eye-glasses. Now eye-glasses are not necessarily to be despised. They are a great invention in their way—so are crutches. But you would not relish the anticipation that you had to use crutches all your life—nor would you. Just as soon as your sprained ankle, for instance, were in condition to stand it, your doctor would instruct you to touch it to the ground gradually and exercise it to bring back the normal circulation necessary to enable you to discard your crutch. Exactly the same with a broken arm—exercise it as soon as possible to bring it’ back to normal. The wearing of eye-glasses is just exactly like using a crutch for life. Instead of growing stronger by their use, the eyes grow weaker, and you probably are well aware of the fact that in order to see perfectly the wearer of glasses must change them from time to time for new and stronger ones. Let us see what authorities say on the sub- ject of eye massage: Doctor De Schweinitz, of Philadelphia, Professor of Ophthalmology in Jefferson College, makes the statement that in treating so serious a condition as dreaded cataract of the eye, massage of the eye-ball “has been followed by improvement in vision and deepening of the anterior chamber.” The Medical Record, in writing of the same serious ailment, urges the great value of “any means that would bring an increased blood supply” and considers that “the most feasible plan seems to be properly applied massage.” It would of course be impossible to satis- factorily or even safely give this massage (or exercise) with the hands, but this problem was successfully solved a few years ago by a New York specialist, who realized through experi- ence how many troubles of the eyes could be quickly corrected by this method. The greatest and most practical inventions usually seem the simplest and most obvious once they become known, and this one is no exception to that rule. So simple is it that anyone can use it in their own home without instruction, yet it is so safe that there is not the slightest chance of giving the eyes anything but great benefit, no matter how long they may have been affected. This system of exercise is fully explained, also many interesting scientific facts about the eyes are given in a little book on the subject, which will be sent without cost if you address Charles A. Tyrrell, M.D., 134 West 65th Street, New York, and mention having read this article in the WipE WorLD MaGaziNE. It may, with reason, be suggested that at no time could this system have been perfected more opportunely than now. At no time has the world demanded more perfect men and women ; and if your eyes are weak, whether you wear glasses or not, it is not necessary for any one to point out its disadvantages—per- haps you even consider glasses a disfigurement to a certain degree—surely they are an in- convenience. Of course you cannot put new muscles in an eye, as you would a new tire on an automobile. but you can restore health to these muscles and give them the same original strength that assures the thorough performance of their natural work, ; Personally I have seen this system in a few months make a boy of eighteen entirely in- dependent of glasses who had worn them con- tinuously for twelve years; also enable old folks over sixty to discard their glasses in an incredibly short time. Therefore, I believe it is safe to assume that many thousands of spectacles will cease to be useful as this system becomes generally known, and I am sure that everyone whose eyes are affected in any way, whether a wearer of glasses or not, will be greatly interested in the little book which tells so much about the eyes and their care,

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ODDS AND ENDS. search of silver; a prospector exploring a long-abandoned mine-shaft—The abyss below is of unknown depth. From a Photograph. at least twelve years, so that they have some nine years of barrel-trundling to do before they can claim their bet. The photograph here reproduced shows the shaft of an ancient Spanish silver mine, Jong since abandoned, in the State of Guerrero, Mexico. Efforts have recently been made to re-open this mine, which has not been worked for at least two hundred years, and the photograph is interest- ing as showing what appalling risks the average prospector will cheerfully run in his search for precious metals. Below the man shown insecurely perched on the rocky side of the shaft there is an abyss, black and awe-inspiring, of unknown depth—yet the miner clings there on the verge and smiles up at the photographer, himself balanced none too securely ! The head-dress of the Mongolian ladies is a very compli- cated affair. When the hair is made up in the shape of elephants’ ears it indicates matrimony, and when worn in a tail it means that the lady is a spinster. In order to give Mongolian ladies—Note the complicated head-dresses. From a Photosraph. this shape to the hair the lady makes a parting in the middle of her head, then drenches the hair, each side by turn, witha pleasing mixture of fish-glue and grease. When it is thoroughly soaked she spreads the upper part out thinly in such a way that at its broadest it measures about six inches wide. To keep the hair in this shape she employs wooden clips, which, when the hair is dry, are replaced, if she can afford it, by silver or golden ones. The lower part of the hair is nade into a plait, with a silver or golden ornament at the end to prevent it coming undone. These silver or golden clips and hair ornaments are often set with precious stones, and princesses even have the whole of the plait hidden by means of silver or golden rings. As the making up of the hair takes a whole day and the Mongol ladies are very lazy and not particu- larly cleanly in their habits, it is not surprising to learn that this operation is performed by some once a week, by others once a month, and yet others—pretty low down in the social scale—once a year. The photograph on top of the next page shows a curious

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100 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a Photo. by) old “wishing well” at Upwey, in Dorset, still patronized and believed in by the country folk. The correct method of procedure in order to gain your wish is to drink while standing with your back to the well, and, having wished, to throw what remains in the glass over your left shoulder back into the pool. Throwing the fluid over the right shoulder, presumably, would displease the good ing Well” at Upwey, Dorset. of anxious friends, there is only too much evidence in the shape of their ill-fated rafts, hung up in the log-jams and canyons of the upper and middle Fraser River, to prove. The stern- wheel steamboat B. X., of the British Columbia Express Company, on several occasions during the past two seasons picked up men marooned on rocks. in mid- channel, sole sur- vivors of parties of from two to half- a-dozen. The stranded raft in the picture was built of logs sixteen feet in length and from sixteen to twenty inches in dia- meter. The X on the ends is for working the sweeps (oars) in. The raft lies near the dreaded Fort George Canyon, and in the middle of September was about eight feet above the water. When it struck it would be about twenty-five yards from shore, in the middle of a terrific ‘smother’ of swirling water. Heaven help its ill-fated crew!” UA. Frith & Co. fairy who presides over the well and result in disappointment to the wisher. The queer-looking object seen in the accom- panying photograph is a raft, impaled on a rock, and left high and dry by the receding of the river during the dry season. “How many missing relatives,” asks a WipE WorLD correspondent, “eave this sort of landmark behind as the head- stone to their nameless graves? During a boat- trip of seven hundred miles on the Fraser and Nechaco rivers in British Columbia in August and September last I ran across many similar sights, showing the disastrous —and in the majority of cases fatal—result of men and youths unused to pioneering entrusting their lives to frail or un- manageable craft in some of the most treacherous waters on this continent, where even the most experienced ‘white water’ navigators come to grief occasionally. About two years ago con- tractors building the Grand Trunk Pacific Rail- road began pushing their operations across the Rockies into British Columbia. That province is very rough and hilly, and the railroad work, consequently, heavy and slow. The thousands of labourers required are recruited from the ranks of newly: fanded immigrants, many of them from rural Britain. Disappointed in an over-boomed country and disgusted with conditions of work and camp life — the lot of a contract labourer is far from being a happy one—a party of them would lash a few logs together to drift to Fort George and make their way to the coast. That a many of them, in their ignorance of the perils in- volved, perished in the attempt, leaving no record of their names or fate to relieve the suspense ; epi mute memorial of Columbian river—When the raft went agrou er: @ raft impaled on a rock in a British id this boulder was in the centre of a boiling rapid. From a Photograph.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE “Snap Shot: Money in Your Pocket Gash Pr i $5 to $20 a day in your Profits for for You own big- -paying business, me This i is your opportunity to get ‘get out of the “time clock” line and the “pay envelope” brigade. Without one bit of experience, you can join our force and become a one minute photographer. This is the newest and most profitable branch of the photographic profession. You can work all or spare time —travel or at home. This new, wonderful business will earn enormous profits for you. Every: body buys our new one minute photo post cards. Big money making photos at private houses, picnics, on the streets, in the small towns, in large cities, at fairs, carnivals, conventions, street parades, aviation meets, etc. Profits begin first day and you make 500 per cent on every sale. Don't delay—don’t wait. Write us today for free information,and begin making money at once with The “‘Mandel”’ Post Card Machine New invention —wonderful machine that takes, finishes and> 600 P fit . 3 M th delivers five different styles of photos. Turns out original it card phot: Iso butt tt ) at the rate of thi ite $600 Profit in 3 Months pre, cs gh ee, en mere tke THEM. “Wonderful, new, photographic process — startling — sensational — That is what A. L. Wood, of Great Falls, va Montana, made with a “Mandel” Post Photos Direct on Post Cards ern prpepe analy Nara gett henge Without Plates, Films, Printing or Dark Room “Made $27.00 in 2 hours.” Bryant, of Machine is everything in one—a complete, portable post card gallery. Colo., made $16.00 in Ghours. Evans, of Excites interest, arrests attention, compels immediate orders from every Mise, cays: Made $15.78 last Tuesday.” onlooker." SMALL CAPITAL STARTS YOU. Sale of supplies that Perry of Ky., "Made $50.00 in? dave” come to you with outfit practically gives you back entire investment— erry, of Ky., ‘* Made $50.00 in 2 days.” and you have the business clear and fully established. You begin making Hundreds of actual, bona fide letters like money the same day the outfit arrives. Immediate sales— immediate these on file. rofits. If you are sincere and really want to make $2,000 this year—DO Ror DELA Y—show us that you are in earnest—that you mean business, WRITE US TO-DAY We will show you how to get the money. Write now at once: Information is FREE. Here's one of our lucky ‘‘ Mandel ’’ operators, busy af the beach, turning out one minute photos of the jolly bathers. This is one of the many ways to make big money as a ‘‘ Mandel’’ photographer. ADDRESS EITHER OFFICE The Ghicago Ferrotype Company 633 Ferrotype Bidg., Congress & Laflin Sts., Chicago, Ill. OR Dept. 89-91 Delancey St., New York, N. Y. Kindly mention this magazine when writing’ to advertisers.

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“I POINTED THE GUN AND PULLED BOTH TRIGGER: SEE PAGE 106,

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TAE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. XXXI JUNE, 1913. No. 182, THE HAUNTED TREASURE-CAVES. C. DOUGLAS ROBINSON. ILLUSTRATBD BY JOHN DE WALTON. Attracted by a native legend concerning certain mysterious caves, wherein lay a vast treasure of gold and diamonds, guarded by the spirits of the dead, the author set out to explore the caverns. which befell him. For eleven long weeks I had seen no white man or woman, my only com- panions having been my Kaffir “ boys.” My calendar showed that it was Decem- ber goth, 1895, and I reckoned that an early morn- ing trek would land me at the little dorp of Pietpot- gietersrust on New Year’s Eve. I had been told off to survey an alternative route for the proposed railway to be constructed between Pre- toria and Pietersburg in the Transvaal, and to map out the general features of the surrounding country, while my two camp companions continued the work on the main line of country. My job being now finished, I was looking forward to meeting them again on the morrow for a New Vear’s jollification. Vol. xxxi—8. WAS almost in touch with civili- zation once more, and only those who have been doomed to periods of solitude on the South African veldt know what that means. Mr. C his weird ex; jakapan. From a Photo. by O. Byrne, Douglas Robinson, who here relates in the treasure-caves of This narrative describes the weird and terrible adventure “The story is absolutely true,” writes Mr. Robinson. But a thrilling episode that might well have ended fatally to me was to intervene. Throughout my trip the noonday sun had been almost unbearable, and I had been forced to do the bulk of my work early and late, resting for three or four hours each midday. I found slee almost impossible during this interval, though the boys generally managed it, sleep- ing in a bath of perspira- tion, either stretched out beneath the trees or under a rigged-up buck-sail. Trek- king at midday was equally hard on the oxen, so when- ever possible night treks had been undertaken, and at these times I had experienced several minor adventures with my gun. It was while returning from one of these night stalks that my two Kaffir hunts- men first told me the weird story of the ‘‘ Treasure of Makapan.”” These two boys had been recruited from the Makapan tribe of Kaffirs, whose settlements were among the mountains within a few miles of Pietpot- gietersrust, and their extra-

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104 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. eT “Swiftly and noiselessly it glided in our direction, raising one spectral arm as it came.” ordinary tale was not only interesting, but most alluring. In short, it told of one of the many conflicts of white versus black, in the days when the Boers and the Kaffirs were always at death grips—when the natives, resenting the advent and dominion of the white race, continually arose in rebellion and, swooping down on out- lying settlements, wiped out men, women, and children alike. As the result of one of these conflagrations, a punitive force of Boers, their blood inflamed by the survivors’ tales of massacre and excess, set out to avenge the death of their kinsfolk, and engaged the native zmpis in battle on the plains of the Waterberg. Success attended the white cause, and the impzis retired into the moun- tains, whence, after a short and strenuous cam- paign, in which the blacks were decimated, many fled in confusion. They left behind, how- ever, a warlike minority, who retired into the traditional—but to the white man unknown— caves of Makapan. “ These caves were considered to be impreg- nable, situated as they were on a precipitous slope of the mountains, the entrance being a long narrow slit in an overhanging face of rock covered with stunted bushes, which grew in great profusion on the slopes, making the very location of the caverns a matter of much difficulty. The Boers, however, managed to discover them, and, having recognized that they were impregnable to assault, deliberately encircled the entrance and sat down to starve the defenders out. But it was considered possible that food had been stored to last the besieged for months, or that there was some other means of egress, and that water might be obtainable in the caves, so the besiegers conceived the plan of smoking the natives out. For this purpose they collected a mass of inflammable material, and succeeded by night in flinging much of this into the mouth of the caves. They then set fire to the bushes and fed the flames for hours, at the same time keeping up a continuous rifle-fire into the mouth of the inferno. Not one Kaffir broke through, and when the Boers were able to enter the caves with torches they found their work of vengeance completed. Though the interior was of great extent, there was seldom room to stand upright, and in the farther recesses the blacks, unable

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THE HAUNTED TREASURE -CAVES. 105 to face the fire, had been asphyxiated to a man. The expedition having terminated, the Boers returned to their homes, and, according to my informant, no man, white or black, had since entered the caves, as parties of natives who went to pay the last respects to their friends had found the spirits of the dead inhabiting the caves, walking about in the form of shining but headless skeletons. Tradition had it that priceless treasures were secreted in the caves, unknown to the Boers, that the key to the treasure was known to but a few of the dead men, and that it remained still unclaimed owing to the spirits who watched over it preventing mortal man from approaching. The latter part of this remarkable story I was at some trouble to obtain, and indeed one of my boys, who was an nduna—a kind of tribal head man--refused to speak of it, only confirming his companion’s narrative with awe- struck acquiescence. When, having obtained as much detail as possible by means of cross-ques tioning, I suggested that on our arrival near the mountains they should conduct me to the spot, I was met with a firm and terrified refusal. The penalty for intruding into the haunted caves, I was informed, was death. Two or three people had endeavoured to seek out the treasure, but had never again been seen alive. For several days I argued quietly with these two boys, but all in vain, until one evening the more loquacious of the two came to my tent and, having placed me under a pledge of secrecy, offered to lead me to the caves in return for a suitable reward. The matter was soon arranged, - though he was evidently in deadly fear of the results, and his chief condition was that it should never in any circumstances be known that he had acted as my escort. He knew where the caves were, he said, but had never been actually at the entrance. He had seen no spirits, but firmly believed in their existence, and also in the treasure, which he thought consisted of diamonds and gold. Ere long-we were outsnanned at the nearest spot, within four miles of the mysterious caves, and I had determined to reach the entrance before sunset to explore the intero by to ch- light, and return to camp the same evening. The boys were fetching wood and water for their culinary operations, and we attracted no special attention when I set off, shot-gun in hand, followed by my guide, as we so often did for a shoot. Starting in a directly opposite direction to our destination, we > vung round, and arrived by a circuitous route near to the point we sought, after some stiff climbing in the latter stages. We rested for five minutes as the sun was setting, and seeing that my guide was in an excited state, I gave him a pull from my flask and ridiculed his fears. Then, proceeding cautiously and keeping under cover of th. bushes, we arrived opposite the mouth of the caves. Cer- tainly the entrance was well concealed, as search parties might have passed without probing behind the dense bush covering which formed as it were a moustache to the mouth, growing also on the underlip. Together we forced our way forward, and, arriving under the rocky lip, we lit our torches, for dense blackness lay a few steps ahead. A second later sudden cries and a rush of wings in our faces checked our advance and scared us considerably. My guide, with a yell, turned to flee, but I caught his arm and fiercely enjoined silence. I then recogni ed that the surprise had been caused by some orvls and other birds which had been frightened vy the unaccustomed glare, and my dusky companion’s shattered nerves were somewhat calmed. He would now, how- ever, only advance holding on to my coat-tails, and his breathing was short and stertorous. Our torches only seemed to pierce the gloom for a few feet ahead, and, as the rocky roof was very low in places, we were compelled to proceed in 2 bent position. 1 had gone but a few paces when I observed in the inky darkness to the left a faint glimmer, as of some white light, which seemed to move from side to side. Holding my torch behind me, in order to see better, I beheld, to my utter amazement, the appearance of a human skeleton, standing motionless and far back in the gloom. My guide took the torch from my extended

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106 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hand, and as I gazed, grasping my gun, the apparition moved. Swiftly and noiselessly it glided in our direction, raising one spectral arm as it came. A yell told me that my guide had seen it, and this time there was no stopping him, for, though I shouted o him to stop and bring the lights, he fled headlong. Left alone in the darkness, my first impulse was to retreat, but by an effort of will I remained steady and, sinking on one knee, pointed my gun towards the spectre. The figure stopped, and then, for the first time during the past eventful seconds, I noticed that the skeleton form was headless! My heart and head were both thumping. and I was bathed in a cold perspiration, but apart from these symptoms of stress 1 had myself pretty well under control, and decided to withhold my fire as long as possible. I guessed that the apparition was some thirty paces distant, though it might have been less. Suddenly, as I was collecting my wits, the gleaming vision started to back slowly away, bearing to the right as it went, while its right arm undoubtedly beckoned to me to follow. The action was startling, and swift thoughts rushed through my brain of spectres that had lured men to death, revealed their murderers, or even pointed out the whereabouts of hidden treasure. With clenched teeth and muscles set, I determined to sce the business through, and slowly I followed the figure, gaining confidence as I progressed. Presently the skeleton quickened its movements, and I did likewise, when suddenly the ground gave way under my feet and | fell headlong into a void. I landed with a crash on hard rock, my gun slipped out of my hand and went off, and. half- stunned and bleeding, I lay where I had fallen, semi-unconscious. A moment later, as though floating in the darkness, there appeared above chat horrible-looking apparition. Instinctively I felt for my gun, which lay beside me. As, very painfully, I grasped it, the spectre bent down and then raised both arms on high. The action was a menace—it seemed as if the thing were about to hurl something down upon me. With a great effort I pointed the gun and pulled both triggers, trusting to luck that one barrel remained undischarged. Then, amidst an echoing roar and the flashing of a thousand lights, I sank into oblivion. When consciousness returned I found myself lying in a semi-recumbent position, with my head resting on cold, damp stone. My arms were lacerated, and my neck and legs so cramped and sore as to make the least movement a torture. Dense blackness, deeper than anything I had ever encountered before, surrounded me, and, having painfully ascertained that no bones were broken, I felt for my matches. Luckily they were safe, and the first glow proved a positive relief to my senses. It revealed the dull grey walls of a narrow pit, which I later reckoned to be twenty feet deep. It was nearly circular in shape, about five and a half feet from wall to wall, and the sides were very rough and uneven. My next effort was to get my flask from an inner pocket, and, finding it fortunately uninjured, a pull did me a world of good. It then occurred to me that I might have been lying there for many hours, or perhaps even for days, but I was unable to make any calculation, as my watch was smashed beyond repair. A second match showed me some objects in the pit which, on investigation, proved to be two short stabbing assegais and a skin shield. The blades of the former were black with rust, but the shafts were of tough iron-wood and unaffected by time, while the shield also was good, though smothered with a slimy kind of dry rot. I also found two blackened lions’ claws on a leather ring, and these I placed in my pocket. I next took the precaution to reload my gun, though my feeling of fright had passed, and I only cherished a deep resentment against the spectral cause of my present plight. True, it might appear again at any instant, but my thoughts were more bent on getting out of the pit and out of the smothering darkness of my surroundings, which I felt would soon upset my nerves again, than on the possibility of the spectre’s return. Painfully I got to my feet, but found that, though I could stretch my hands across the pit, T could not get sufficient foothold to enable me to climb out unaided. It was then that the assegais came in useful. I bound them together with some strips ripped from my shirt, and lodged the staff thus formed across the hole. Then, clambering up the side by their aid, I succeeded in fixing them once more above me, and so, by degrees, was able to drag myself to the top. The strain, however, had been great, and the reaction brought on a sickly faintness which took several minutes to pass off. When I felt better I peered around in the dense blackness, but saw nothing. A drink from my flask again pulled me round, and I struck another match, which to my surprise revealed a pool of fresh blood beside me. The possible solution of the mystery then dawned upon meas, unslinging my gun from my back, I lit more matches, and traced splash after splash of blood on the damp rock. It had been no spectre that had lured me on, I decided, but simply a man of flesh and blood—probably a Kaffir, black and bare-footed, who by the aid

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THE HAUNTED TREASURE-CAVES. 107 of phosphorus or some luminous paint had kept up the ancient superstition for some secret purpose. This man who had sought to destroy me I had wounded, mortally perhaps. J reasoned further that the blood-marks might lead me out of the cave—unless I came first upon his body. Slowly, lighting matches at almost every step, I followed the red trail till suddenly a breath of air fanned my cheek, I heard the tustle of leaves, and there before me through the bushes I saw the stars gleaming, and with intense relief emerged on to the hillside under the brilliant sky of an African summer night. My personal danger had been momentarily forgotten when suddenly a low moan again startled my overwrought nerves, and quickly I faced in the direction of the sound. Straining my eyes, I saw in the bushes but a few feet away from me a glimpse of the same eerie skeleton form, now in a recumbent position. The next moment my theory was confirmed, for there, huddled up on the ground, lay a Kaffir, covered with blood, with a loin-cloth drawn round his waist and a coat slung across the shoulders. A glance showed me that he was capable of no more harm, as he was sorely wounded on the left side just above the hip, where the buckshot from my gun had struck him in a solid mass. Some European clothing lay beside him, and the bones of his body were roughly marked out with some phosphorescent substance in order to resemble a skeleton—all except the head. The poor wretch seemed in a sorry plight, and I rendered what assistance I could, succeeding in bringing back a little life with the aid of the remaining contents of my flask. The unfortunate Kaffir must have nearly bled to death, and, though revived, he could only mutter incoherently in answer to the questions with which I plied him. There was nothing to be done except to endeavour to retrace my steps to camp and send assistance, and by the light of the stars and a waning moon I succeeded in finding my way there, arriving exhausted just before sunrise. I at once looked out for my guide, but he was not to be found, so I roused the young induna, and after enjoining secrecy, told him as much of the circumstances as I considered advisable, and sent him off to his own kraal for assistance. Then, tired and weary, I attended to my own hurts, partook of some light refreshment, and sank into a dreamless sleep. On awakening just before noon I found that the induna had returned with my guide. The former had carried out his orders well, having obtained help from the head-men of his own kraal without noising the news around, and he expressed the opinion that the wounded man would live. My guide had fled from the caves, and had intended to hide among his own people, fearing that I was dead, and that he might be charged with causing my death, and his relief was great at the turn events had taken. I enjoined secrecy upon them, and, making an afternoon trek, arrived in Pietpotgietersrust at six p.m., where I at once reported the matter to the Dutch authorities. Being New Year’s Eve, however, there was only one official in charge, and investigation had to be postponed for two days, much to my mortification, as I hoped to be the means of unearthing the treasure. Sure enough, when we arrived at the scene in force, the wounded man had flown, and no amount of inquiry could elicit any information except that he still lived, and that his relatives had hidden him away from arrest. It was, however, proved that the caves had probably been used for years as a_hiding- place for diamonds stolen by returning workers from the great Kimberley mnes, whence the leakage of precious stones at that time was well known, It also appeared probable that certain ringleaders acted as receivers, and dis- posed of the booty to illicit diamond buyers as opportunity afforded, while the acting of the ancient superstition had served well to keep all unwelcome intruders away from the caves. These latter we found to be sufficiently awesome even without spectral inhabitants, as they were full of bleached human bones and skulls, broken assegais, shields, and pieces of Kaftir apparel. There were also many tunnels and pits, into one of the latter of which I had fallen. Of treasure, however, we found no trace. The caves, which are in all probability mines worked by the ancients, are situated about four and a half miles north-west of the town of Piet- potgietersrust, close to Makapan’s Poort, Trans- vaal. They can easily be visited by the traveller who chooses to stray a little from the beaten track, and still form an object of the greatest interest, though bereft of their ghostly romance.

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SF | PICTURE PLAYERS BY C. L. McCLUER STEVENS. ILLUSTRATED BY FRED HOLMES, AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. An article which will interest every patron of the ubiquitous picture-theatre. The “ photo-players ” of the various film companies, enacting all sorts of thrilling incidents and risky situations before the camera, often meet with adventures which, although unrehearsed and quite unintended, are far more exciting than the pictures themselves, In the following pages the author narrates some of the strange accidents that have befallen leading picture-players, nearly all the popular favourites contributing their experiences, i ING for cinematograph pictures is Q ee becoming almost as risky a eae of earning a living as giving | exhibition flights in aeroplanes. at SD exibion is this so in regard to the “ Wild West” type of film, now so much in demand, and which the picture-theatre-going public insists shall bristle with thrilling “ inci- dents ” and risky “ situations.” Only quite recently, while rehearsing for one of these “‘ cowboy dramas,” an unlucky American photo-player named Alexander Philby was almost instantly killed. Curiously enough, Philby had been a real cowboy before he took to acting, but all his superb knowledge of horsemanship, gained amongst wild herds of long-horned steers on the limitless Texan prairies, availed him nothing when the crucial moment came. Swinging his lariat round his head, he was leading the chase after a stage desperado down a steep hillside when his horse stumbled and fell, throwing its rider over its head, and the rest of the horsemen rode over him. They reined up almost immediately and hastened back, but poor Philby was stone dead. All his shocked and saddened fellow-players could do was to give their comrade a real cowboy funeral, and this they did. His horse, which had been the unwitting cause of his death, was led in the procession, the saddle reversed, and the pommel draped with crape. A fusillade of revolver shots was fired over the coffin as it was lowered, and then the mourners, all in correct cowboy costume, with crape on their arms and round their broad-brimmed hats, threw bits of gauntlets and trinkets that had been dear to their dead “ pal” into the open grave. At least five other “‘ picture-players ” have met with similar deaths, while serious accidents of the kind have been well-nigh innumerable. For instance, Mr. J. P. McGowan, of the Kalem Company, once had to jump over the parapet of a bridge on to a wooden staging that had been erected just below, out of the view of the camera. But the staging gave way under the impact, and rider and horse were precipitated into the river, forty feet below. The horse was killed outright, and it was little short of a miracle that its rider escaped a like fate. Another time Mr. McGowan’s horse ran away with him and fell over a precipice. The animal was killed, and McGowan was picked up with both legs and arms broken, three ribs stove in, and a fractured skull. That one accident laid him up for a whole year, but he is riding again to-day as pluckily and as cleverly as ever. Nor are such mishaps confined to male players.

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THE PERILS OF PICTURE-PLAYERS. 109 Only quite recently Miss Mary Pickford, of the Biograph Company, was hurled some twenty feet while riding at full speed through striking against a projecting branch of a tree, under which her horse galloped in a mad, runaway race for freedom. Miss Alice Joyce, too, whose daring feats of horsemanship, when shown on the screen, invariably cause a thrill to run through even the least appreciative audiences, Miss Mary Pickford, of the Biograph Company, whose horse ran away with her. From a Photograph. ging a heavy-calibre revolver in such close proximity to the actor’s person that the wadding from the blank charge entered his side, inflicting an extremely deep and painful wound. Miss Ethel Clayton, of the Lubin Company, has had the narrowest escape from drowning that anybody could possibly have and be left alive to tell the tale. Owing to a misunderstand- ing, she was left stranded on a rock until the tide rose and swept her away. She was rescued by Mr. Harry Myers, another member of the com- pany; but she was un- conscious, and remained so for over an hour after being "The staging gave way under the impact, and rider and horse were precipitated into the river. has been heavily thrown upon more than one occasion. brought out of the water. Excitable “ supers” are respon- Mr. G. P. McGowan, of the Kelem Com- As all lovers of the “ pic- sible for many accidents. Thus °#"% "ho hes met with many mishaps in tures” are aware, a very Frank Bushman, leading man of From a Photograph, popular type of photo-play one of the Essanay stock companies, is that which introduces wild was shot and badly injured by one of a gang of _—_ animals—lions, tigers, and so forth—into the stage “‘desperadoes,” the foolish fellow dis- scenes thrown upon the screen.

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110 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. There are quite a number of film com- panies who make a special feature of this kind of business, foremost amongst them, in the order named, being the Selig Company of Chicago, the Gaumont Com- pany of London, and the Tigre Film Company of Paris. These firms not only have their own private menageries of trained animals, but they also employ at regular salaries artistes who specialize in performing with savage beasts—men and women who can be relied upon not to lose their nerve when at grips with a grizzly, or when being chased by a lion or pounced upon by a tiger. They are a smalland select + band, and all, “men and women alike, are athletes and unafraid. But the pluckiest and aah : "de Tact Saghictio Miss Alice Joyce, who. has had more than her share of From a) accidents. (Photograph. of the lot is fo a Miss Kathlyn sons, it is calculated, patronize daily the fifteen Williams, of thousand picture-palaces in the United States of the Selig America. and Miss Williams’s face and figure are Mr. Frank X. Bushman, who wes sho Company. more or less familiar to practically all of them ; and badly woapded by « too-ercitable About eight while in the United Kingdom and on the Conti- From a Photograph. million per- nent of Europe she is almost equally well known. had Excitable ‘supers’ are responsible for many accidents.”

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THE PERILS OF PICTURE-PLAYERS. 11 “She is the bravest woman I have ever met,” remarked Mr. E. H. Montagu, the London repre- sentative of the Selig Company. ‘“ Indeed, I do not think she knows the meaning of fear ; and she is able to exercise a quite remarkable influence over even the most savage animals.” Notwithstanding this, however, Miss Williams has had many narrow escapes. One of the closest was when she was playing in a film called “Lost in the Jungle.” Many thousands of people all over the world have seen this remark- able production, and a large proportion of them doubtless wondered greatly at seeing Miss Williams hurled to the ground and mauled by a huge leopard, which leaps out upon her from a clump of bamboo. Miss Kathlyn Williams, who specializes in animal plays, and has had many narrow escapes from wild beasts. From a Photograph. Mr. Harry Myers, of the Lubin Company, who nearly lost his life in rescuing a lady member of the company from drowning. From a Photograph. This éffect was not produced by a trick of the camera. It actually hap- pened. But it was an unrehearsed incident, or at least unintended, and Miss Williams says she would not go through it again for ten thousand pounds. It was originally meant that the leopard should only appear to leap out on the actress, its spring really being directed towards a goat tied out of range of the camera. At the critical moment, how- ever, Miss Williams raised one of her hands for an instant to brush back a stray tress of hair, and the movement,

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112 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “The elephant lifted me above his head.” slight though it was, sufficed to attract the animal’s attention to her. Instead of going for the goat, it pounced upon the actress, bowled her over, and fixed its claws into her scalp. Her wealth of beautiful hair saved her somewhat, but she was pretty badly hurt, and had she not had the presence of mind to lie perfectly still until rescued, she would have been clawed to death. The camera-man, too, kept his head, and never ceased turning away at the handle of his machine, the result being a won- derfully realistic moving picture of a happening that is never likely to be duplicated. Another of Miss Williams’s ad- ventures concerned Toddles, the trained elephant of the Selig Stock Company. Though generally docile, Toddles one day attacked Miss Williams and grasped her round the waist with his trunk. “Tt was like being squeezed in a vice,” she said, in relating the incident. “ It seemed as if every bit of my breath was being forced clean out of my body, and when he lifted me above his head pre- paratory to dashing me down I felt sure my last hour had come.” Luckily the elephant’s keeper arrived on the scene just in time, and Toddles dropped the actress— an unconscious, quivering heap —to the ground. No bones were broken, but it took her some time to get over the shock to the nervous system. “I did not know until then,” remarked Miss Williams, laughingly, “that I had a nervous system to be shocked.” Personally, however, Miss Williams considers that all these “ thrills” were eclipsed by an experience that befell her while rehearsing for a film called ‘“ Dad’s Girl,” in which she was “There was a regular tug-of-war with the actress as the ‘rope.’

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THE PERILS OF Miss Daphne Wayne—She was nearly drowned while rehearsing a smuggling scene off a dangerous coast. Frou: a Photograph. beguiled by a couple of dare-devil cowboys into riding a “ rogue ” broncho. As soon as she mounted the animal started bucking, at the same time lashing out furiously with its hind legs. Then it careered madly round and round, coming to a sudden halt occasionally, in order to try to throw the rider over its head. PICTURE- PLAYERS. 113 one approaching anywhere near. Still the plucky actress managed to retain her seat, and as a last resort the broncho threw himself down and tried torolloverher. “‘ He nearly succeeded, too,” remarked Miss Williams, when telling the story. ‘“ It was the narrowest squeak of my life.” Another lady photo-player who specializes in animal scenes had a rather disconcerting experi- ence while being chased by a bear. For the purposes of the play she was made to take refuge in a cave, access to which was by a narrow hole that would not admit of the animal following her. Two of the male members of the troupe had been stationed inside the cave beforehand to help her through. But the actress was buiit on generous lines— she is, in fact, what is generally termed “a fine woman ’”—and she stuck fast in the cleft in the rocks. The bear seized his oppor- tunity—also one No actress ever born could ride a horse of this kind, and but very few men, save only the professional “ broncho - bus- ters,” as they are called ; and, seeing that Miss Williams was in momentary danger of being thrown, the cow- boys and others ran to help her. Thereupon the “rogue” reared - himself on his hind legs and pawed savagely at every- From a} portion of ‘the * * Three-Fingered Kate” film, showing Miss Martinek emersing from the sewer in which she nearly lost her life. (Photograpn. Miss Ivy Martinek, who wus nearly suffocated in a London sewer. From a Photograph. of her heels in his mouth, The two men inside caught the lady by the arms, trying to haul her through, and for a few brief, exciting moments there was a regular tug-of-war with the actress as the “rope,” the actors pulling one way, the bear the other. Eventually she was hauled through in

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114 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, a sadly dishevelled condition and minus one of her shoes, which remained outside the mouth of the cave, but inside that of the bear. Pretty Miss Daphne Wayne, the ‘“ Biograph Blonde,” was nearly drowned while acting in that well-known and popular photo-play, “ The Lesser Evil.” She is a skilled and powerful swimmer, but one of the rehearsals for the smuggling scene took place off a part of the coast where there was a strong undertow, which caught her and pulled her down. The operator thought she was doing it on purpose, in order to add an extra realistic touch to the play, and kept turning the handle of his machine. Only when she lapsed into unconsciousness and sank for the third and last time did he realize what was happening, and then it was within an ace of being too late. This danger, by the way, is always one to be reckoned with in cases of this kind ; and it has, as a matter of fact, Mr Arthor V. Johnson. of the Lubin Company. © was saved = from being swept over a cataract ——— by an heroic fellow-player. who was awarded the Carnegie Medal From a Photograp resulted in more than one fatality. Perhaps the saddest of them all con- cerned young Alfred Brigh- ton, one of the most popular Ame- rican photo- players, who lost his life in the Hudson River some eighteen months back. There were fully a thou- sand people on the bank watching his death agonies —he was seized with @ Miss Alice Hollister, who fell down a well sudden cramp two hundred feet deep. —and not one From a Photograph. amongst them all imagined that they represented anything but a clever exhibition of acting. Miss Ivy Martinek, when acting,on Hampstead Heath in one of her famous “ Three-Fingered Kate ” films, had to take refuge in a sewer from a pursuing detective. A sudden freshet came on, and she was half-drowned and half-stifled before she was able to reach the outlet, a mile or more away. In Berlin, quite recently, a man named Bittner “The canne was being carried rapidly towards the brink of the falls."

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a THE PERILS OF was to have been cinematographed while in the act of descending in a parachute from the Column of Victory. Something went wrong with the apparatus, and he was dashed to pieces. Another extraordinary fatality was reported -from Pennsylvania a short time ago, A picture was being taken of a scene in which some miners on strike were supposed to blow up a power- house. By some unexplained means, a real dynamite cartridge was substituted for a com Mr. G. M. Andersoa (“ Broncho Billy’), who fell over the brink of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. From a Photograph. paratively harmless firework, and the un- happy actor who held it was blown to pieces. While the Kalem Company were rehearsing in Egypt last summer Miss Alice Hollister met with an accident which is probab unique even among the varied experiences of picture-play actresses. Bare-footed, and attired as an Arab woman in flowing, voluminous draperies, she had to perform a sort of treadmill action on the top of a primitive wooden wheel, which was turned by camel-power, and which drew up water for irrigating purposes from a well two hundred feet deep. Unfortunately, the camel got restive at the critical part of the play, the wheel started to revolve too rapidly, and Miss Hollister was jerked off her movable perch and down into the well! Luckily, the descent being checked at the outset by her PICTURE - PLAYERS. 115 - Arab skirt of stout native- woven cloth catching on to a projecting cornice, she was able to support herself by clinging with toes and fingers to the rough — stones with which the interior of the well was lined until such time as her drago- man was able to lower a rope to her assist- ance. At least one picture - actor wears the Carnegie - life- saving medal for rescuing Mr. Percy Moran ( who has had many h 2 a) young lady is of athletic build, and, her Tbe struséle on the edge of the Grand Canyon—Mr. Anderson fell over y , ? the cliff when rehearsing this scene. From a Photograph.

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4 another player from drown- ing. The hero of the episode is Mr. Howard Mitchell, of the Lubin Company, and the man ‘he saved from almost certain death is none other than Mr. Arthur V. Johnson, than whom no photo-player is better known to lovers of the ‘ silent drama” on both sides of the Atlantic. Johnson was rehearsing a play in which he was sup- posed to be swept over a cataract in a canoe. A piano wire was attached to the little craft for safety, but it snapped, and the canoe, caught in the current, was being carried rapidly towards the brink of the falls, despite Johnson’s frantic efforts to turn it with the paddle. players and spectators on the bank lost their heads and shouted out all sorts of contradictory advice to Johnson, who, by the way, could not swim. Only Mitchell kept his nerve. Calling to John- son to abandon the canoe and take to the water, he plunged in and reached his drowning comrade just in time to save him. The two men were, in fact, within a few feet of the lip of the falls when they were able to seize a rope which hadmeanwhilebeen thrown to them, and by its aid they were dragged ashore, half-drowned and wholly exhausted. Falls from cliffsare quite common occurrences in the lives of photo-players. Mr. Percy Moran, better known to fame, perhaps, as “ Lieutenant Daring,” recently managed to tumble over one near Brghton, bruising him- self severely. Mr. G. M. Anderson, of the Essanay Company, however, claims to have established a record in this particular typeof accident, he having fallen upon one occasion THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Mr. Jack L. Clark—He has been kicked by horses, half-drowned. and badly wounded in a battle scene. From a Photograph. The Miss Gene Gauntier—Her mishaps include being blown up, half-smothered in a bog, and trapped in a burning house. From a Photograph. from the top of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado at a spot where the cliffs are more than two thousand feet high. It happened while he was rehearsing for a film known as “ Broncho Billy’s Bible.” He didn’t fall to the bottom, of course, or he would have been dashed to pieces. But in making what is termed in picture-play parlance a “breakaway” from the “villain” of the piece he stepped back too far and over the brink. He fell some distance; then his clothing caught in a projecting branch, and to it he managed to cling desperately until a rope could be got and lowered to him. Mr. jack J. Clark, who plays leading parts with Miss Gene Gauntier, has undergone, amongst other unpleasant experiences, that of being kicked in the forehead by a fallen horse while lying half-drowned in the bed of a flooded creek, and being filled full of buck-shot in a battle scene by a too- excitable “super.” But even these thrilling ex- periences fade into insignificance by com- parison with those under- gone by Miss Gauntier herself. This charming young lady has a record for acci- dents that, would be hard to beat, having been at various periods of her career blown up by the premature explosion of a mine, nearly smothered in a bog, half-suffocated in _ a burning house, out of which she had tobe hauled through a hole cut in the roof, and nearly kicked to death by a restive horse. Miss Gauntier is, if course, the world-famous picture- actress who played the part of the Virgin Mary in the much - discussed “ Life of Christ ” film.

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A NIGHT ON A DOG-BUOY. By A. SHEFFIELD. ILLUSTRATED BY W. B. WIGFULL. The queer adventure that befell a ‘“‘greenhorn" with the Scotch fishing-fleet. “It was told me by an old friend, Mr. Donald Ross,” writes the author, “and he assured me that every word was strictly true.” mma) HERE is a small village in the High- lands near the border-line of Banff- shire and Aberdeen that goes by the name of Mountblairy, and it was in the bracing air of its vicinity that I lived up to the time of the adventure I am going to relate. My father was a crofter, and had a small holding on the barren hillside, and it was all we could do, work as hard as we might, to get a bare living out of it. In order to improve matters, I determined to try if a living could not be made in some other way, and so, in the late spring, after we had sown what little seed we had, I resolved to go down to the coast, about a dozen miles away, and try my luck as a fisherman, having heard good accounts of the wages that were given on the boats. The road to Banff was soon got over, and that evening found me on the quayside watching the men at their work and gauging as well as I could my own fitness for the calling. On making inquiries of one of the hands, I was directed to go to the fish-curing establishment, where I should very likely find the owner of the fleet. He would most probably engage me, I was told, as all the boats were not completed with crews, which usually consisted of six men under a captain, with a boy as cook. The owner, Mr. Duff, put me through a sort of physical examination, and after a little talk about the kind of work required, finally engaged me in the capacity of ‘“ greenhorn” on board the herring-boat Donald Dhu. I thought the terms were very good—a ten-pound note for three months’ fishing, free living, and a share of a shilling a cran with the others for the whole period. This, with good luck, would leave me with about fifteen pounds at the end of the season, which would be a good help to the people at home. On the following morning I made my way to the Donald Dhu, and on presenting my papers was shown to the berths in the bow of the boat, which was fitted for four “ greenhorns,” the remainder of the crew finding quarters in a similar place at the stern. The Donald Dhu was a splendid craft, being comparatively a new boat. When I went aboard the remainder of the Vol. xxxi.—9 crew were employed in mending and joining up the nets ready for the drift. There were fifty nets aboard, each about thirty yards long by seven deep, the meshes being about an inch square. When made up for casting the fifty were joined together, end on, until the whole formed one long net nearly a mile in length. Along the bottom edge stones were suspended in order to keep the nets upright when in the water, while through the upper edge of the nets a stout rope called the “ baulk ” was woven for the purpose of hauling in the catch. In the centre of each net, and at the places where the several nets are joined, were the buoys, or “ bows ” as they are called in the vernacular Some of these were made of tin or thin sheet- iron, of the usual float shape, and painted to protect them from the action of the salt water. Others were of a more primitive kind, being nothing more than inflated dog-skins, slightly tanned, with the hair still on. These were known as “ dog-buoys.” These buoys were always in demand, consequently stray dogs were scarce in the fishing villages. Should one make its appearance about the place, its demise speedily followed, and a few days afterwards its skin was doing duty as a dog-buoy. But to get on with my yarn. I soon got used to the life on board the Donald Dhu, and was glad to find that the work did not want much learning, the main requirements being strength and sharpness. For the first half of the season we were kept pretty busy, the shoals of fish coming along frequently and keeping us well on the run. Our fleet consisted of about thirty boats, and it was a pretty sight as we left the harbour with our sails set and our bows pointing to the open sea. We were fortunate in our catches, and nearly every trip placed about seventy crans of fish to our credit. This at a shilling a cran to be divided amongst the crew gave us an additional incentive to work hard while the season lasted. All went well with us till about the middle of the season, when an incident occurred which nearly cost me my life, and which placed me in one of the most curious positions it is to conceive

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118 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. We had not been out for a couple of days, as the weather had been very heavy, and there was a good deal of thunder, but when it became clear ayain we m ‘de ready to take a trip a little farther out than usual. It was ten o’clock in the morning when word was passed round by Mr. Duff for the fleet to hoist sails and be off. All was hurry and scurry for a few minutes. The owner stood on the beach to wish us luck on our trip, and as the boats moved out of the harbour in processio: the people on shore gave us a hearty send-off. Outside the harbour the full power of the breeze exerted itself, and our sails bellying out in response sent the fleet bowling merrily along. Our destination was to be about six or seven miles from a place known as the “ Skate Hole,” which was about fifty miles from the nearest shore. This place was so called because fish of that name was to be caught there in abundance. About four o'clock we arrived in the vicinity of our ground, and then the boats drew away from each other so as to give room for work, at least a mile being required by each boat to allow of the full drift being taken. As the cast would not be made till dark, we put out our sea anchors and took in the sails. At last the wished-for time arrived. We had observed a flock of gulls settle down on the water about a mile away, and as this sign is always looked for to denote the whereabouts of a shoal, we got our nets out beside the hatch and prepared for a cast. Night was just falling and the moon was on the wane, so that once the darkness set in we should have very little light to work by till the moon rose just after mid- night, the couple of deck-lamps being just enough to keep darkness away and nothing more. “Stand by!” shouted the captain. “ Haul away!” Up went the mainsail to the chocks with a bang. The boat then got under way, and the sea anchor was got inboard. “Cast away!” the captain s)outed again, and the end of the net, with its large dog-buoy and anchor-stone, was thrown over the side. Our boat was well on the move now, and the net was being handed over the side as quickly as it came out of the well. There were two men handing out the bottom part of the net, with the stones attached, while I alone was handling the baulk-line. All went well till a rather larger buoy than usual came up out of the well in a rather awkward way. It caught on the edge of the hatchway and then came over the deck with a swing, catching me across the loins and, in the twinkling of an eye, pitching me overboard. The force of the blow was such that, while not hurting me, it lifted me about five yards from the side of the boat into the trough of the sea. The thing all happened so suddenly and so unexpectedly that for a moment I could not realize what had occurred. I went under for a yard or two, and on rising found I was caught just under the baulk-line of the net. I had no difficulty in releasing myself from it, however, and on coming to the surface found myself close to one of the dog-buoys, which I hastened to seize. During this time the boat had got well away from me, and, although I shouted to the men on deck to give them some idea of my whereabouts, the boat still held on its course. The net was still being paid out, so it was quite evident that I had not been heard, the noise of the stones and buoys coming over quite overpowering any other sound. It was no good shouting. The only thing I could do was to hold on to the buoy and await developments. In any case, I realized, it would be quite an hour before they could

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ci ke aS) A NIGHT ON A DOG-BUOY. 119 stop the boat and haul in the net to pick me up. Keeping my gaze fixed on the craft as long as I could see the lights on board gave me a hope of rescue, but at last the lights passed out of sight, and my last hope of being picked up vanished with them. I hung on to the slimy dog-buoy for dear life, the sea as it rose and fell making me fearful of losing my grip on its slippery surface. As m feet dangled in the water I could feel the net below, into which I endeavoured to force my feet so as to obtain a somewhat firmer position, but without success. I gave up all thoughts now of being rescued until the nets should be hauled in at daybreak. If I could only hold on till then, I told myself, all would be well. As it happened, however, I was not to be left in possession of the dog-buoy without a strong fight for it. I had the shoal of fish to reckon with. The herrings now began to come against the face of the net, not in scores, but literally in millions. The very sea was soon one seething, pushing, hurrying, scurrying mass of herrings. How thick they were, to be sure! I think they were scarcely thicker in the ‘‘ gutters ”’ (troughs) ashore than they were around me. One could almost walk on them, theywere so closely packed. When the first of the shoal were checked by the net, the other fish pressing on behind filled up what little space there was to spare, until they became crowded into a compact mass, and almost forced me from my hold. But I was determined to hold on as long as I could and not give in until I was actually forced to do so. I kicked and splashed as well as I was able, thinking by that means to drive them sails Lellying out in response sent the fleet bowling merrily along.” away. The herrings, however, driven on by the pressure from behind, forced themselves inside my shirt and up the legs of my trousers, and I think that of all the horrible tortures that could be conceived, this was about the most dreadful. The sensation was awful, and I began to shout and yell in despair. The shoal of fish had now filled the nets in my vicinity, and was beginning to flow, as it were, over the top. The pressure of the fish as they crowded past me forced my legs up until they were straight out in the direction in which the shoal was heading. Luckily for me I had my hands well twisted in the rope that held the dog-buoy, and as long as my endurance lasted I knew I should be able to hold on. My only thought now was of the strength of the rope that held the dog-buoy. If that should snap I was lost. After a while the fish began to get perceptibly less numerous. The shoal, then, must be nearly past—a fact that I hailed with joy, for it meant that I should be able to get a better position on the net than the one I had held for an hour past. My spirits rose accordingly. Presently 1 felt myself coming once more to an upright position beside the net, and soon I could touch the baulk-line under my feet, and was then enabled to obtain a long-wished-for rest. I could now disengage oné of my hands to free myself of the fish that had accumulated inside my clothing. This was a great boon to me, and I felt much relieved when the operation had been performed. Luckily, the water was not cold. I felt warm enough, but the exertions of the last hour or two had had a weakening effect upon me. I began to feel drowsy, and as I held the dog- Luoy to my breast I felt inclined to rest my head on it and go to sleep. I conquered this fatal

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120 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. SN “The pressure of the fish as they crowded past me forced my legs up until they were straight out.” desire, however, and began to sing and shout to pass away the time and keep me awake. By and by the moon rose, and by its light I could see the glint of the fish caught in the net below me, and began to speculate on the size of the catch. I knew it was only a matter of time now before the boat would come in sight and I should be rescued from my perilous position, so I looked around for her; but no sign of her was to be seen, so I began to shout and sing again. After much weary waiting I saw the first signs of dawn appear in the sky, and after a time, as it grew lighter, I felt a curious vibration of the baulk-line under my feet, and I knew then that my mates were hauling in the catch. Some time elapsed ; then I was overjoyed to observe the top of a sail a few hundred yards away. I shouted wildly in my excitement, acting so foolishly that I almost lost my hold of the buoy. This so frightened me that I ceased my antics, and quietly waited till the boat came up. How I finally got on board I am unable to say, for I must have swooned away then: but when I awoke I found myself in my berth, with the captain by my side. He had been waiting for some time for me to come to my senses, and was delighted when I spoke to him rationally. We were well on the way back home then, and inan hour or so were hauled up on the beach once more. The captain said they had not seen me go overboard, and I must have been well astern when I was first missed. It was then impossible to stop the boat, and thinking I was beyond help they had gone on with the drift. They had mourned for me as dead during the nigItt, but were wild with delight when they beheld me clinging to the dog-buoy. I was laid up for about a month through this mishap, and in my dreams for a year afterwards I would repeat my adventure, and the horrible squirming of the herrings against my flesh would awaken me with a start. I did not tackle herring-fishing again after that experience. The season proved a good one, and I was able to take home a twenty-pound note to the old folks. The money proved not only very useful, but a harbinger of good luck, for when I left home last they were in fairly prosperous circumstances.

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A Girl-wife of fourteen with a son aged two years and « From a) daughter of ten months. e [ Photograph. HE anxiety of Indian parents to find life partners for their children often i leads to the selection of mates for them before they come into the world. This statement may sound like a fanciful fabrication, but it can easily be verified by facts. The writer personally knows Oddities of Indian Marriage. _. By SAINT NIHAL SINGH. A most interesting article, by an authority on the subject, giving some amazing facts as to the marriage customs of India. Mr. Singh tells of babies betrothed before they are born, and wedded when a year old; of women married to swords and men to trees; of bridegrooms of sixty and brides of seven; and of thousands of girl babies who are doomed to perpetual widowhood. of more than one case in which the betrothal of two infants was arranged prior to their birth, and they were solemnly wedded to each other not long after they were born. What really happens in such instances is that expectant mothers who are friends pledge the babies-to-be to each other, provided they are of the opposite sex. Sometimes, of course, Nature upsets the fond designs of these super- latively eager match-making mammas, and both infants turn out to be females, or males, as the case may be; but often the arrangement goes through without a hitch. It seems superfluous to add that parents who are in such inordinate haste to find life partners for their little ones rush them into matrimony with corresponding dispatch. Some idea of thé hurry which marks the final solem- nization of such unions can be gained from a specific case recently reported from Broach, a well-known town in the Bombay Presidency, in which a boy less than a year old was married to a girl a few months his junior, the babes having been engaged to each other before their birth.

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122 * In the very nature of things such alliances do not actually come into effect until years after the matrimonial knot has been tied; but they are not mock nuptials, or mere betrothals, which later can be repudiated. Indeed, they have greater finality attached to them than wedlock contracted in the Occident, for the Hindu law- giver does not allow divorce on any ground whatsoever. Consequently, when infants are led to the altar by their parents, they enter a blind alley from which there is no exit. Were it not for the fact that these weddings, when once celebrated, are binding for all time, they would be like mere doll-play, except that As it animate puppets take the place of toys. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hearts dance with joy as they pull the wires that move the actors in the play. ? But what of the poor little marionettes ? Even before they are born they are tied down to each other for life—and not a particle of their own will has entered into this association. Of course, if it ends happily, all well and good ; but if it does not, they find themselves trapped in a cul-de sac, without any opening left to enable them to make their way out of an unbearable situation. It would be wrong to convey the impression that the number of matches arranged before the birth of those who are united to each other s very large ; but withal, India, taken as a whole, a child-widows of Benares—The one on the right is eight years old; the others are nine. According ‘9 Hindo From a. Jaw they may not re-msrry. is, the mothers of the bride and groom enter into the spirit of the affair precisely as if it were a child’s make-believe mummery, and actually employ doll language when speaking of it, and in every way refer to it as an exciting game they are playing. The whole performance is gone through for the parents’ pleasure, and their *hotograph. still passionately hugs the notion that it is a sin to permit boys and girls to reach their teens without being wedded. The feeling in regard to keeping females unmarried after, say, their twelfth year literally amounts to positive horror. The earlier the girl is married the wider are the gates of heaven supposed to be thrown open for

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her parents’ entrance. The national sentiment, there- fore, is tremendously in favour of child marriage, and social obloquy of the worst description imagin- able is heaped on the heads of fathers and mothers who do not conform to this * custom, Thus it happens that Indian parents consider it their sacred duty to select mates for their children and see them married off, just as much.as they look upon - feeding and clothing them as an imperative function. Millions of parents can be found in Hindustan who have no idea whatsoever that they owe it to their progeny to give them at least elementary schooling, and who do not spend a farthing towards such an object; but to find one The husband is thir From a Photograph. five, the wife seven. ODDITIES OF INDIAN MARRIAGE. Husband thirty-four, wife nine years old. From a Photograph, who shirks the duty of yoking his child to the matrimonial cart would be harder than to make a camel pass through the needle’s eye. The average Indian under- takes the per- formance of this obligation with a passion- ate _earnest- ness very diffi- cult for a Westerner to understand. Even _ before the little one is born the mother begins to cast about in her mind to decide what family shall provide the mate for the expected babe, and the father begins to hoard pennies to make the marriage a memorable occasion. an instru- ment of me- diation. In cases where families _ re- siding in places far dis- tant from each other are to be affiliated by marriage the middleman becomes in- dispens- able. Where humble matches are to be made one __ profes- sional matri- monial agent is deemed enough ; but in the case of the wealthy many are brought into service ; From a} while, 123 The birth of the baby adds zest to these preparations. From that time forward all other interests of life are subordinated to the finding of a groom for the girl or a bride for the boy. This quest is facilitated by the offices of a “ middle- man.” A barber or a priest May act in this capacity, and he may be assisted in conducting the negotia- tions by the womenfolk of his family. Even if the parties whose children are to be united in wedlock live in the same town, hide- bound custom compels the requisition of the go- between’s aid. Besides, whether or not he renders any service in this matter, he must receive his dues when the nuptials take place ; consequently he may be freely employed as “May and December" — Husband fifty, wife eight. (Phovgrap :. if a mate is to be found for a Maharajah, or a female member of a tuler’s family, a drove of them set out on an

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124 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, expedition to search for an eligible bride or groom. Ambitious parents do not hesitate to bring their daughters to the capitals of wife-hunting princes. When more than one girl is thus brought to have her charms exhibited, the affair becomes very much like a cattle show. Some- times strenuous icasures have to be resorted to in order to get rid of persistent female suitors and their connections. In one instance the relations of a candidate for the position of Maharani were so persistent in pushing her claims that every stick of furniture was removed from the house that had been placed at their disposal, with a view to “ freezing them out.” Even then they refused to give up and go, with the result that they finally succeeded in their designs and the girl was chosen to be the ruler’s bride. In India considerations of wealth and social position enter into the calculations of the match-makers, even to a larger extent than they do here. In many places it is customary for the parents of the bride to receive money for consent- ing to her marriage ; in other localities they must literally buy a husband for her. Regular tariffs have been established by certain castes, one of the poorest, for example, insisting that the price paid for the bride must always be an odd number of rupees, five being the minimum and twenty- five the maximum charge. Amongst the richer classes considerable sums of money change hands. But over and above these temporal considera- tions the Hindu parents must take into account the question of caste, matrimonial alliances being permitted only between certain sections of people. A Brahmin (priest) must marry a Brahmin, a Kshatriya (soldier) must wed a Kshatriya, and soon. It must be remembered that each of the original five castes has become divided into hundreds of sections, and that intermarriage is permitted only between a certain number of sub- divisions within the caste itself. This restricts the choice to very narrow limits. Besides, Indians to-day do not follow the callings pre- scribed by the ancient system, with the result that a Brahmin may be found working as a cook, and a pariah (member of the fifth and lowest caste) as a chauffeur or restaurant-keeper. This still further complicates matrimonial matters. In addition to these limitations, it is imperative that the planets under which the prospective bride and groom have been born shall be of an harmonious nature, lest the marriage prove a failure. So much importance is attached to this point that it may be said that, in the last analysis, the stellar influences decide whether or not two people are to wed each other. Of course, the middleman is powerless to change the caste in which a boy or girl has been born, but “the stars”’ are open to any amount of jugglery. Many are the stories told about the twists and turns which are given to the planets by the Pundits to gain the ends of their paymasters. The date for the wedding is not fixed by the contracting parties or their parents, but is worked out by the priests to the exact second, with a nicety which would put many European astrono- mers to the blush. It is believed that life- long sorrow will result if the ceremony does not take place at the auspicious moment—a notion propagated by the Brahmins, who profit by being retained as expert calculators ; and, despite’ all Western notions in regard to the unpunctuality of Indians, the nuptials are punctiliously solem- nized precisely at the appointed time. When the wedding day ¢omes round the little bridegroom is ceremoniously bathed, anointed with oil, and dressed for the occasion. On his head he wears a rich-coloured turban, ornamented with a golden or silver tassel which falls down over his forehead and face. His long; flowing coat, his tight-fitting trousers, and his slippers are all vivid-hued, so that he looks like a little piece broken off a rainbow, with the paler shades left out. Thus arrayed, he is set on horseback. Often he is so young that a man must sit on the same steed to hold him in the saddle. Around him gather his father and the other males of the clan, driving in equipages, or walking if they are poor, forming a procession, at the head of and sprinkled through which are bands. The larger the number of musicians the more importance attaches to the affair. It almost seems as if, in these days, no wedding can take place in India without an ‘“ English band.” This is often a curious company of be- turbaned natives wearing tunics and pantaloons, designed by Indian tailors to resemble military uniforms, but frequently ridiculous caricatures of -the Western garments, their bare feet thrust into slippers of indigenous make. They perform on brass and wood instruments, including even bagpipes imported from Great Britain! As a rule, they content themselves with playing Indian airs, whose effect, when rendered on Occidental instruments, produces an unearthly jargon ; but some of them are ambitious enough to attempt Western music, and the effect of ‘‘ The Wedding March ” in such circumstances is so weird that one can imagine Mendelssohn turning in his grave in agony. In this connection it must be noted that there are some native bands which have been so thoroughly trained by Occidentals that they play classical compositions, popular marches, and waltzes almost as well as white musicians,

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ODDITIES OF INDIAN MARRIAGE. 125 A curious marriage custom in Bombay—Painting a vermilion spot on the forehead of the young bride. Fron: a Painting. The way of the procession blazes with torch- lights, and of late with portable kerosene or acetylene gas lamps ; and at intervals fireworks are set off to add to the excitement. Consuming several hours in proceeding over a route rendered circuitous to the limit of ingenuity, the party at last arrives at the home of the bride-elect, where it is ceremoniously welcomed, and at once sits down to a most elaborate dinner, consisting of cakes fried in ghee (clarified butter), rice, and vegetable dishes of many kinds, and confections of various sorts. Sometimes meat finds a place on the menu, and wine flows freely. The guests are entertained in this lavish style for three or four days, the entire expense being borne by the girl’s father. When the auspicious moment arrives the rites begin. The ceremony usually takes place in a small enclosure, at one end of which squat the Brahmins, their foreheads bearing the sandal and vermilion marks of their profession, their bodies naked save for the worn much after the fashion of a marshal’s sash, over one shoulder and under the other arm, their nether limbs covered by a cream-coloured silk sheet draped around their legs, and their feet bare. Immediately in front of them burns a fire that has been made in a shallow hole in the ground. Opposite them sit the bride and groom, on a raised platform, sometimes on inverted baskets, each flanked by a crowd of relations, the girl swathed in a sheet that veils her from head to foot, the groom with his eyes studiously fixed on the ground. The Brahmins pour butter and throw fruits and incense into the fire, and while doing so mumble prayers to propitiate its guardian god. They also beseech the planets to cast their benign influence upon the union. Similarly, the par- ticular deities that are supposed to preside over the destinies of the families of the contracting “sacred thread,” - parties and their dead-and-gone ancestors (who, by the way, are formally invited to attend the ceremony by letters written to them by the Brahmins and delivered to themselves) are requested to favour the match. Following these propitiatory prayers the chief priest chants the marriage service in Sanskrit —not understood by anyone present, and, quite likely, not even by himself. At the right moment the parents (the mother as well as the father) formally express their willingness to ‘‘ donate” their daughter to the boy she is about to marry. This marriage service, with slight variations, is used by Hindus all over the Peninsula. Those professing other religions, such as Moham- medanism, Sikhism, Buddhism, or Jainism, have their own rituals. Recently the privilege of civil marriage has been extended to Indians, but under its provisions every Hindu must forswear his religion in order to take advantage of it. There are other ceremonies of less importance, but of greater human interest. One of them is the introduction of the husband and wife to each other, the groom being supposed never before to have had a glimpse of his bride’s face, and, as a matter of fact, seldom having gazed upon her unveiled form before the conventional time to do so arrives. The girl, surrounded by her companions and female relatives, is seated in a room or in the courtyard, and her spouse is led into her presence by one of the older women. He is told to lift the cloth which completely covers his wife’s face. She resists him. He, being shy, hesitates, but is egged on by the assembled women. If he is a mere child, he enters into the spirit of the play, and does not desist until he has torn aside the veil. Some- times the bride is mischievous, and the moment the sheet is lifted blows into the bridegroom’s face a mouthful of cocoanut which she has purposely been chewing.

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126 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. In performing another rite the girl holds a ring or some other small object in her clenched fist. Her husband must open the hand, or he will, it is believed, for ever remain under her thumb. Whatever the issue of this struggle may be, both usually succeed in scratching each other and in ffording a lot of fun to the relatives gathered about them. Variety is furnished by placing the ring in a basin of milk and making the two fish for it. The one who succeeds in lifting it out first is considered to be destined to tule the other. These ceremonies, of course, vary in different parts of the country and with different people. Amongst some tribes very curious customs prevail. It is customary with the Gonds of the Central Provinces, for instance, for the bride and bridegroom to throw mud at each other and roll each other in the mire on the day follow- palanquin, which frequently is beautifully em- broidered. If she is very small this vehicle is shared by an older sister or cousin, in whose charge she is placed. Borne aloft on the shoulders of four coolies—or sometimes twice or thrice that number—with the bridegroom riding on horseback beside it, the dol, as it is called, in the middle of a procession similar to the one that accompanied the boy to his bride’s home, proceeds to the residence of the husband, whose father, at intervals, throws coins (gold, silver, or copper, according to his wealth and social station) over the palanquin to signify that the daughter-in-law is prized by the family of which she will henceforth be a member. Amongst 0.:e tribe the palanquin is dispensed with, and the bride is taken to her future home riding on her brother-in-law’s back. When she reaches there she puts her head against that A Calcutta bride of the lower classes on the way to her husband's house. From a Photograph. ing the ceremony. Another tribe in this region requires the two to repair to the nearest stream to worship the “ god of river crossings.” On the way there the husband chases his spouse and gives her a thrashing. On the return journey the newly- wedded wife returns the compliment, shouting, while administering the caning, “ You will beat me as long as I live, so I will beat you to-day.” When the time comes for the marriage party to leave the bride is put into a red-draped of each of her husband’s female relations, and the two weep together for a few minutes. On disengaging from this lachrymose embrace the young wife receives presents from each person with whom she has wept. In a few days the girl returns to her parents, the visit perhaps lasting for months, or even for years, its duration being determined by her age. As arule, however, every effort is made to curtail the stay in her father’s home to the shortest space of time possible, so that the child-wife

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ODDITIES OF INDIAN MARRIAGE. 127 The yome's wife seated on the right expects shortly to become a mother—The priests are holding a service intended to secure the ‘rom a) may be brought up along with her boy-husband and become acquainted with those with whom she is to spend her whole life. Sometimes it happens that a man is to be married simultaneously to more than one girl, and, since it is not possible for him to be in more than one place at a time, he cannot be present in person at all the ceremonies ; or it may be that the wealthy groom does not care to take the trouble to proceed to the girl’s home. In such cases he sends his sword, if he is a prince, or, if he does not possess such a weapon, some other article belonging to himself, and the bride is married to it with just as much ceremony as if the groom were personally present. Cases are on record in which girls have been married to a sprig of tulsi, the sacred Hindu plant ; while every year many Indian girls are married to stone and wooden idols, thenceforward to serve the gods in the temple. To equalize matters between the sexes, men are sometimes married to trees. This happens when one wife after another has died and the widower is averse to spending money upon a marriage that may terminate in the same unfor- tunate way. It is believed that the ill-luck runs from wife to wife ; so when he weds a tree the curse is supposed to fasten itself upon the inani- mate thing, after which he may marry a human spouse without fear of Fate striking her down. blessing of the gods for mother and child. (Photograph, The girl whom the widower takes to his heart, as a rule, wears some charm to keep the spirit of his deceased wife from haunting and hurting her. One of these amulets takes the form of two feet, made of gold, silver, or some baser metal. This is worn suspended from a thread or chain fastened about the neck, and is sup- posed to symbolize that the one who wears it has the mischief-rnaking ghost under her feet, where it can do her no harm. Hindu males are privileged to marry just as many wives as they may choose and as their purse can support. A Mohammedan, on the other hand, may have only four wives. Comparatively few, however, take advantage of this privilege. Widows amongst the higher castes of the Hindus are not allowed to marry again. This restriction extends to every widow, no matter what her age may be. In many cases society is so strict that the mere fact that a girl has been betrothed to a boy who has died places her under the ban. The census recently taken reveals the fact that therewere no fewer than fifteen thousand infant girls, not a year old at the time of the enumeration, who must for ever remain widows. Amongst the lower castes girls who have lost their husbands or their betrothed may remarry. In some localities it is customary for the younger brother of the deceased man to marry the widow —a condition which, more often than not,

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128 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. results in polygamy. Amongst some tribes a widow marriage is celebrated only during the dark of the moon, and none but women who have been bereaved of their mates are allowed to be present. In some places the matrimonial An aristocratic lady of Upper India—Note the huge nose-ring From a) and other costly jewellry. (Photograph. service in such a case consists of merely throwing a sheet over the widow and the man she is marrying, this procedure being considered sufficient cere- mony. The institu- tion of early marriage and perpetual widowhood, coupled with the fact that widowers, no matter what their age may be, even though one foot may be in the grave, possess an irre- sistible desire to marry, pro- duces a rather chaotic matri- monial condi- tion. _Bride- grooms may be young or gld, but brides are invariably immature. Thus it frequently happens that mere infants are tied down to aged men. For example, in 1912 a man of seventy residing in Sook, a village in the Punjab, married a girl of seven; and in February of the same year a_ well-known attorney-at-law of Dacca, in Bengal, aged sixty- five, who had thrice been left a widower, married a girl of thirteen. Sometimes ludicrous situations arise from these unequal unions, on account of the peculiar forma- tion of Indian society. A doddering, toothless old grandfather may take it into his head to marry a young girl not yet in her teens, and, since seniority attaches to the mere fact of being the wife of the oldest man, she automatically becomes the ‘‘ grandmother” of women who might easily be her grandmothers. When the “senior”? woman in such a group happens to be a little girl, the tragedy of the situation can be imagined. With the introduction of modern ideas in the minds of a minority of Indians, movements have been set on foot to do away with child marriage, enforced widowhood, joint families, and wedlock without courtship. But very little progress has been actually made in these directions, with the result that all over Hindustan conditions are substantially to-day those that have been described. The prospects for reform, however, are very hopeful, and the sooner some of the conditions I have described are swept away the better it will be for all concerned. Two wives, thirteen and ten years old From a) respectively. (Photograph.

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THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE - PRINTS. By “FILIPINO.” ILLUSTRATED BY T. SOMERFIELD. This remarkable narrative is, in a way, a sequel to “‘The Stolen Plans,” which we published four months ago. r That story concerned the disappearance of the plans of Corregidor—the “Gibraltar of the East’’--the great island fortress which guards Manila Bay. Mention was then made of the fact that certain ‘‘blue-prints” of one of the most important batteries were mysteriously discovered in the streets of Calcutta, and that a story lay behind the find. is the story—and a very extraordinary one it is. Here The author has given us assurances as to its absolute authenticity, but, as before, has been compelled to suppress his name owing to his former official connection with the Government of the Philippines. SH, look, Ota-San!” cried a shrill, childish voice. ‘‘ See the big black spider! Ain’t he the awfullest, biggest spider you ever saw?” Ota-San, who had been solemnly contemplating the heaving waters of the China Sea, turned quickly, and in a few steady steps reached the child. With a startling exclama- tion, “‘ Sodiska ! yes it isa ve’y much big spi du ” she kicked off one loose slipper, and with a rapid movement reduced the insect population of Corregidor by one. Then she turned a smiling face to the child, who viewed with horror the mangled remains of one of those immense spiders so numerous in the Philippine Islands, but which are said to be harmless. “ Big spi-du ve’y bad ; yes, sodiska ! Lil Gu’l nevvy touch. When see big spi-du, allee time call Ota-San quick, ve’y quick. Lil Gu’l no call Ota-San, Mastu Captain no likee. Un-nu’- stan’ ?” Lil Cu’l understood, and with her hand in Ota-San’s large, brown, chubby one, went slowly down the slope—not, however, without more than one horrified backward glance towards the unfortunate spider. Lil Gu’l (little girl) was the sweet baby daughter of Captain and Mrs. Roy Blackmer. The Cap- tain was an officer in the Coast Artillery Corps, U.S.A., stationed on rocky Corregidor, at the ‘entrance to Manila Bay. He was noted for his mastery of the difficult science of military engineering, and was often assigned to special duties requiring highly specialized knowledge and skill. It may be remarked in passing that the Captain, like many other intellectu 1 men, became, when engaged in the study of knotty technical questions, completely absorbed in his work and utterly oblivious to his surroundings. If called away for a moment he would leave his desk in a most appalling state of disorder, and attend to the summons, still mentally solving his problem, probably returning to his desk without dropping a stitch of his reasoning and almost without realizing that he had been away. The Captain followed this course of action regardless of the nature or value of the docu- ments in his possession, which were thus left exposed to theft or destruction. But how could anything happen to such documents when they reposed in the Captain’s study, in his private quarters, which no one ever entered save the Captain’s self, and once in a while, his charming wife or his pretty little daughter, with the bland, ever-faithful Japanese amah Ota-San? Yes, indeed ; everything in the Captain’s study was perfectly safe. Ota-San had been a legacy from a departing brother officer. She was a most intelligent Japanese woman, of uncertain age, with a limited knowledge of the English language, when it came to speaking it herself, but an apparently unlimited knowledge when spoken to. Ota-San thoroughly knew er place and her duties as an amah. She soon made herself invaluable to Mrs. Blackmer, taking absolute charge of Lil Gu’l, and even oversecing the two native servants also kept by the Captain. Furthermore, unlike some of her sister Japanese, Ota-San refused to adopt American dress and clung tenaciously to her quaint, becoming native costumes. She looked very neat and competent in her kimonos, Japanese stockings with the divided foot, and Japanese straw slippers. In true Japanese fashion, she always dropped the slippers at the door on entering the house, and moved about in her stockinged feet as noiselessly as the Captain’s cat. The Captain’s quarters consisted of one half

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130 of a pretty cottage on the eastern slope of Corregidor. Captain Craig, of the 1-th Co., C.A.C., occupied the other half. At this time Captain Craig was alone in his quarters, attended by his native servant, his family being in the States. Corregidor—as the reader has already gathered from “ The Stolen Plans ”—is the main fortress of the American Army in the Orient. Mounted on the summit of the “‘ Gibraltar of the East,” invisible to the outside eye, are some of the heaviest and most modern batteries in existence. Two of these batteries occupied a most advan- tageous position to command the approach to Manila for miles out into the turbulent China Sea ; and lying parallel to each other and mounting the same number, calibre, and power of guns, they were known by the name of the “ Twin Sisters,” though officially they were Battery A” and “Battery B.’’ They were the latest and most powerful of all the batteries that bristled on Corregidor. One shot from either of these batteries would destroy the largest battleship afloat at a distance of many miles. Mention was also made in the same WIDE Wor p story of the care with which the plans of the fortifications were guarded ; also of the consternation that befell the Commandant, Colonel Milner, and the head of the Military Information Division in Manila, Captain Burton, on learning of the receipt at Washington, from an English Army officer, of the “ blue-prints ” of some of the batteries of Corregidor, the said officer having found these plans in the streets of Calcutta, India. It was stated at the same time that the explana- tion of the matter would soon be forthcoming. In the following narrative the promise is ful- filled. To those who have doubts as to the authenti- city of either the present account or the prior one, I can only say that both cases were current talk in Manila at the time of the occurrence, and if the right back numbers of the Manila newspapers are secured, the desired verification will be found. The newspaper accounts, for excellent reasons, were brief; such matters can never be given out for publication in detail. It was suggested in my former story that suspicion concerning the theft of the blue- prints rested upon the traitor who took Colonel Milner’s plans, and even though the suspicion could not be verified in any way, there were some who persisted in believing that he would be found to be involved in both cases. This belief, however, was entirely wrong, as will be shown. Among those who did not think the man had THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. anything to do with the theft of the battery plans was Major Burton, the capable Chief of the Information Division, U.S.A. The basis for the Major’s opinion will soon be discovered by the reader. Major Burton and Colonel Milner had spent hours discussing the stolen plans, but only to separate without changing their opinions or formulating any satisfactory plan of action ; and when Colonel House became Commandant at Corregidor, succeeding Colonel Milner, the matter had been gone over several times in all its details, but with the same fruitless result. The case was mysterious in the extreme, offering no clue to work from. It was not the mere theft of the blue-prints that was aggravating ; that was perhaps of the least consequence, for these blue-prints were merely duplicates, the original plans reposing securely in the fateful brown envelope in the Commandant’s safe ; and this fact was the reason the loss had not been discovered by the vigilant Commandant himself. The really important and alarming fact was that the stolen prints, being exact duplicates, were precisely as valuable to a foreign 1 ower as the originals would have been. Furthermore, the clever spy who had stolen the blue-prints in question would possibly— given time—be able to obtain other equally valuable documents. Let us now sce how there came to be duplicates of the plans of the ‘“ Twin Sisters.” First, however, let me mention another detail. On receipt of the prints from the British officer, the Honourable Secretary of War cabled to Colonel Milner, whereupon the latter, astounded, took out the “ brown envelope ” and found the plans complete. He cabled for further details, and the reply showed beyond doubt that dupli- cates had been made of the plans of “‘ Battery A” and “ Battery B.” We may now revert to our tale. One day Colonel Milner sat in earnest con- sultation with the expert engineer, Captain Blackmer. Before them were spread certain plans of the island fortifications. On these plans might have been seen the legends, “ Battery A” and “ Battery B.” Shortly after Captain Blackmer’s arrival at Corregidor he had brought up the question of the position of these batteries, maintaining they were not so placed as to be served with the highest efficiency in time of need. : The Captain considered the matter a serious one, and one that should be remedied at once ; and he was now striving to impress his view on the Colonel. In the end, the latter yielded to the extent of requesting the Captain to draw

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THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE- PRINTS. 13t up as soon as possible what he considered to be the best plans for the two batteries. For this purpose the Captain was entrusted with the precious plans of “ Battery A” and “« Battery B,” and very soon he had made blue- prints and returned the originals to their guardian. One afternoon Captain Blackmer was at work on the prints in his study. ‘This study, it should be said, was a small apartment just off the living room. It communicated with a roomy portico by means of a large French window, which was open to permit the pleasant ocean breeze to sweep through the house. Artistic glass-bead portiéres separated the living room and the study. These porti'res were quite heavy, with the strings of beads set close together. The beads were vari-coloured and skilfully worked into a design representing a pretty Japanese maid in a garden of wistaria. Mrs. Blackmer was attending a bridge party somewhere in the Post ; the native boys were in the kitchen, presumably asleep, it being their siesta hour ; the cherished Ota-San was out on the portico with LilGu'l. Everything and every- one was well disposed for favourable brain-work by the master of the house. It transpired later that Captain Craig, the occupant of the other side of the quarters, was in Manila on this date, and his native boy had taken advantage of that fact to visit friends in the barrio of San José. The Captain sat at his handsome narra-wood table, with his back to the porticres, facing the French window. Besides the prints he was considering, several newspapers lay on the table, as well as a stack of loose manuscripts, covering various technical subjects, which he expected to publish some day. At his side was his roll- top desk, open and littered with loose papers and correspondence. In this desk, which could be securely locked, he placed all his papers at night. At his feet stood a convenient bamboo waste- paper basket. I might have said that the French window was the only window in the study, and that the study was at the rear of the house, and therefore looked up the slope, so that the occupants of the houses higher up could see into the study through the window, but could get no other view into the lower part of the house. The Captain had nearly finished his work, and stopped writing with a sigh of satisfaction. He sat idling a moment, fingering the prints the while ; then unconsciously he picked up a small hand-mirror lying on his table and glanced into it. Slowly the thoughtful look died from his eyes, his brows contracted, and he jumped from his chair and hurriedly crossed to the bead heii Parting them, he looked into the iving-room, There was no one there. He passed through the living-room and on through the house to the front portico. There, at the foot of the stairs, was pretty Lil Gu’l, and at her side the smiling, faithful Ota-San, her usual calm unruffled. The Captain returned to his study in some perplexity. He seated himself, and picking up the diminutive mirror again looked into it long and earnestly. First from one angle he tried it, then from another, but he was disappointed with the result. Then he arose and faced the portitres, walked towards them, then away, first to one side and then to another, and finally resumed his seat, laughing softly and—shall I say ?— nervously. “ Queer,” he mused. “I could swear I saw a head between the porti res, right by the side of the one in the design—and it was a Japanese head, too, mightily like that of our own Ota-San. It's just possible that my eyes went off a little, from the strain I have been putting on them, and that I saw double ; but, if so, it’s the first time. But if it were Ota-San, what could be her object ? If she were a man I should be suspicious, but poor little Ota-San doesn’t know a blue-print from acarabao! However, I’ll take extra good care that even she doesn’t get @ chance at these papers. ‘To-night they will go int - the Colonel’s safe, and every night here- after!” And no doubt they would have done if—well, you will soon see why they didn’t. Captain Blackmer resumed his calculations. Indeed, he became so completely absorbed in them that he did not hear the shriek of terror and pain in front of his quarters. The Captain’s powers of concentration were wonderful, as I have stated. They shut out completely the commotion right at his door; they shut out even the call at his back, everything but the sense of actual contact. When that was supplied by someone clutching his arm he jumped out of his chair, and heard Ota-San say. calmly and evenly :— “ Captain, I tink Lil Gu'l hu’t he’self maybe.” The Captain glared at the speaker, only half understanding. ‘Then, as the girl's meaning broke through his wakening thoughts, he abruptly rushed through the living-room and down the steps of the portico in front. There, on the ground, lay his |] ttle daughter, pride of his heart, white and moan ng in pain. He tenderly raised the child in his arms, stopping a moment to cuddle her and ask her where she was hurt ; then he carried her up the stairway, Ota-San now at his heels, telling him

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132 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. with as great a show of distress as an amah may exhibit how Lil Gu’l had fallen off the portico in trying to tease her good amah. In a comfortable seagrass chair the Captain carefully examined the child, Ota-San standing by in some fear and apprehension. To his relief he found the child had only sprained her ankle, just badly enough to cause considerable pain. The pleasure that shone in Ota-San’s innocent face when she understood her Lil Gu’l was but slightly hurt was worth making a voyage to “He picked up a small hand-mirror lying on his table and glanced into it.” behold ; the Cap- tain actually felt indebted to her for it. Then Ota-San showed the supe- rior wisdom of the Oriental. She knelt down by the Captain’s chair, gently, very gently, took off Lil Gu’l’s small, white canvas shoes, lovingly removed the little stockings, and dis- closed the ankle, somewhat swollen and discoloured. Then, inthe effective manner known to the Japanese, Ota-San took Lil Gu’l’s small injured foot in her strong hands and softly but skilfully mas- saged the bad ankle until the swelling seemed reduced, the dis- coloration less, and the drawn look of pain on the little sufferer’s face disappeared, and she actually sighed in relief and comfort. And all this was achieved in just a few minutes. The Captain was on the point of giving his charge back into the amah’s hands when his native boy Pedro came running out on the portico, crying out :— “Captain, Captain! Tiene incendio adnetro !” (The house is on fire.) Ota-San caught Lil Gu’l from the Captain as he rushed into the house after Pedro. As he entered the living-room the smoke came rolling through, and he saw at once that the fire was in his study. He sent the boy for help, while he rushed forward to save the prints and his other precious papers—the prints bearing the result

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THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE- PRINTS. 133 of his hours of study, and his manuscripts for publication. The smoke filled the study. He pressed through it to his desk and table. He could hardly see, his eyes smarted with pain ; but he saw that his table was the centre of the merry blaze. Next he noted that all the papers and documents on table and desk were almost totally consumed, nothing but a few scraps of paper and ashes being left. He must make sure, however, that the blue-prints were really destroyed ; that was most important. In spite of the biting pain in his eyes : nd the stifling atmosphere the Captain searched around the floor as well as he could. All that he found were some scraps of paper which felt like blue- print paper, and which, therefore, he thrust into his pocket. All this, of course, happened in a very few seconds of time. The Captain then rushed into the sala, seized the patent fire-extinguisher from its hook, and was using it to good effect when the Post fire brigade arrived on the scene and quickly put out the fire, which had really done very little damage apart from the destruction of the pers. Captain Blackmer made a further close ex mination of his study, and found that there was not a scrap of paper in the room that had not been reduced to ashes. The blue-prints were gone ; so, too, were all his private papers. He drew from his pockets the scraps he had picked out of the flames, and examined them carefully. They were bits of the blue-prints. Thank goodness that fact was settled ; it was a relief, a great relief. With the certain destruc- tion of the prints, bad as it was, there was no possibility of official secrets passing into for- bidden hands. For this once at least the “Twin Sisters ” were saved from becoming the subject matter of foreign complications. So thought Captain Blackmer ; so, too, thought Colonel Milner when the matter was reported to him. Thus these capable officers remained unsuspecting, without any feelings of appre- hension. The origin of the blaze was inquired into. It was unknown. But as the Captain liked good cigars, and he could not recall whether or not he had been smoking in his study, it was presumed that he had been, and that the fire had started from a carelessly dropped match or cigar-stump. The Captain leaned to the belief that he had not been smoking, but he was not sure enough to contradict the pre- sumption. There was one thing, however, about the condition of his room that had attracted his attention, and that he could not explain. He Vol, xxxi.—10. saw that the window-shade had been pulled low down so that no one from the higher slope could have seen into his study. He was positive that he had not pulled this shade down; he knew it was up when he left the study to attend to Lil Gu’l. It must, therefore, have been lowered by someone after he had left, but before the fire started, and this meant that the fire was not accidental. And if not accidental, who was responsible ? And why was it done? What had anyone to gain from the fire—save the prints? And, the prints being destroyed, in what manner would anyone benefit ? The Captain thought this matter over and over again, but without mentioning it to anyone else. Inasmuch as nothing serious seemed to have resulted, and the chances were that he himself would be credited with lowering the shade in his abstraction, he concluded he was justified in his silence. He also thought it wise not to mention his hallucination that he had seen Ota-San peering through the bead por- titres. Needless to say, Captain Blackmer again took up his work on the plans of the “‘ Twin Sisters,” but this time in the Colonel’s private office. In due time the Colonel approved the changes, and they were made. Thus, if the blue-prints had passed into hostile possession, they would not be as valuable as they might have been, although still quite dangerous to the safety of the ‘“‘ Eastern Gibraltar.” Some months passed, and then there came a sur- prising cablegram from Washington to the effect that the missing prints had been found in Cal- cutta, and Colonel Milner and the entire head- quarters staff were simply stunned. It was at once surmised by the astute Captair Burton, of the Secret Service, that the prints found must be those supposedly burned in Captain Blackmer’s study. The shrewd “ Secreto” pointed out to Colonel Milner and Captain Blackmer that the whole thing was a most clever trick of Ota-San. She, without a doubt, was the thief. She was, of course, a spy for her Government, although so far as the “Secreto” knew this was the first time a woman had been so employed by this particular Government. Ota-San had purposely caused the accident to Lil Gu’l, had gone to call the Captain, and with remarkable native quickness had seized the prints, tearing off several corners intentionally, and setting the papers on fire. (And—Captain Blackmer thought to himself bitterly—she had also pulled down the shade to shut out the vision of the people up the slope.) Ota-San had cleverly planned and most cleverly executed her plans. This was

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134 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the “Secreto’s”” theory, and he was positive that it was correct. It was accordingly decided to call Ota-San and interrogate her, little good though it was likely to do. But Ota-San was no longer Captain Black- mer’s amah! She had, a few days previously, pleaded her long residence in the Islands and the sickness of near relatives in Japan as reasons for a visit to her country—and had gone, It would be some time before their yearning eyes would be gladdened by the sight of Ota- San’s cheerful, guileless countenance. Captain Blackmer was much depressed. He had reason to be. He recalled the face sur- reptitiously peering through the porti res. He had not been ' mistaken, then; it was Ota- San. It was Ota-San, too, who had so cleverly fooled him in everything. What a triumph she had had, and what an idiot he had been! Not only that, but he was v seriously — com- promised in the matter and Washington would hold him to account. Unpleasant visions were passing through his mind when, happening to glance out of the window, he beheld the much-desired Ota-San, serenely talking with Mrs. Blackmer and Lil Gu’l. “‘In spite of the biting pain in his eyes and the stifling atmosphere, the Captain reached round the floor,” The Captain arose and fairly gaped out of the window. The “ Secreto” saw, and took a jong look. ‘(he Colonel, too, recog- nized the entertaining amah. All three men looked at each other in astonishment and gratification. Ota-San was there before them. Ota-San must be heard. Ota-San was certainly surprised to be sun.- biatzes y GOOIe

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THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE-PRINTS. 135 marily hauled before the three distinguished officers, but one would never have detected her surprise ; it was so subtle and fleeting. She made a gesture of profound respect to her former master, another sweeping bow to his two companions, and then waited smiling. To see her, one would have thought she had come with the express idea of being present at this conference. In reply to her master’s question, she stated that she had had trouble with her transportation, and had returned to get from him a letter that would clearly show her status. Ota-San was then put through an inquisition that would have done credit to the famous police “ third degree,” but in the end her inqui- sitors knew no more than in the beginning. They could not pierce her smile-protected Oriental serenity. She did not know what a “ blue-print ” was ; she had never seen one. She had never seen any of her master’s papers ; she knew nothing of guns or batteries ; she knew nothing of any army matters. Ota-San finally did seem the least bit annoyed at the long questioning to which she was being submitted, but like the true daughter of Nippon that she was, she suppressed her feelings plea- santly and successfully, and she took advantage of a pause to inform the austere committee sweetly and naively that when “I take look see for fathu and for mothu, some days, maybe one month, I like come back ve’y much and take care Lil Gu’l one more time.” The committee at last dismissed Ota-San as a hopeless case, and it must have been intensely gratifying to the gentlemen to note her sincere thanks for the honour they had done her. Was she guilty of sarcasm ? Nobody but an Oriental can answer that question. Needless to say, she obtained the letter for which she had returned to Corregidor, and departed with her charac- teristic smiles and bows, and much deep, sibilant intaking of breath. The committee was divided in opinion. The “ Secreto” Chief was still certain that Ota-San had stolen the prints ; the Colonel was inclined to favour the same view. Captain Blackmer, however, demurred ; he felt sure that Ota-San could not be guilty. As his trump card, he pointed to the fact that the prints had been found in Calcutta. If Ota-San had stolen them, they certainly would not have been found in Calcutta ; if she had taken them, they would have gone direct to Tokio. Was not this fact in itself sufficient to establish the innocence of Ota-San ? Captain Burton admitted the difficulty presented by this point, but maintained his firm belief, nevertheless, that it was Ota-San who had stolen the prints. Thus it was that the first meeting of the officers, after receipt of the news from Washington, ended in nothing definite, and succeeding con- sultations resulted likewise. The previous case had now been disposed of, as described in my former story, and Captain Burton had become Major Burton. The Major had, when alone, time and again considered the Calcutta incident, but without result, until one day Dame Fortune threw a clue in his path. I should explain that meanwhile Ota-San had returned to Corregidor and taken her former place in the Blackmer household. This fact caused our Major some surprise, as he had never expected to see Ota-San again. I have mentioned that Captain Blackmer had two native boys in his house. One of these was the cook, the other the “ housemaid.” Of Ildefenso, the chef, no more need be said ; he was a model in all respects. Concerning Pedro, however, the gay, laughing “ housemaid,” there is a great deal to be said. Pedro never missed an opportunity to be present at the national sport of cock-fighting, and betting his limit on his favourite rooster. This limit was necessarily small, as Pedro’s salary was but fifteen pesos monthly, and Pedro had reached that stage of civilization that demands American clothes, choking collars, brilliant ties, and all the other necessary adjuncts of style. In spite of the handicap on his purse, our good Pedro was able to be present at the modest cock-pit in San José about twice a month, and at least once monthly in one of the more pre- tentious cock-pits over Manila way, and he in- variably had quite a half-peso to gamble with. Major Burton’s favourite assistant, nick- named the “ Pirate,” occasionally visited the cock-pits around Manila for the purpose of “sizing up” the gamblers, both native and foreign, these rounds of observation being part of the Pirate’s duties. On a certain Sunday—the cock-pits under American dominion being allowed to operate only on Sundays and legal holidays—the Pirate jumped into a native “ carromata” and drove out to the San Juan cock-pit, one of the largest and most famous near Manila. Entering the pit, he found a favourable point of observation near the lower pit, and within a few feet of the inner circle of gamblers—those who did the actual betting. There are always present at the pits a large number of persons who are spec- tators only—probably not altogether from choice. The first person to attract his notice was the far-famed ‘“‘ Queen of Caloocan,” an enormous native woman, who lived in a barrio of Manila known as Caloocan. She was an inveterate gambler, having no other occupation or visible

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136 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. means of support. As the cock-pits were limited in operation, as stated above, she was compelled to devote much of her attention to other forms of gambling, chief among which was the Filipino card-game called “ Pangingi.” This woman had the reputation of being remarkably fortunate at all games of chance, and as it appeared she had no other known source of income, and was always well supplied with pesos and literally covered with valuable diamonds, her reputation for luck was probably well founded. ‘There sat the lady in front of the Pirate, her hands full of the small. distinctive and very convenient Philippine paper currency, intensely interested in the belligerent roosters. As the Pirate glanced over the motley array of excited, howling gamesters, including repre- sentatives of almost every nation, a small, dapper native youth stepped airily up to the * Queen” and flashed a roll of money in her face. The roll was of considerable proportions, and the Pirate gazed searchingly at its possessor, but although the “Secreto” was acquainted by sight with all the prosperous native game- sters, and indeed with all the leading Filipinos of Manila, he could not place this flashy indi- vidual. Here, then, was something he did not know, that smelt of the mysterious, and that is enough for any aspiring detective. Where- fore the Pirate bestowed considerable attention on the young gambler. Our “ Secreto"? now stepped into the lower pit directly behind the ‘‘ Queen.” He admiringly noted the splendid diamond pendants in her ears, the magnificent diamond brooch on her throbbing bosom, the valuable diamond rings blazing on every fat finger of her two fat hands. The young Filipino was talking with the woman in the Tagalog dialect, which our ‘ Secreto” understood very well. The “‘ Queen ” asked the young man, whom she called Pedro, where he got all his money, and twitted him with his former poverty. Pedro puffed himself up in true native style, and remarked with the usual rhetorical flourish that he had been left a fortune by a late-lamented aunt, and that henceforth he would take his proper station in life, and the valiente Capitan Blackmer would have to get another muchacho ; he, Don Pedro, was done with menial labour for ever. The name “ Blackmer ” caught the Pirate’s attention. He knew the Captain, and he also knew of the stolen blue-prints. He further knew there was falsehood in Pedro’s statement regard- ing his sudden riches ; he knew the native charac- ter too well to be deceived by Pedro's bluff and bluster. To make brief work of his musings, the Pirate decided to keep the boastful Pedro under his eye and arrest him when he left the pit. He carried out his scheme, meeting, as he expected, Pedro’s assumed scorn and haughty threats, but when he refused to relent and caused the young man to enter a ‘ carromata” with him, ordering the cochero to drive to a certain number in the Walled City, he could see that Pedro was not quite so jaunty and that he seemed concerned. ‘They had proceeded up Calle Sangleyes and turned into Calle Cervantes, when Pedro spoke. “ Please tell what for you arrest me?” he asked, brokenly. “ Because I think my Jefe (chief) wants to talk to you,” replied the Pirate. “ Kindly speak to me who your name is, senor,” continued the native, with plainly increased respect. _ “Sabe ‘Secreto’ ?” asked his captor, shortly. Pedro nodded, and looked distinctly troubled, even afraid. The average Filipino has a holy horror of the very sound of the word ‘'S Secreto.” He remained silent, studiously surveying his companion for some minutes. Then he said, softly :— “Senor, are you rich? money ?” The Pirate’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. He saw the drift. “No,” he said, sadly. Why do you ask ?” Pedro looked pleased. “Task it to you, senor, because I mak dee thought dat may-bee, senor, you like be berry rich ; muy rico, senor, and I, Pedro, can mak you berry rich.” ‘The Pirate appeared amused. “My dear friend Pedro,” he replied, “ you are very loco—mucho loco. Wow can you make anyone rich ? You are only a pobre muchacho for Captain Blackmer at Corregidor, with about fifteen little pesos to spend in one long month. Why do you talk about making me rich ? Why don’t you make yourself rich first ? Pooh! you are mad, Pedro!” And the worthy Pirate fairly snorted in con- tempt. Pedro was much distressed ; that was evident. He leaned towards his captor and said, in a manner intended to be most impressive :— “ Ah, senor, you mak dee big mistook. Me, Pedro, got much money. You promise no tak Pedro to see to your Jefe, me gib you, senor, much dinero. You no beleeb, senor? Look now what I to you show!” And he produced a roll from his pocket. “ Dis morning wen I go to Gallera (cock-pit) I hab in mi boldillo one tousand pesos. Si, Hab you much “T am very poor.

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THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE-PRINTS. 137 senor. Now no got so much, senor,” he added, with a careless laugh. _ J The Pirate appeared to be thinking ; then he shook his head discouragingly. ‘No, Pedro,’ he said. “It takes more money than that. A few hundred pesos is nothing for an Americano, as you well know. Why, friend Pedro, I can get rid of more than | Ny that in one evening at the Elks’ Club!” Pedro was perplexed. He was anxious to avoid the proposed interview with the much -feared “Jefe de Secretos,”’ and this Americano was not to be bought with a few paltry pesos. He must make the stake larger ; all | Americanos had their price. “Senor,” he said, finally, “you no tink Pedro hab dee money. You come wid me, and me, Pedro, mak you visto to dee money. Den, senor, I gib you two tousand pesos —si, senor, dos mil pesos—for not to tak me to visto dee Jefe. Wat you tell to dat, senor?” he ended, anxiously. The Pirate spoke with a shade of eager- ness in his voice, which did not escape our bright Pedro. “Well, Pe- dro, my boy, that sounds better — much better. In fact, that is mucho bueno, sabe? You are very liberal, Pedro. 1 see we ought to be friends. Come, Amigo Pedro, take me to all this money, and then I can surely fix it up about the Jefe.” Pedro was elated, and the Pirate # , . managed hank’ ie0: skilfully thats ay The youth stepped airily up to the "Queen" and flashed a roll of money in her face.

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138 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the end Pedro took him to a small nipa hut out on the Paranaque Road, and dug up from the interior an old tobacco-tin, containing over four thousand pesos (the reader may remember that one peso is equivalent to fifty cents United States currency), this amount being a fortune to a poor native like Pedro. This sum Pedro proposed to “ split” with his companion, but the wily “ Secreto” gathered in both the pesos and Pedro and landed them in the private home of Major Burton, Calle Palacios, Intramuros, Manila. The circumstances explained, the Major’s shrewd mind saw the possibilities, and also the destruction of his pet theory. With the aid, possibly, of threats of the formidable “ water- cure,” Pedro was induced to unfold the follow- ing wonderful tale :— Pedro, we now know, was Captain Blackmer’s “housemaid.” In the discharge of his house- hold dutics he moved about in his bare feet, consequently without noise. Ota-San also moved about in her stockinged feet, quite as noiselessly. Pedro was a bright lad with a shrewdness pro- bably inherited from a far distant strain of Chinese blood. Pedro was fond of good cigars ; so also was the Captain. Pedro knew just where the supply reposed in the Captain’s study; Pedro also knew that the Captain would never miss a “ Preferencia”? once in a while. Wherefore, Pedro would slyly slip into the study and help himself, and as slyly slip out again. The plan worked beautifully. The Captain was at work on the blue-prints one morning when Captain Craig called from the other side of the quarters. Captain Blackmer rose hastily, after the repeated calls had per- meated the mental atmosphere surrounding him, and strode out to answer, leaving his desk and table covered with papers, the central attraction being the prints of the “ Twin Sisters.” Pedro’s cigar-taste was on him this morning, and he slipped like a shadow to the study, to find honest, cheery Ota-San before him. She was carefully studying the prints. Pedro stepped back quickly. Oh, if he could only catch that Japanese girl in something wrong! What a delight it would be to report her to “‘ El Capitan,’ and have her “‘ fired.” ‘There always seems to be bad feeling between the Orientals of different races, and the Filipino, however poor and humble, considers himself vastly superior to both Chinese and Japanese. In this instance the bad feeling was perhaps greater because Ota-San presumed at times to command the native boys, especially Pedro. But Ota-San touched nothing, and after a very brief survey turned and glided softly out, Pedro being barely able to escape her notice. Pedro was puzzled. Ota-San had touched nothing, taken nothing. So that there was really nothing to report to ‘‘ El Capitan.” Then why was Ota-San there in the Captain’s study ? Pedro could not divine the reason. He would be silent then, and wait, watching Ota-San meanwhile closely and carefully, without her knowledge. In the Captain’s household it had always been “costumbre”” for the servants to take their siestas in the afternoon from twelve until about three-thirty, and the “‘ costumbre ” had, I doubt not, never been violated. But Pedro broke the ancient habit. The next afternoon his espionage disclosed the cute Ota-San again slipping through the living-room and peering cautiously through the porticres into the Captain’s study, then turning like a flash and gliding out with wonderful agility. The Captain was close after her in point of time, but not in distance, Ota-San being artlessly engaged amusing the dear Lil Gu’l on the portico stairway when the Captain spied her. Then occurred the accident to Lil Gu’l, and Ota-San rushing in to notify the Captain. Pedro saw what the master did not. He beheld Ota- San, with lightning-like rapidity, draw down the window-shade, thrust some papers into the ob¢ at her waist, sweep the mass ef documents from the table into the waste basket, drop a lighted match amony them, and reach the scene of the accident shortly after the distracted father. All this Pedro saw, and in his glee at having caught the hated amah in wrongdoing he was on the point of giving the news to “ El Capitan,” when his crafty nature halted him. What was it that Ota-San took, and why did she take it ? These were things worth knowing. And besides, it would give him a chance to tease and worry the Japanese girl, and the ordinary Filipino nature gloats and revels in this brand of pleasure. No, he decided ; he wo Id not tell ‘‘ El Capitan” just now. He would wait until he had badgered Ota-San sufficiently, find out why she took the papers, and then dramatically declare all he had seen, with the proper embellishments. That very night, when the unsuspecting amah came tripping into the kitchen for her simple meal of rice and fish, Pedro stepped to her side, and before she could prevent it placed his hand at her side upon her obi. Paper crac’ led under his touch. Ota-San angrily knocked the boy’s hand away, but before she could say anything he asked her pointedly, looking very wise mean- while :—

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THE MYSTERY OF “Wat you do wid dose papers you dot dere?” Ota-San for once was startled out of her usual imperturbable calm. Pedro smiled significantly, and went on with aggravating politeness. “ Posee-blay, me Pedro, visto dee bonita Senorita Japonesa tak dee papers from dee table ob dee Senor Capitan, no? Cosa?” Ota-San was almost ruffled, but she quickly recovered her habitual poise, and smiling amiably upon the triumphant Pedro she whispered :— “ Yes, sodiska! Pedro saw Ota-San tak some papers. Ye-es, may-bee. Now. Ota-San ask Pedro, does Pedro likee mak some money, mucho dinero, yes, sodiska ? ” Ota-San drew in her breath with a whistling sound. Here was a new situation for Pedro to consider. Would he like to make money? Would he, indeed? Cock-pits are not very interesting unless one has money to bet on one’s favourite rooster. Yes, of course, Pedro would listen to even this hated Japanese girl if she could tell him how to get the coveted pesos, without too much physical effort. Then Ota-San told him that the papers she had stolen were worth a great deal of money, and Pedro being most insistent to know why this was so, she had been compelled under threat of disclosure to inform him that her country would pay her well for the papers, as would several other countries—and she named one in particular, which I shall not specify here. Pedro said he would keep silence for a sum which Ota-San agreed to give him; but when he retired for the night he could not keep his mind from the stolen papers. He was cunning, was Pedro, and as he thought a daring idea was born. Why should he permit this odious Japanese woman to get the bulk of the money, while he, Pedro, a much worthier person, stood aside with the meagre sum she would hand him? Why not—yes, it was perfectly feasible—why not get the blue-prints, sell them himself, and get all the money? That was an idea that was worthy of him. It should be done. And it was ! That night, when the house was wrapped in slumber, Pedro crept through the halls so softly that none could have heard, even had anyone been awake to hear. He knew exactly where Ota-San lay, by the side of the Lil Gu'l’s bed. Despite what you may have heard to the con- trary, the Japanese are not all light sleepers, and Pedro had little difficulty in abstracting the prints from Ota-San’s obi without disturbing her. Of course, you must bear in mind that Pedro was an Oriental, with deft fingers and eyes that can see in the dark. THE BLUE- PRINTS. 139 If this story is true—and it was so accepted by those who were most concerned—just imagine the situation in the Captain’s household in the morning. The Captain was serene in the belief that the prints had been destroyed. Without doubt Ota-San missed the prints at once. She knew who had them, also, and Pedro knew that she knew this. But he knew further that the smiling Ota-San dared not say anything. Besides, Ota-San probably reasoned that by keeping silence she might get another chance at documents of similar value, and no doubt she fully intended trying to recover the lost papers. But Pedro was too wily for that. That very day, on the plea of a dying grandmother in Cavite, he got two days’ leave of absence, donned his best clothes, and went to Manila. Here Pedro visited the Consul of a certain great nation, and without exhibiting the papers managed to make the gentleman understand the nature of his errand. The Consul would not deal with Pedro directly, but told him to return at a certain hour in the evening. Pedro did so, and found another gentleman waiting. The Consul was not present. The gentleman insisted on seeing the papers, and Pedro brought them to light reluctantly. The gentleman, who was very military in his bearing, questioned Pedro sharply as to how he obtained the papers, examined them attentively, and after a moment of thought slipped them into his pocket, drew a heavy wallet from an inner pocket, and relieved it of a thick wad of paper currency which he pressed into the astonished Pedro’s hands. Then he caught the boy by the shoulders, pushed him roughly through the door, and said gruffly :— “There, you dirty native, take your reward and get out, and never come back here again ” The door slammed and Pedro was out in the street. As soon as possible he counted the money. There were five thousand pesos. Pedro was elated at his great good fortune. He felt immensely rich. He did not want to return to his menial duties at Corregidor. But we have said that Pedro was shrewd, and he knew that if he failed to return to duty some suspicion was likely to fall upon him. He therefore went back to his old work, and the incident passed as stated. Pedro waited several months, the idle fortune worrying him greatly, for there were many “ galleras”” anxious for his presence. Finally he decided he could quit his labours without risk. The disastrous ending to the excursion we have already related. It seemed that Pedro could not be tried by military court. ‘There was some question as to

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140 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. whether he might be lawfully tried at all. But he was turned over to the civil authorities and given a prison sentence for “ estafa,” a very convenient. count which, in) the Philippines, covers everything that cannot be distinctly classified, p The matter was. of course discussed by Major Burton with Colonel House at Corregidor. The So far, cause was progressing, without a doubt. so good, But there still remained two vital questions, How did the prints get to Calcutta, and through) what hands had they passed meantime ? The officers believed Pedro's story, and con- sidered it: advisable to cross-examine Ota-San again, She.ats was expected. denied everything. Even when confronted by Pedro she stoutly maintiuined she knew nothing about the matter, and that: Pedro's tale was alla falsehood so far as she was concerned. She wanted to be shown “ blue-prints,” so that she would know what they were talking about, and she added that Pedro's word was no better than hers, on the circumstances it was a question whether she could have been convicted of anything, even under the convenient count estata,” and there is no question that Pedro could not have been convicted under any other less elastic charge, So O&eSan was returned to the Captain with the sevret admonition, however, that her smiling Presence was not desirable in Corregidor. She Was then trinsterred te a family in) Manila, and my information is that she liter met a tragic death, We have now solved halt the mystery : the other halt is easter of solution than the reader may think, Maer Burton spent countless hours at hard thoncht upen the subject, and then, sad te say. the final unveiing avurred without his assstan V shall hereafter reter to the country that “eertain beacht the “bie pents 7 as the mina” anton Among Cue Ve ee Gav DALAT. a reception and dance was announced for the next night. The affair was a brilliant one, as such affairs always are. All officialdom was there—repre- sentatives from every foreign nation, and the cream of Manila society, both Filipino and other- e. The commander of the vessels and his officers were resplendent in their gorgeous uniforms and many decorations. As the evening wore on, many of the gentlemen drew apart in small groups and discussed the world and its doings over social glasses. The American -+with the Consul’s name had proved very congenial to one of the officers—a good- looking but very pompous young man—and the latter hinting at a thirst, our American conducted him to one of the small private corners of the club and ordered liquid refreshments. I should explain here that the two were conversing in the language of the “certain nation.” The citizens of the ‘certain nation” are, perhaps, somewhat noted for their love of the “cup that cheers,” and as his hospitable com- panion kept him well supplied with the said cup the otticer became quite loquacious. Each drink loosened his tonzue a little more. He finally so forgot his dignity as to slap our American familiarly on the shoulder and ask him his name, saving he had forgotten it. The American gave his name, whereupon the other straightened up and said in surprise :— “Why, that is our Consul’s name. Are you a relative?” In a spirit of mischief the other replied solemnly :— ~ Oh. ves, a nephew—sort of secretary, you know.” and laughed. The officer assumed as sober a look as possible, and, leaning over, said in a stage whisper :— * Then vou know about the Calcutta atfair ? ”” The American was astonished. but his quick wit at once surmised that he was treading on the brink of something unusual, and he instantly devided he would learn all he could. He replied, conidently :— “IT know a creat deal. of course. but all at secondhand. Tell me just how it happened, wont vou?) My uncle. the Consul. is so short ww : al intermation te me.” And he leaned iv Ruled the officers glass. a3 OM, ar Blan. voor worthy uncle, the a that old fort— nev CAL ID. Cara dae ?—something like } at Cakutta, to rcneral X——, who eam Calota wn a few weeks, returning se fram a tour of imspeuaa of our what do Rat. amvwav—to oor €

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ac THE MYSTERY OF THE BLUE-PRINTS. 140 Asiatic possessions. Our good Consul at Cal- cutta duly received the prints of the batteries, and waited for the great General to come. ‘The General was unavoidably delayed for some weeks, but finally reached Calcutta. Now, it's a funny thing, but our General has a habit—a very bad one, especially for a General—of carrying on his person a leather wallet in which he places such documents as he wants to consider while travelling by train. The officers all call the wallet the General's * pet.’ “Well, the Consul handed the prints to the General, who very carefully put them into his ‘ pet,’ so as to have them convenient for study in the train. The General left the Consul and went down to the railway station. When he got out of his cab in front of the station he thought he had forgotten a document he wanted to get from the Consul. Stopping, and with an aide on each side of him watching like hawks, the General pulled out his * pet ’ and opened it. Then —presto !— away blew the blue- prints right into the street. Before our great General or his aides could so much as bend their knees, a little brown imp of a Hindu had the papers and was * Before they could so much as bend their knees, a little brown imp of a Hindu had the papers.” out of sight around the corner. Did you ever hear anythiny like that? Oh, the state our great Genera: was in, and the money your good uncle had paid out for nothing! You know the rest—how the little thief ran right into an English Army officer and dropped the prints, and how the officer picked them up, put them in his pocket, and walked away, leaving our great General and his aides enraged and outwitted It would be a great joke on anyone but our General, wouldn’t it? Just one more drink friend Blank. Thank you.” Needless to say, Blank managed to transmit this information to his friend Major Burton before the evening was past, and the latter was satisfied in his own mind that the mystery was now at an end, for he knew that the account given by the British officer in sending the prints to Washington tallied exactly with the account the officer of the “ certain nation” had given to Blank. The clearing up of the case was extremely gratifying to the Commanding General of the Division, and especially so to the Commandant at Corregidor. It established the fact that no member of the Army had been guilty of either contemplated or accomplished treason. You can also imagine the relief of our expert engineer, Captain Blackmer. Best of all, the authorities at Washington were satisfied that no Power had derived any benefit from the incident. I may add that since the mystery was so fortunately cleared up, the safety of the plans of impregnable Corregidor has never been called into question, and I doubt if they will ever form again the centre-piece of such episodes as I have narrated.

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bh tl Through the Yangtze Valley With a Camera. BY JULIET BREDON. From a) Boats loaded with rice on their way to Peking. (Photograph. A chatty description of a leisurely journey through one of the most interesting regions in China, illustrated with a series of striking photographs, —— vw HY not make a trip to the Yangtze Valley with your camera?” sug- gested a friend of mine. “It’s a most interesting region.” The idea seemed good, so we lost no time in putting it into practice, and luckily we were MS One of the thousands of tidal creeks fed by the mighty Yangtze. From a Photograph. just able to complete our journey before the outbreak of the Chinese Revolution made travel- ling impossible. Instead of following the Yangtze River itself, we first made a détour up the Soochow Creek from Shanghai to “ Beautiful Soochow,” hiring a houseboat for the purpose. Our craft, which looked like a combination of Noah’s Ark and a Nile dahabeah, contained a tiny cabin and an infinitesimal kitchen. The crew con- sisted of a laodah (captain) and three rowers, whose services were not arduous, as we decided to put our- selves in tow of one of the launches which make daily journeys with a string of boats, and thus save time. The country between Shanghai and Soochow is a network of tidal creeks, large and small, all flowing into the “Son of the Ocean,” as the Chinese call the Yangtze. These creeks are the real roads of this vast district ; indeed, there are no land roads worth mentioning. The track a man takes from one village

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THROUGH THE YANGTZE VALLEY WITH A CAMERA. 143 conveyances to be seen are two- bearer sedan -chairs or creaking wheelbarrows, whose single wheel can be pushed along a path six inches wide. The variety of boats, on the other hand, is amazing. I counted twenty different kinds which passed in one morning—ungainly double- decked houseboats with carved wood shutters and flower-gardens in their high sterns ; war -junks, forming part of what is derisively called the “Mosquito Fleet” ; sampans with square or triangular sails of matting; square ferry- boats like floating boxes ; graceful canoes with cormorants sitting in An old boat-skipper. From a Photograph to another is j considered a : “highway.” If he walks to half-a-dozen vil- lages, leading a lumbering water-buf falo 4 behind him, the track is called a “ great thorough- fare.” Carriages and carts are prac- tically unknown, and the only land From a) A typical Chinese bargee. the bows ; cargo- boats of all sizes ; fishing - boats of all shapes; and, finally, curious “ slipper - boats ” almost level with the water and rowed by the owner with his feet. Nor is there less variety in the bridges under which our boat- train was just able to pass when Froma One of the graceful “* camel’s-back™ bridges. (Photograph.

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144 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the towing launch had lowered its funnel. Some are almost square, some zigzag, like those of the famous “ willow pattern” plates. Others are curved like a bent bow, while a very popular variety, shown on the preceding page, is the ‘“‘camel’s back” bridge, so called from the steepness of its “ hump.” At sunset the land- scape framed by its sharp arch is strikingly From a) picturesque, especially when, as sometimes happens, a tiny red stucco temple and an old banyan tree are perched on the summit. Near Soochow the country people are all farmers, who plough their fields with a primitive plough drawn by a grey water-buffalo, a little mouse-coloured donkey, or by the younger members of the family. The amazing fertility of population and soil is the most striking feature throughout the whole Yangtze Valley, where from almost any point along the bank of creek or river twenty villages are in sight, and a crowd of fifty children gathers in a moment to watch the mysterious operations of a camera. Soochow itself is the Paris of China—famous for green porcelain bath-tubs and beautiful women. In its narrow, dirty streets I saw the purest From a) Ploughing the rice-fields near Shanghai. Reminiscent of the willow-pattern plate—A pleasure pavilion near Hangchow. Greek type of female faces, with noble foreheads, long eyes, straight noses, and finely-chiselled chins. Many of these ladies become actresses or singing-girls. From Soochow we travelled on to Hangchow, one of the seventeen ancient capitals of China, passing several characteristic sights on the way. The first was a small, round pond with a notice on the bank, “ Please do not drown your girls here” —a pitiful commentary on what happens in seasons of flood and famine. The second — quite as grue- some—was a collection of brigands’ heads hung in buckets from bamboo poles as a warning to evildoers. So great is the dread of robbers in this region that many dwell- ings are completely sur- rounded by moats, and night is made hideous by the firing of muskets and the beating of gongs, which (Photoeraph, the villagers hope will frighten away thieves. Mutual suspicion, only natural owing to the keen struggle for existence, is reflected even in the local proverbs, such as, “ Do not tie your shoe when passing through a neighbour’s melon- patch” and ‘‘ Do not arrange your hat when walking through a heighbour’s orchard.” (Photograph,

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ot THROUGH THE YANGTZE The suburbs of Hangchow are the most famous burial-places in China, owing to the fact that the best coffin wood grows near by. Besides a lovely lake crossed by marble bridges and dotted with islands—crowned by the pleasure pavilions of a_half-forgotten dynasty—we passed a picturesque necropolis where lie the lucky rich in their large lacquered coffins, with memorial VALLEY WITH A CAMERA. 145 magnificent piece of satin being woven close to a cooking-stove by a dirty little boy bare to the waist. The same primitive Eastern methods prevail in the famous Hangchow fan shops, where we were amazed to find the most delicate designs, the most idealistic landscapes, being painted by dirty-looking old men, wearing toitoise-shell spectacles and little els A fan from Hangchow, by the way considered a very correct present to give to a Chinese official, different shapes and designs being chosen for different uses and seasons. We returned to Shanghai from Hang- chow by train, and started immediately up the Yangtze proper by one of those wooden paddle-steamers which are really large, luxurious ferry-boats. At first we } Ni appeared to be navigating an inland sea, the recent floods having swollen the great Yangtze till miles of country were covered with water. Villages, built on raised mounds and shaded by graceful bamboos, emerged like little islands. We crept cautiously between them, our heavy paddle-wheels starting a miniature tidal wave of chocolate water, which strained the rattan cables of the native junks, with eyes painted on their bows, and the guard-boats of the provincial authorities, From a\ arches and avenues of stone animals leading to their tombs. The city of Hangchow itself, however, is very much alive, and is still noted for those marvellous silks and brocades, certain pieces of which are —or were-—sent yearly to the Court at Peking. Theoretically, the Imperial pattern of five- clawed dragons and the Imperial shade of yellow may not be sold to the public ; but, as a matter of fact, the forbidden merchandise is easily obtained by the stranger who troubles to enter any of the dirty little shops. Here you may discover a Brigands’ heads hung in buckets as a warning to other evil-doers. (Photograph. which had armouries of curved pikes and hal- berds leaning against their deck-houses. Two or three times during the day the whistle blew, the engines slowed down, and we came abreast of a fortified town. A heavy native barge, rowed by the Chinese counterpart of one of W. W. Jacobs's characters, pushed out of a hidden creek or through a tumble-down water-gate and brought us a freight of native passengers with pig-skin trunks and wicker baskets. Rowing hard against the swift current, the bargee clutched one of our port-holes with

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146 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hisbamboohook, the natives scrambled on board like rats, their luggage was thrown after them with scant ceremony, and wewere off again. Towards night- fall we reached the first real Yangtze port, Chinkiang, guarded by a graceful pagoda. Foreign mer- chants once thought this place had a great future, and be- lieved they might make sen- sational fortunes in rice and tea here. But their expectations were doomed to disappointment. To-day Chinkiang is a miserable “Sleepy Hollow.” The line of hulks along the water-front, vessels retired from active service, are practically empty of cargo, though crowded with pedlars selling oranges, pea-nuts, and water- chestnuts, and clinging like monkeys to the massive fenders at the imminent risk of their lives. A false step or a clutch missed means a fall into the deadly ‘“ chow-chow ” water, when e no man emerges alive. On shore stretches the From a) Taking a rest. typical Yangtze “foreign settle- ment,’ sun- baked, with a bund, a dozen big white houses with wide verandas and peeling plaster, and a double row of willow trees against which the single policeman leans in chronic weari- ness. Not far away is the opening of the Grand Canal, that stretches all the way to Peking, and along which the “tribute rice” once made its slow way to the capital. This canal is certainly a remarkable feat of engineering and industry. Not only does it meander across four provinces for over a thousand miles, but it still provides the cheapest carriage in the whole world. We were recalled from our explorations along this quaint waterway by the screech of the steamer’s whistle, warning us to return and pro- ceed. Twenty-four hours slow steaming through ever-changing channels, past the famous Kiang- yin forts—supposed, quite erroneously, to be [ Photograph. From a) A typical scene on the Upper Yangtze. (Photograph.

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See ee ee eae SEP Ty ew tty et te ae ee ee gene nee THROUGH THE YANGTZE VALLEY WITH A CAMERA. 147 From a) The able to hold the Yangtze against invasion— and we had done the fifty miles separating us from Nankin, another of China’s seventeen discarded capitals. To-day Nankin, though still the seat of the Viceroy, who is the most powerful Chinese authority in the Yangtze Valley, is hardly more than atruin. Indeed, the northern part of the city is prac- tically deserted, and pheasants may be shot inside the walls. Gone is its chief glory, the Porcelain Tower, scattered far and wide are the palaces of the “Heavenly Kings.” But every corner is full of historical associa- tions, lately doubled by the struggles of the last Revolution. On the busy bund we hired a ye Selling water-melons at an open-air atall in « village. From a Photograph. “Bund” at Nankin, one of the former capitals of China. (Photograph. carriage to drive the five miles into the city. And what a carriage it was! The skinny pony seemed unlikely to live an hour longer. The harness was tied together with bits of string ; the vehicle itself was almost dropping to pieces. Yet we bumped safely along the “ great horse road,” past the new Young Men’s Christian Associa- tion building, put up by an Ameri- can philanthropist, close to the grue- some “Baby Towers,” where the bodies of children too young to war- rant the expense of a funeral are burned —the only instance of volun- tary cremation known in China. Finally we reached the famous “Examination Halls,” conserva- tive relics particu- larly interesting in these days when Western methods

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148 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of learning are being universally adopted. The “halls” are an insignificant group of low buildings already falling into ruins. Through the single gate as many as fifteen thousand students formerly passed in the yearly examina- tions whose rewards were glory and office. Each competitor had a cell assigned to him and A primitive method of irrigation From a Photograph. brought his own bedding, food, cook- ing apparatus, and candles. When no more cells remained the last-comers were lodged in temporary booths erected in the passage-ways. They entered these cubicles—fifty inches deep, thirty-six inches wide, and five feet eight inches high—at three one morning, and came out forty-eight hours later with their e com- pleted. During the interval guards kept watch from the neighbouring Drum Tower, and no one was allowed in or out of the “ halls” on any pre- text whatever. Even if a student died during the examination, the big doors sealed with the Viceroy’s seal were not opened, the man’s own col- leagues being unwilling to have a dead body pass through the gate by which they hoped to enter their career of honour. We saw the wall called the “ Heavenly Rvad,” over which corpses were unceremoniously ‘ifted—and very often, too, for as many old men »f seventy as boys of seventeen came up to try for the “ pass ” that their towns and families might have honour. On our way back to the steamer we passed several picturesque villages with open fruit-stalls where weter-melons were for sale, cut in half to tempt the pur- chaser. No wonder cholera is the scourge of the Yangtze Valley ! Beyond Nankin the river narrows consider- ably. Life on the banks could be observed easily , especially the primitive native methods of irri- gating the rice-fields, of which I took the ac- companying photo- graph, the captain obligingly slowing down to allow me to do so. The same evening we touched at Wuhu, another little dead An old opium-smoker in the native city of Hankow. From a Photograph. settlement of no importance, except to sports- men. Game abounds in the neighbourhood— wild boar, quail, pheasants, partridge, and duck.

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THROUGH THE YANGTZE VALLEY WITH A CAMERA. 149 Beyond Wuhu of the people is the scenery looks more energetic like the typical than lower down Chinese land- scape painted on screens and fans. The river separates into many channels ; we passed pic- turesque rocky islands, the most famous being the “Little Orphan,” China’s Mont St. Michel, crowned by temples and monasteries many centuries old. Next morn- ing we reached Kiukiang. Here the steamer the river, a fact probably due to their diet of wheat andmillet. The enervating rice- fields are left behind ; the farmers near Hankow sow and reap cereals, and a cold winter invigo- rates both them- selves and their crops. In fact, it is evident that this district isthe gateway to the hardy Northern provinces. We found nar- stopped just long row streets full enough to allow of coolies carry- us to visit the From a) Getting ready for sowing grain. (Photograph. ing loads and pottery shops, singing musical where modern blue and white ware is made, end chanties ; we saw barbers shaving customers in to load some matted chests of tea. Then we the open; we met wedding processions with pushed on past the well-known hill sanatorium poor little brides in red satin chairs, going to of the Yangtze the homes of Valley, Kuling, - husbands they for Hankow, had never seen ; which wereached we looked into after five days’ open shops that slow travelling were pictures. against the cur- “Come in and Tent. buymyoranges,” Hankow is a said an old fel- real city, with low, who, in his British, German, extreme emacia- Russian, and tion, showed the Japanese con- effects of over cessions, with indulgence in his handsome __red- favourite opium- brick buildings, pipe. Asan extra with hotels, with inducement to interesting brick- secure our cus- tea factories, tom, he oblig- where the crush- ingly agreed to ingisstilldoneby pose for his hand on wooden photograph. machinery, and Opposite Han- with a native kow is Wu- town full of chang, where we typical life and spent a day interest. visiting the im- The character From a) A monastery in the hills. rath. menseironworks, Vol. xxxi.—l!

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or 150 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fitted with the most improved machinery. Rifles, cannons, and rails are made there, the last good enough to compete with foreign steel. Around these works, too, the most sanguinary battles of the Revolution have since been fought, but to the credit of Chinese patriotic feeling be it recorded that neither side destroyed this great national asset when they captured it. From Hankow we pushed on three hundred miles farther up the Yangtze to Ichang, this time in a tiny steamer drawing but six feet of water. Changing channels make navigation From Ichang, where there is nothing but natural scenery to interest the traveller, we proceeded by a still smaller steamer, which was really little more than a launch, to Changsha, situated thirty-six hours away on the beautiful Poyang Lake. The reputation of the town is a turbulent one, with several riots to its credit. In fact, the chief official's yamen was still in ashes from a recent outbreak when we arrived, and the missionaries had thrilling stories to tell of their last escape. The garrison of Hunanese soldiers—the fiercest A winter view of Changsha, on the Upper Yangtze. From a Photograph. difficult, and night and day we heard the boat- swain heaving the lead and calling out the depths of the river. The flat mud-banks gradually gave place to rocky formations, till at Ichang itself we saw the beginning of the magnificent rock- gorges of the Upper Yangtze. In the hills near by were picturesque monasteries, and ex- tended views rewarded us for every climb. The sunsets, for which Ichang is famous, were as fine as anything to be seen in the Red Sea or Indo- China. The river turned to molten gold, and the rocky gates of the gorge, bathed in flame, reminded me of the transformation scene in some gorgeous pantomime. fighters in China—were rude, and general unrest was beginning to make itself felt. When I attempted to photograph an “ advance poster ” of the Revolution pasted on the city walls, the guards pointed their rifles at me and jabbered excitedly. Next morning we were warned to leave and urged to abandon our trip through the gorges of the Upper Yangtze. Nor was the warn- ing premature. By the time we got back to Hankow again General Li had hoisted the flag of rebellion against the Manchu dynasty, and we just caught the express—the last train to get safely through to Peking for many weeks.

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SHORT STORIES. HOW MOTHER FOUGHT THE TIGER. BY MISS IRMA BLOOD. ILLUSTRATED BY FRED HOLMBS. The authoress is Major-General Sir Bindon Blood’s niece, and here describes the extraordinary fashion in which her mother outwitted a huge man-eating tiger that was intent upon attacking the children. pereesOMi years ago, when I was quite a (PN f littl: girl, I went through a most re exciting experience, and as it makes Wy | the most original tiger story I have ~— ever heard, I hope-that it may prove of interest to readers of THE WIDE WorLD Macazine. My father, who was engineer-in-chief of one of the largest railways in India, was employed at the time in overseeing a new section which was being constructed through a very difficult piece of jungle, and as the lines were laid he travelled on as far as the engine could go. The permanent way in India, I might mention, is usually laid on a high, sloping embankment specially constructed for it, so that animals will not be so likely to stray over it and get under the wheels. The engines, for the same reason, are provided with “ cow- catchers,” but they do not always act satis- factorily. My mother and I, with a small brother, were with my father, and we had three carriages connected by little gangways. The first one was used as a sort of sitting-room, the next one was the bedroom, having two little bunks for us children, which let down from the wall at night and were folded back in the daytime. These bunks were opposite each other and under a window on either side. The window opposite me, as I lay in bed, had a straw wheel in it, somewhat similar to a grindstone, and as this was turned round it dipped into water and helped to cool the air. On the night of our great adventure my brother was already asleep, and I alternately looked at him, as he lay under the window, and at the wheel turning monotonously round. My mother was quietly reading, waiting till we were both asleep, as then she could join my father, who was smoking and talking in the front carriage with a brother and a friend. As I looked at the wheel it suddenly stopped, and as it did not commence again, after waiting a few minutes I said: ‘‘ Mamma, Curro Madeen (the wheel-turner) has gone to sleep.” Just as mother glanced up we heard someone jump down from the side of the carriage and scurry away in a fearful hurry. Rising to her feet, mother went out of the carriage at the rear end and down a short passage to the kitchen, but only the Aitmu(gar was there. She roused him and told him to go and see what had become of the punkah-wallah and why he had left his post, as his short term of duty had only begun a few minutes before. Mamma. had only just come back into the carriage when the wheel in the window suddenly flew into the room, as if hit with tremendous force, and as we both stared at it in astonish- ment a huge yellow paw reached up on to the edge of the little window—to be followed an instant later by the tawny head and gleaming eyes of an enormous tiger ! I sat up, petrified with fear, and I heard my mother give a little gasp as she saw the blood- red jaws and big white teeth. As we looked the gums were all exposed and the creature’s lips drawn back in a cruel snarl. It was a sight to terrify anyone, and mother owned afterwards that her heart seemed to stand still. Before I had realized that the “face at the window” was really and truly a ferocious tiger, however, she had suddenly darted across right in front of the aperture, and, pulling the feather pillow out from under my sleeping brother’s head, she thrust it full into the face of the astonished tiger. He had no time to do more than wonder what new sort of missile this was ; in another instant she had reached over and taken my pillow to back the other, pressing it tightly against the sides of the window, while she glanced round to see what else she could use as a barricade.

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152 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “She thrust the pillow full in the face of the astonished tiger.” With that 1 jumped down off my little bunk and, dragging off the feather mattress, held up the corner as well as my little hands could grip it, saying: ‘‘ Put this up, too, mamma.” Mother bent down and, still holding the pillows with one hand, took the mattress up and placed it against the window as well. All this takes some time to tell, but it occurred in a moment; it is remarkable how quickly one works when in danger. We heard the “rip” of the tiger’s claws going through the first pillow just as mother put up the second, and when the mattress was up we could hear him clawing away and coughing and choking as the feathers out of our pillows got into his eyes and down his throat. Judging by his frantic scrap- ings as he tore away the wood at the sides of the little window, he had got into a pretty pickle. His coughing and snarling would have been amusing to listen to if there had been no danger, but as it was it was rather awful. Suddenly mother turned tome. “ Call papa,” she said. “ Call as loudly as you can. Say, ‘Mamma wants you.’ But don’t go near the door ; stay beside me.” I promptly shouted, ‘* Papa! Mamma wants you. Come quick !”

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SHORT STORIES. 153 This summons brought father in at a run, and as mamma was trembling and almost unable to speak, though she still held up the barrier as determinedly as ever, 1, who was always a forward youngster, volunteered a hasty explana- tion of the scene which met his astonished eyes, and which, coupled with the extraordinary snortings and groanings outside, mystified him notalittle. He was making towards the doorway to go outside and investigate when I breathlessly explained matters, somewhat as follows :— “A tiger tried to come in at the window, so mamma put up pillows and the mattress, right in his face, and he tore them all down, and the feathers are smothering him.” Father promptly took down his big gun from the wall, and, giving a call to Major C—— in the other carriage, ran down the side of the carriages to where the tiger now lay on the ground, rolling over and over and turning round and round, trying desperately to rub off the feathers and down. These, however, had got so sticky from being mixed with the saliva from his mouth that the more he rubbed and licked the more he choked himself. I heard peals of laughter from my father and the other two gentlemen who had followed him with their weapons, and they said afterwards that they never saw a more ludicrous sight than the huge tiger sprawling helplessly about and covered with a feathery mass that so bewildered and choked him that he could neither see, hear, nor smell ! If there had been anything that could have been used as a cage for the huge beast, they could easily have roped him into it and taken him toa Zoo, or presented him to one of the Maharajahs ; but in the circumstances the only thing to be done was to shoot him, and then, after washing the feathers off, skin him and keep his splendid coat as a trophy of the unique occasion. < When Mr. Stripes had been given his quietus, I was taken out on my father’s shoulder to see him, and the poor beast looked a sorrier sight than I have ever seen a tiger look before or since. Though this was a really magnificent specimen I could not feel afraid; he appeared such a ridiculous object, all covered with tufts of feathers, and huddled up as if he knew how undignified he appeared. We found that the punkah-wallah had seen his eyes gleaming in the darkness as he came up, and had promptly bolted over our gangway and round the other side into the engine, so that the tiger naturally smelt us as the nearest human prey, and pro- ceeded to get in touch with us as related. But for the heroism and quick action of my brave mother, Stripes would certainly have claimed one victim, if not more, from amongst our party. THE BLACK OUTLAW. BY A. H. McQUIN. ILLUSTRATED BY T. C. DUGDALB. The story of a negro criminal who led the authorities of Costa Rica a pretty dance before he was finally rounded up by the military and shot. QN February 4th, 1907, shortly after the terrible earthquake in Jamaica, which entirely destroyed the town of Kingston, the capital of the island, I left my home there to take employ- ment as stenographer with the firm of Lindo Brothers, Limon, the largest banana planters of Costa Rica, the most peaceful of the Central American Republics. I arrived at Limon on February rith, and found it quite unlike any- thing I had expected to see, as the natives of Jamaica seem to think that it consists merely of shacks and mud huts. Instead, I found a town in every way pleasing to the eye. Limon is for the most part peopled by Wes* Indians—British subjects, as they are so fond of styling themselves, being proud of belonging to an island over which floats the Union Jack. The chief industry of Costa Rica is banana-growing, the fruit finding a ready market in England and America, and it is at the different banana farms that the West Indians find occupation. I may here remark that there is no treaty between the island of Jamaica and Costa Rica under which an absconding criminal may be extradited, and as a consequence the latter country is a sort of haven of refuge for the criminal class from that island ; so that at every turn one meets some fugitive from justice. During the early part of the summer of 1907 it was reported that one of the undesirables from Jamaica had entered a commissary at the town of Zent, on the Costa Rica Railroad, and cleared off with a large quantity of groceries and three hundred dollars in American gold coin. The police tried in vain to find the thief, but failed. At last, however, they learned that one Samuel Gordon, a West Indian negro, was the robber, and that he had been in hiding since the crime somewhere in the forest lands around the town. This news was conveyed to them by a friend of Gordon’s known as “My Dear,” who “ gave the show away ” owing to Gordon’s refusal to divide the spoils with him. Gordon got to hear

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154 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “All the men on the trolley were killed.” that the police were on his track and that his friend had given him away, and he planned to be revenged on him for his treachery. His chance came when, one evening at dusk, Gordon, lying in wait, spied “ My Dear ” and three other men rounding a distant bend of the railroad on a trolley-car propelled by poles. As soon as they came within range Gordon opened fire, with the result that all the men on the trolley, including “My Dear,” were killed. Their bodies were brought to Limon for interment, and the Com- mandante of Police offered a reward of a thousand colones (equal to about a hundred pounds) for the capture of the murderer alive or dead, which meant that Gordon was now outlawed. From this time onward small parties of polictas and detectives were sent to hunt down the outlaw in the adjacent bush ; but Gordon, being in touch with the Jamaican residents of the locality, was always well supplied with information as to the position of his pursuers, whom he invariably eluded. The only evidence of their having got near to him was that on several occasions they would return with dead comrades, shot by the outlaw, whom the sur- vivors admitted not having even seen. The inhabitants of the different towns between Limon and Zent were now completely terrorized by their unseen foe, and the occupiers of houses would take great care to have their doors and windows securely barricaded before retiring at night, fearing that the negro would appear and disturb their slumbers. ‘This fear was intensified when it was learned that Gordon had suddenly appeared at a dance at Zent, held up the revellers at the point of his revolver, and compelled them to disgorge whatever money and jewellery they possessed. At this dance Gordon, recognizing an old enemy of his, commanded him to kneel and pray, after he had taken his revolver from him, as he intended to kill him. The man quickly obeyed, but when his prayer was over

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SHORT STORIES. 155 Gordon commanded him to leave the place and never to cross his path in future. The outlaw then left the premises as coolly as if he were one of the departing guests. This reign of terror went on for some weeks, during which several policemen were shot, sometimes at Zent and at other times in the town of Limon itself, until at last martial law was proclaimed in Limon by the Governor of the town, Don Chico, so as to enable the authorities to deal effectively with the outlaw. Soldiers from the capital, San José, were sent down to assist in his capture, and a miniature campaign was instituted. It was quite amusing to see a train carrying a hundred soldiers steam out from Limon in the early morning for Zent, the farthest point of the outlaw’s activities, and return in the was received in Limon by telephone that he had been surrounded at a house near Westphalia Farm, where he had stayed the previous night. This news, to the inte ‘se joy of the inhabitants of the district, proved to be true. It transpired that while the soldiery were engaged in capturing the unfortunate houseowner, whom they mistook for Gordon and killed, the outlaw himself escaped by a back door and, after shooting two soldiers, made his way for the bushes. He was shot in the leg, however, and could not proceed farther than a hiding-place among the banana trees of Westphalia Farm. Even now, however, the soldiers, not knowing whether he was wounded or not, feared to follow him too closely, as they had a wholesome fear of his marksmanship, and accordingly they kept at a respectful distance. Presently, while they | Jamaica S.S. DECLARED to at Kingston in the city and parish of Kingston in this ialand on the 12th, day of November I 12 before me 1, ARTHUR HORATIO McQUIN, of the city and parish of Kingston, in this Island, stenographer,D0 DECLARE that the story annexed hereto, entitled "Samuel Gordon, Coeta Rican Bandit" was related and written by me and that the same is accurate and true in every respect, were hesitating what to do, a man appeared on the scene whom they stopped and questioned. They learnt from him that he was on his way to procure liniment and bandages for Gordon’s wounded foot from the botica (drug- store) at Limon. The soldiers promptly ordered the messenger to take them back and point out the clump of trees where Gor- don lay, which he did. The military then advanced and poured volley after volley into the trees, until at last Gordon’s voice was heard calling out that he would surrender if they ceased firing. The men Facsimile of an affidavit by Mr. A. H. McQuin, in which he vouches for the accuracy of this story. evenings without its quarry, but bringing back dead or wounded men as proof of the outlaw’s marksmanship. At times, too, while the train was on its way with the policias to Zent, Gordon would be on the freight train among its load of bananas on his way to Limon, where he would sleep at night, and at about eleven or twelve o’clock would engage isolated policemen in duels, invariably killing or badly wounding his oppo- nents, who carried cumbersome rifles or old- fashioned pistols. This game of hide-and-seek went on for some weeks until at last, on Holy Thursday of that year, up to which time Gordon had killed over twenty Costa Rican soldiers and policias, news were accordingly ordered to stop firing and ad- vanced, taking their man alive. The outlaw proved to have been shot in four or five places. Gordon was then brought to Limon on a trolley-car by two sold ers, but, in spite of receiving the best medical aid, he died from his wounds on Good Friday night. While dying a priest, who offered him absolu- tion, inquired whether he was not sorry and repentant for having taken the lives of so many men; but Gordon replied that he was not repentant, and the only thing that he felt sorry for was that he had not had sufficient time to kill the Commandante of Police! He died some few minutes after, and thus ended the career of one of the fiercest outlaws that the authorities of Costa Rica have ever had to deal with.

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MORE EXPERIENCES. Bg THE EDITOR. ILLUSTRATED BY G. HENRY BVISON. Tis our Some years ago we published an_ article photographs they fur- nish. This being the v1 boast that } | there is no m| magazine " in the wide world like THE WIDE WoRLD MAGAzINE— that it is different in lat msl | a giving an account of several of the Bditor’s curious experiences in connection with the work of conducting this Magazine. Here are a few further glimpses of odd happenings —this time chiefly on the lighter side—during fifteen years’ connection with the “Wide World.” The narrative shows how much “human interest’ underlies the routine of case, the reader will readily understand that the offices of the Maga- zine have in course of time become a sort of Mecca for all those conception, contents, and spirit from any other publication on the face of the earth. One of the greatest points of difference between THE Wipe WorLp and its contemporaries is in the matter of contribu- tors. The ordinary magazine relies upon pro- fessional writers for its material; THE WIDE Wor.p draws its stories and articles at first hand from the people concerned—the adventure from the man who has experienced it, the exploration article from the traveller who made the journey. This is the secret of the actuality of WipE Wortp narratives. The people who write them, in the vast majority of cases, have actually undergone the perils they tell of, seen the strange sichts they describe, taken the our Magazine. men and women who go out into the wild places of the earth, to the borders of civilization and beyond. When a man contemplates an exploratory trip into a new country, he comes to us to discuss it. When a traveller returns with fresh material and photographs, he hastens to us to arrange for publication. And when some pioneer comes “home” from the “ edge of beyond,” often the last piece of advice he gets from his chums is, “Don’t forget to go and see THE WIDE Wortp about that adventure you had with the bear.” I have said enough, probably, to show you that our contributors are of no ordinary type. They are men and women who have lived the

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MORE EXPERIENCES. 157 strenuous life, done things worth writing about, seen sights worth describing. Small wonder, then, that not a little of the romance and uncon- ventionality of their lives creeps into their relations with ourselves, with the result that during fifteen years’ connection with the Maga- zine—twelve of them spent in the editorial chair—I, too, have met with some curious experiences, such as do not commonly fall to the lot of magazine editors in their quiet sanc- tums in prosaic London. Some of these it would be a breach of confidence to disclose, but with others this does not apply. In a former number (October, 1907) I described some of the most remarkable of these episodes. In this little article I propose to deal with a few others—chiefly incidents that have a distinctly humorous aspect. Tragedy, mystery, and comedy all come my way at times ; but one sees most of the comedies, and they are played out the quickest. The tragedies one only gets half glimpses of: and the mysteries of real life, unlike those of fiction, are seldom solved. Let us start, then, with one of the lighter happenings that have come my way. A very odd little experience occurred in con- nection with a kindly contributor in California. He sent me some photographs of the Californian “ horned toad ”—a fearsome-looking survival of prehistoric days. covered with spiky pro- tuberances —that is found in the arid deserts of California and nowhere else in the world. I suppose I must have shown some unusual interest in the creature, for one day I received a letter from my contributor, saying: “ As I think you might like to have a novel ornament for your study, I am sending you a stuffed horned toad under separate cover.” I wrote thanking him, and temporarily forgot all about the matter. Then one morning my clerk brought in a box, consigned from the town in California where my correspondent lived. “This must be the stuffed toad,’ I thought ; and I hastened to open the box to inspect the animal. It was very carefully and strongly done up, but at last, squatted on the bottom, I beheld my toad, and very gingerly—for his spiky coat made him rather a problem to handle—I lifted him out and sat him on the table. The stuffing appeared to have been done by a veritable artist. The creature looked absolutely life-like, save that its eyes were closed and the lidssunken. I examined the little beast with much interest, and then sat him down on my table, beside the inkpot. Later in the day I was leaning back in my chair, trying to solve some knotty problem which had arisen, when my eyes happened to light on Mr. Toad, squatting there in his typical toad-like attitude and, with his wrinkled, spiky coat, looking like a miniature of some horrid monster of the days before the Flood. I was still surveying him, my thoughts far away, when I got the shock of my life. The light flickered momentarily, and for an instant I could have sworn that the odd creature opened a singularly bright eye and blinked at me. I sat up witha jerk and stared at it. But, no; the eyes were as fast shut as ever. It must have been some trick of the light. Once more, as I sat there cogitating, I thought I caught that glint of light from the toad’s eyes, but close examination revealed no eye or sign of an eye, so, rather impatiently, I pushed the toad to one side and began to write. T had been writing for perhaps half an hour, with no sound to disturb me save the far-away hum of the printing machines and the ticking of the clock, when some faint noise close at my elbow interrupted the flow of my thoughts and caused me to look round. There was an atlas

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158 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at my side, and, on top of it, close to my arm, was Mr. Toad, looking as uncanny as ever. “ That’s queer,” I told myself. “I thought I left you behind the inkpot.” I was about to shift him again when once more I beheld that swift opening and shutting of the eye-lid, caught that fleeting glimpse of a bright eye. I stared at the toad solemnly and seriously. I had proof of that, and the fact was enough for me. “The thing is alive!” I cried, in astonish- ment. ‘‘ Now what on earth did the man want to send me a thing like that alive for? I wonder if it’s dangerous.” I had alarming visions of sundry venomous insects which hail from the deserts. ‘“ Anyway, I can’t have it hopping abeut my desk.” Picking up the box in which it had arrived, I very carefully poked Mr. Toad in with a ruler and | | shut the lid with a bang. I | noticed then for the first time that there were air-holes bored all round the box. Hs i/{I | I went on with my work I II| | that afternoon with a very definite sense of injury against my kindly Californian. “There was an atlas at my side, and on the top of it was Mr. Toad, looking as uncanny as ever.” “Either that beast is alive, or I’m going mad,” I muttered. “I’m going to settle this rightaway.” : With that I shifted the atlas round in front of me, picked up some proofs, and with one eye on them and one on the toad began my vigil. Five minutes went by, and the creature gave no sign, so that I began to think my senses had played me a trick. Then, without the slightest sound, his huddled-up back-legs straightened, his fore-legs lifted, and he was off the book and squatted, stony-looking as ever, on the table. So quickly and silently was it done that I could hardly convince myself, even then, that the thing had happened. But the beast had shifted. What use was a live toad of prehistoric species and unknown habits to a busy magazine editor? I had wild ideas of telephoning to the Zoo for advice, but decided to wait awhile. Meanwhile I took Mr. Toad home, filled the bottom of a large tin bath full of sand and rocks—the nearest imitation I could devise to his desert home—and turned him into it. Forthwith he gave three distinct hops and retired under a stone. I wondered if he was hungry or thirsty, and worried as to what I could feed him on; but nobody whom I consulted could give me any information as to what food toads in sun-baked deserts were likely to encounter, and so I gave it up.

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MORE EXPERIENCES. 159 The following day brought a letter which cleared up part of the mystery. “I have decided to send you a live toad,” wrote my Californian friend. ‘“ They make quaint and interesting little pets out here, and you may be able to acclimatize one in London. ‘They can go for weeks without food. Put him in a sunny window and he will catch your flies and thrive on them. He will quite get to know you in time. He is entirely harmless.” That letter took a great weight off my mind. Forthwith I set about making a pet of Mr. Toad. Fortunately it was summer-time, so that the sun shone occasionally, and I put him and his “desert” in the warmest corner every day. But I never saw him catch a fly. I put things near him designed to attract flies, but though the insects buzzed merrily all round him, I do not think he ever secured a victim. I believe the horned toad’s method is to shoot out a tremendously long tongue with deadly aim. If my specimen practised his marksmanship at all, however, I never saw him ; possibly the transition from the blazing heat of his native sands to the colder clime of England made him sluggish. T removed him, as sugested, to sunny windows, but I don’t think he met with any better luck, and one morning when I went to look at him he had so far forgotten himself as to hop into a shallow dish of water—water, which he would never encounter from one year’s end to another in his rainless, arid home! And he seemed to like the novel sensation, for when I lifted him out he hopped back again. Alas! that bath, or the climate, or something else, was too much for him, for one day I found him lying in a position I had never seen him assume before, and soon I realized that he was dead. Under a little stone in my garden he sleeps —the pioneer of his race, in all probability, to invade the countryside. Poor little toad! I shall never forget him, for the surprise his “ coming to life” gave me will always remain one of my most vivid memories. Except when something ‘‘ goes wrong” at press-time, life in a magazine office usually follows an even, uneventful course ; but never- theless there have been times when we of ‘THE Wipe Wortp have met with real excitement. One such occasion stands out very prominently in my mind. A new weekly journal had been established by Messrs. George Newnes, Limited, and its editor and his “‘ sub ” occupied the room adjoining my own. To them one day came a tall, well-set-up gentleman of middle age, attired in the height of fashion. He sent in his card, from which it appeared that he was Mr. X—, the managing director of a well-known West- end firm. He desired, he said, to see the editor with reference to an important proposition. He was duly shown in, and opened the conversation by saying how much he liked the new journal, and how pleased he was to observe its success. After these and other compliments, he proceeded to business. So much impressed was he with the new paper, he said, that he proposed to take advertisement space in it for a series of weeks to the extent of a thousand pounds. Now, as everyone knows, the advertisement revenue is a very important item, especially to a new publication, and the editor and his colleague were decidedly pleased to hear the good news. They were about to send for their advertisement manager when the visitor suddenly changed his tone. A fierce light came into the eyes that had hitherto beamed so pleasantly upon the two journalists, and fixing the “ sub” with a menacing glare, he demanded, angrily :— “Why do you have a face like that? It displeases me. Remove it at once.” “ Well—really: began the astonished journalist. ‘‘ I——” “Do you hear me? Remove it at once, or it will be the worse for you!” cried the visitor, in a voice of thunder. And he snatched a heavy ebony ruler and advanced upon the journalist. “VIL kill you both !” he shouted. ‘‘ You have been annoying me for a long time.” “Good heavens ! the man’s mad,” breathed the editor, and he sprang up to assist his colleague, who happened to be small and slightly built. At the same time he pressed the button of the electric bell to summon his assistants. Meanwhile, in the adjoining room, I heard faintly the sound of a shouting voice, the crash of falling furniture, and then the insistent tinkle of the bell. A bellow of rage, followed by another crash as a chair hurtled against the wall, brought me to my feet, and I rushed out into the passage just in time to enter the other room with the editor’s senior assistant. ‘There we beheld a remarkable sight—the two jour- nalists up in a corner, penned in behind a table, defending themselves as best they could against the savage onslaughts of the stranger, who was striking right and left with the big ruler, gnashing his teeth with rage the while. “Look out! ‘The man’s a raving lunatic,” cried one of them, as he dodged a vicious stroke. It was a time for action, and quick action at that. So engrossed was the madman with the two unfortunate men jammed in the corner, from which they had no chance to get out, that he never even turned round, Each taking one side, the clerk and myself leapt upon his back and bore him to the ground, while the two prisoners, seeing their chance, scrambled over the table and came to our assistance. And we

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160 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, needed it. I had heard a good deal as to the terrific strength of the insane, but never till then had I had any experience of it. Once down, the maniac fought, bit, scratched, and wriggled, till it was all we could do to keep hold of him. Only when the burly lift attendant was hurriedly fetched were we able to master him, and by that time we were all pretty dishevelled. Meanwhile someone had telephoned to Mr. X—s firm, and before very long a representa- tive, accompanied by two stalwart men, arrived at the office with a closed carriage. Into this Y y = Ke a Mr. X——, now quite calm, was hurried and driven away. It transpired that the firm had noticed for some time past that the managing director was getting strange in his ways, and subject to fits of causeless anger, but nothing so serious as happened in our offices had occurred before. Later the unfortunate gentleman, being certified as i.opelessly insane, was confined in a private asylum. The advertisement contract was duly fixed up by the firm, but for a long time the two journalists were very chary of seeing callers. ‘ For cranks and semi-lunatics, of course, news- paper offices have a weird attraction. They flutter about them much as a moth does round a candle, hoping against hope that some day they will find a journal that will consent to allow them to air their views. Quite a number of these people—some of them very extraordinary folk indeed—have visited us since the Magazine was first established. One worthy gentleman had a huge kit-bag filled with manuscripts “They defended themselves as best they could against the savage onslaughts of the stranger.” dealing with his theory of the evolution of man, “as opposed to the degrading Darwinian heresies.” When we delicately hinted that THE WIDE Wor Lp was not exactly the sort of journal in which to give such material to the world, he informed us, with heat, that, as he suspected, we were in “ the subsidized conspiracy to keep him silent,” and departed, shaking the dust of our premises off his feet. Another curious caller —an elderly and ver~ diminutive lady—used

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MORE EXPERIENCES. 161 to bore a hard-worked but polite sub-editor almost to tears, and finally wound up with an offer to marry him! As he had other views, however, she also departed in a huff ; but she was such a persistent person that I shall always believe the “sub” had a very narrow escape. Talking of narrow escapes reminds me of an incident that might well have had serious con- sequences. We were publishing a story in which a pistol figured rather prominently, and I sug- gested to the author that, if he still had it in his possession, we might reproduce a photograph of it with the narrative. “Yes, I’ve got it kicking about at home somewhere,” he told me. “I'll bring it up.” He duly brought it, in a cardboard bex—a queer, heavy, old-fashioned-looking thing. We had a man in the office at that time who was interested in old firearms, and he and a clerk got examining the weapon. One of them, holding it in his hand, pulled the trigger, whereupon there was a loud explosion, and a bullet passed under the second man’s arm and buried itself in the wall! It was a very narrow shave of being a “ didn’t-know-’twas-loaded ”’ tragedy, and we have been particularly careful with such things ever since. The owner of the pistol was astonished to hear of the incident, as the charge must have been in the pistol for years. The great majority of our callers, as I have indicated, are most interesting people, bringing with them a breath of the great world beyond our shores, giving us, in their conversation, vivid little glimpses of the life of other lands. Soldiers and sailors, Government officials, mis- sionaries, explorers, traders, hunters, prospectors —they come with their stories and their photo- graphs from every clime. We get, too, men with freak propositions for “ round the world ” tours —men who, for a substantial consideration, are willing to engage in some quaint enterprise, such as walking across Europe in a paper suit, begging their way round the globe, trundling hoops across the United States, or something of that kind. Still more extraordinary are the callers who try to sell us things—not articles and stories, which we are looking for, but such odd things as mines of fabulous richness, the clues to buried treasures, and the like. One earnest old miner, who had devoted a lifetime to the search for the yellow metal, tried hard to get us to finance him in a desperate effort to reach a wonderful bonanza he had discovered, at the risk of his life, in some terrible desert in Mexico. Another man had plans and documents galore, which he wished to sell quite cheap, relating to the location of the eternal Cocos Island treasure. Some of these gentry, of course, are tricksters, though they miss the mark pretty badly in coming to us. Others, again, are undoubtedly genuine, but have simply come to the wrong market with their queer wares. One could tell countless stories on this subject did space permit. Let me conclude with an episode which is still a sore subject to those concerned. _To the offices of the weekly paper I have already mentioned there came one day from abroad a queer-shaped bottle, ornamented with sundry curious-looking labels and seals—“ for the favour of testing and notice.” “What is it?” asked somebody, surveying the flask doubtfully. ‘‘ Hair-oil, wine, or what ? There’s no letter with it.” The bottle passed from hand to hand, and at last a much-travelled gentleman hazarded an opinion. “Tknow,” hesaid. “It’sa liqueur. I tasted something of the kind in Austria.” Forthwith he opened the bottle, poured a little of the contents out into a glass, and tasted it, with a rather doubtful look on his face. “ Yes, it’s the same stuff,” he said, confidently. “ Curious flavour ; rather an acquired taste, I should think. Jolly good stuff, though, I’ve heard.” To cut a long story short, everybody tasted the sweetish stuff, and though none of them liked it particularly, they duly finished their ‘‘ tots.” The same afternoon brought a letter explaining that the “ liqueur ” was a sample of a new and very powerful rival to Mr. Beecham’s well- known preparation — but the members of the unhappy “ tasting committee” had discovered the fact some time previously. I believe the much-travelled gentleman was distinctly un- popular for quite a long while afterwards.

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THE FIGHT IN THE GRAIN-PIT. By CAPTAIN G. D. HAIGH, Late of the Matabele Relief Force. ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK PATTERSON. What happened to two members of Raaf’s Horse during the trouble with the Matabele in 1893. While getting grain from a subterranean native storehouse they were trapped by the vengeful warriors, and a nightmare struggle ensued which is well described in the following pages. ad +p was a couple of days after our first BY Ma fight with the Matabele on Novem- (Hy ber 4th, 1893, at the Inguesi River, that a small party of Raaf’s Horse " were out foraging. Rations were very scarce with our column, which was under the command of Major Gould Adams, so we used to thoroughly search the Matabele kraals to get supplies of grain. In those days the natives were in the habit of storing grain in enormous pits under their cattle kraals, the entrance being through a narrow shaft about three feet deep. You dropped down through that and found yourself in a vast cavern full of grain. At the sides there would be big straw baskets, or big clay tubs, in which we usually found nuts and beans. When I first struck one of these underground granaries, it seemed to me like a kind of Ali Baba’s cave. There was very little fun about exploring it, though. It was all solid hard work. Our method was to send down our thinnest man. He would make a sack of his shirt, and so send up the grain through the shaft. Unhappily for me, I was usually selected for this task, as there was very little spare flesh about me at that time. Jove! how I used to sweat! The grain gave out a kind of heat, and as one worked at full pressure it was most fatiguing. One day our party had struck a large kraal, and after carefully going through the huts for any stray Matabele we proceeded to the cattle enclosure. Here I shed my tunic and rifle, and dropped through into the pit. A couple of fellows were posted a short distance off to keep watch, the remainder being at the mouth of the pit busy filling the nosebags with the grain that I sent up. Thad been working hard for about a quarter of an hour, and was thinking it time I had a rest, when all of a sudden bang! bang! went the tifles, and I could hear the Matabele yelling. \ ¥ Va 2] “ Stay where you are ; the niggers are right on us !”’ someone shouted down to me, and then off they went, leaving me alone. Above I could hear a terrific racket—shots, yells, and the pattering of feet. As there was nothing to be done, and I could not get out of the cave without assistance, I promptly retired to the farthest corner and cuddled up behind one of the grain baskets in case of trouble, for I had not even a knife on me. By the amount of yelling going on the Matabele seemed in force, and I began to wonder how things would pan out, and whether our men would be compelled to retire. I knew they would return sooner or later, but there seemed a chance that the interval might prove rather more exciting than I wanted. After a while, as I sat there, listening intently, I heard the Matabele at the mouth of the pit. Fortunately, it was only light just under the entrance, the rest of the cave being in deep shadow. Unless a very thorough search was made, therefore, I reckoned I should not be * noticed. Suddenly, plunk ! down dropped a Matabele into the grain-pit. I crouched back, hardly daring to breathe, for what might happen if he discovered me was not pleasant to contemplate. From where I was hidden I could plainly see him —a stalwart young warrior—but what I observed particularly was the fact that he had a couple of most businesslike-looking assegais, while I had no weapon at all. The Matabele language is almost identical with the Zulu, and I was therefore able to under- stand when the intruder shouted up to his people that there was no one in the pit. He then called to them to reach down and pull him out, but they told him to send them up some nuts first. Sulkily he made for one of the baskets near

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THE FIGHT IN THE GRAIN-PIT. 163 him, and was soon busy at the very game I had been occupied at. I was now feeling much more at ease, as I reckoned that my unwelcome visitor would soon leave. Presently, however, | heard a yell from the niggers on top. “ Amakiwa!’ (the white men) they shouted, and I could hear the thud of their feet as they rushed off. The young warrior, startled, made a leap for the shaft, but there was no one to help him up, for all his friends had bolted. As he was struggling hard to try and “Help!” shouted. “I’ve got a fellow down here, and if I let go he’ll stab me.”” With that, down through the hole dropped my chum, O'Leary. In an instant he had sized up the situation, and gave the Matabele a crack over the head with the butt-end of his Martini, which effectively quietened him. “We've got no time to waste,” he said. “ Kneel down, so that I can reach the top with my hands, then I’ll be able to pull you out.” I bent down, he got on my back, and shouldered himself up through the shaft. A second later he came down again like a . shot. “Good heavens !” he cried. ‘‘ The brutes are back again, and they spotted me!” We were now in quite a fix. I learnt from O'Leary that he had come back for me alone, the rest having gone on as hard as they could to bring up Raaf, so as to attack the Matabele in “We rolled over and over." climb out, I rushed and got him round the waist. My word, didn’t he yell! Evidently he thought the spirits had got hold of him. I soon found I had caught a Tartar, for the beggar managed to get an arm clear and jabbed me down the back with one of his assegais. We rolled over and over, and at last I got him by the throat, and started to choke him into insensibility, though he still struggled furiously. “ Hurry up, Haigh,” came the cry, in a familiar voice. “ The niggers are here in hundreds, and there’s not a moment to spare.” force. O’Leary had his rifle and about thirty rounds of ammunition, also a revolver and a few cartridges. The revolver he handed tome. We then retired to my corner and listened. There was a hot argument going on at the mouth of the pit, but no one ventured down. All the better for us, we thought, for every moment meant that help was getting nearer. Presently we heard a shout, and soon learnt what it meant. Down the shaft came a bundle of lighted thatch, then another, and another. In half a minute the smoke was blinding.

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164 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. O'Leary kept his head well. Wy \\ “ Put that stuff out,” he gasped. “ Throw “UD \ grain at it. Get it out somehow, oF we're done for.” For the next few minutes we worked like fury, but the Mata- bele gave us no rest, throwing down more grass till the place was aglow with fire and thick with pungent smoke. “Look here!” yelled O'Leary. “ We've got to plug that hole. Where’s that blessed nigger?” Turning round, he snatched at the unconscious man’s shoulders, bade me catch hold, and by main force we heaved the warrior up the shaft. He had only been stunned, and I could feel him kick feebly as we lifted him. Suddenly we felt the native’s weight taken off our arms. He began to go up the shaft. “Hang on to his leg,” shouted O?dsee ry. “Theyre trying to hoist him out.” I hung on with all my strength, but I could still feel him going up. There must have been quite a lot of Matabele pulling at him. “We heaved the warrior up the shaft.”

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THE FIGHT IN THE GRAIN-PIT. 165 “ Bend his leg over, or they’ll have him out,” snapped O’Leary. I pulled one way, O’Leary the other, but it was a mighty hard job to keep our human “ cork” in position. The unfortunate negro had by this time recovered his senses and was shouting his opinion of the proceedings in no uncertain voice, kicking and struggling like a madman, so that it was all we could do to keep our hold on him. Failing to achieve their object by main strength, the Matabele up above now tried another plan, and incidentally showed us what little value they attached to human life—even that of their own kith and kin. Bringing up a musket, they shoved it down alongside the poor wretch in the shaft and pulled the trigger, no doubt hoping to hit one of us. In the confined space the report sounded like thunder, but beyond scattering the grain like a charge of shrapnel, the bullet did us no damage. _I believe, however, that it passed clean through the Matabele in the shaft, for they let go of him, and we felt his body sag limply, but we managed to keep him in position. “Work round to my side,” said O’Leary. “ T think we’ve got ’em beat.” As he spoke, down came some pieces of thatch, and more still, and then pieces of burning grass dropped past the figure in the shaft. It was his life or ours, however, so we just held on grimly, though our arms were aching and our eyes blinded with smoke. After a while the fire ceased, and suddenly the place was in darkness. “ What’s up now ? ” said O’Leary, in surprise. “ Pull down our cork.” We hauled the warrior down, and he dropped limply on the floor—stone dead, killed by his own comrades. O’Leary took one glance at the corpse, then he stepped to the shaft, now dark as night. “ See,” he said, ‘‘ they’ve covered us up, and I’m going to investigate. Get me one of those assegais.” Groping around, I found one and handed it to him. O’Leary then stood on my shoulder, and, using the spear-blade, managed to slightly prise up the flat stone which covered the top of the pit. “ Yes,” he said, calmly, “ they’re putting more thatch on, and are going to try to roast us. But they'll defeat themselves. All that stuff on the top is bone-dry, and when it’s well alight they won’t be able to get near.” He paused, then added, in a different voice, “I don’t know whether we shall roast, but anyway, youngster, you’re going to taste ' ades for a while.” Vol. xxxi.—1? With that he jumped down, leaving the assegai in position under the stone, and we took it in turns to get a small breath of air by prising it up. “There she goes,” said O’Leary, suddenly, and I heard a dull roar as the pile of thatch over the pit-mouth caught fire. We promptly re- treated to the end of the cave and lay down. It had been hot enough in the place before, but now it got hotter than ever. I felt sick and miserable, and also decidedly scared. I had no hope of getting out alive, and saw nothing before me but a dreadful death. The temperature was rising momentarily. Every breath hurt my lungs, and the roaring of the fire, to my excited fancy, seemed to be getting louder and louder. I suppose I must have said something which showed my state of mind, for the iron-nerved O’Leary soon brought me to my senses. “Don’t be an ass,” he growled. ‘‘ This will soon go off, and the smoke of the fire will bring our fellows back double quick.” Presently it seemed to us that the place was a little cooler, and my companion moved closer to the mouth of the pit. “Come along,” he said. “ The grass has all burnt, I think, and I’m going to shift this rack.” Levering on the spear, he managed to shift the stone somewhat, and a little light and air filtered down to us, but the heat and smell were still fearful. Not a sound could we hear of the Matabele; they seemed to have cleared off temporarily. Taking courage from this fact, O’Leary made a big effort and shifted the stone right off. He then dropped down, and gave mea liftup. I got a glorious breath of air, but had my hair all singed, for the stuff at the mouth of the pit was still burning. Just then we heard shots on every side, and soon, to our intense delight, our fellows were back at the kraal, having driven the natives off. O'Leary got his head out and shouted, and we were quickly hauled out. We got somewhat scorched in the process, but it was a trifle to what we had gone through. They gave us water, and didn’t I drink! 1 could have emptied a river! I expected a little sympathy, after our narrow squeak, but all I got for my pains was a horrible ragging from my captain for losing my rifle. The plucky O’Leary later became a sergeant- major in the Matabelela d Mounted Police, and was the first M.M.P. man to be killed in the ’96 rebellion. I saw the poor fellow’s grave at the Rembesi River, on my way back from our fight at Thabas Ama.nLa, in July, 1896.

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. Adventure and Discovery in Dutch New Guinea. By CAPTAIN C. G. RAWLING, C.LE. An account of the doings of the British expedition dispatched in 1909 to Dutch New Guinea for the purpose of exploring the vast unknown regions of that part of the great island. The expedition, besides making valuable collections of birds and beasts, destined for the British Museum, discovered a strange new race of men, the Tapiro pygmies, none of whom reach five feet in height. The hardships undergone by the explorers were terrible, only eleven men out of four hundred remaining fit for duty at the conclusion of operations. In these articles Captain Rawling, who was latterly in command of the expedition, describes some of the discoveries made and paints a vivid picture of the strenuous work and hardship entailed upon the explorer in the interior of New Guinea, where all the forces of man and Nature conspire against the intruder. Il. OR several months all attempts to the floor and filled with sand. A typical group discover the village of the pygmy of pygmies, clustered outside one of their houses, people failed, until one day a collect- is seen in the accompanying photograph. ing party unexpectedly came across The pygmies’ powers of enumeration, also, their habitations eighteen hundred raised them considerably above the mental level feet up the mountain side. The pygmies poured of the plainsmen, who only possessed words to in from all directions, but, though suspicious, denote the first two numerals, whilst the little ever handling their bows and arrows, and always men could count up to ten. The average height on the alert, they never attempted hostilities. of the coast people was rather over five feet six Their houses were very superior to those owned and a half inches, the new tribe of hillmen being by the plains- only four feet men, which were built on eight and a half inches. the ground Generally with rough speaking, they timber, sticks, were excel- and leaves, lently propor- whilst the tioned, agile, small men con- wiry, and emi- structed their dwellings — on piles, raised eight or ten feet above the earth. In addition, the interiors were lined with strips of bark, affording a more or less effectual pro- tection against the wind and rain, Fire- places were also arranged nently suited to the densely - covered moun- tain country in which they dwell. In colour they varied little, being what may be termed a chocolate hue, slightly fairer than the dwellers in the plains. All were ex- tremely dirty, the only clean for inthe shape parts being of boxes let where their through a hole A party of pyémy warriors outside one of their houses. bodies had in the centre of From a Photograph. rubbed against

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 167 the foliage in their attempts to force a way through the dense jungle. There was also some differ- ence to be observed in the small amount of clothing adopted. All carried large string bags over one shoulder, in which were placed their limited stock of earthly possessions, whilst round the neck, and more rarely as a form of head- dress, were suspended strings of wallaby teeth or the shoulder- blades of the same animal. To make a fire, a short hard stick, partly split and kept open with a wedge, is placed, one end beneath the feet and the other above a bunch of dried leaves, and beneath the split portion a length of rattan rope is passed, the ends being grasped by the hands and worked backwards’ and forwards till the friction of the rattan against the sharp edges of the stick produces ignition, when the smouldering leaves are blown The pygmy on the right is making fire with a split stick and rattan. From a Photograph. into a flame. The annexed photograph shows a pygmy making fire by means of this process. Though we visited the pygmy village on three occasions ex- pressly with the pur- pose of seeing the women, we were un- able to attain our object, in spite of the heaviest bribes. Though we offered one axe for each woman, this most tempting offer being finally doubled, they persisted in keeping the ladies in strict seclusion, so that I am unable to show WIDE Wor-p readers a picture of a pygmy belle, or even to describe what they look like. This curious race is believed to be at least as ancient as the Andaman Islanders, and one of the oldest, if not the very oldest, inhabiting the globe. It is more than probable that they were living under conditions very similar to those which now obtain long before man set foot on the soil Some studies in pygmy physiognomy—These people are believed to be one of the most ancient races on earth. From a Photograph.

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168 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of Great Britain. For tens, and perhaps hundreds, of cen- turies, in all likeli- hood, their ancestors have occupied _ the same land as_ that upon which they now dwell, have lived in the same way, hunted in the forests, and cultivated — sufficient taro and sweet pota- toes for their needs, generation after generation,unaffected by the rise and fall of other nations and untouched by any form of external civilization. They are a most interesting race, one which requires and would well repay thorough scientific investigation—a task that would certainly be undertaken were it not for the hardships entailed by living in this district, in addition to which it is highly probable that the shy little men would retreat to the mountain fastnesses were Europeans to attempt to settle near them and A native shooting fish with bow and arrow—They are expert at this+ but not good shots at other targets. From a Photograph. pry into their habits and customs. We saw little more of the pygmies, as they were too timorous or too little trustful of. the plains- men to visit our camp at Parimau, except on the rarest of occa sions. Moreover, we had other work to do, our goal lying well to the: east, the snow mountains of Car stensz. About this period of the expedition food was so short at the upper camp that for many days we had to subsist on what the gun could pro- vide—a difficult and unappetizing mode of living when the only flesh obtainable was that which could be scraped from the tough bodies of hornbills, to which was added the flabby fish speared or killed by the bow and arrow. Perseverance and a quick eye are the two requisites for the latter sport. Considering that the bow is The river route into the mountains—It led through dense jungle and across many rivers and boulder-strewn torrents. A few miles of path took weeks to cut, and the men succumbed rapidly. From a Photograph.

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. the national arm of offence, it is surprising that the natives are not more proficient in their aim. On no occasion did we see a bird killed with this weapon, but of fish endless quantities. The latter are slow, sluggish creatures, and pay little attention to man, but they are extremely hard to distinguish in fast-running water. The snapshot on the top of the previous page shows a native shooting at a fish in the shadow of a rock. Our new path led through the densest jungle and across numerous great rivers and torrents, many quite unfordable, and giving us tremendous trouble. It is impossible to give a correct im- pression as to the impenetrability of this tropical forest, with its great trees towering towards the be 169 along which one man could pass at a time. On one day, working from morn till night, I only succeeded in adding a distance of ninety yards to the track. Even when finished, so bad was the going under foot that this line had to be abandoned and another attempt made to force a passage across the plains. Many months of this arduous, heart-breaking labour told on the health and spirits of all, but so long as men were there, we persevered in our efforts, and the way was finally cleared to a deeper and more rapid river, which for the time being frustrated all attempts at an advance. Throughout this period the weather was of the most atrocious description—everlasting rain and , which was swept away by floods on three separate occasions. From a Photograph. heavens, the still denser appearance of the more ordinary timber, and the lowest stratum of tangled undergrowth, the whole bound together by a bewildering mass of vines and creepers, forming an impediment through which it was practically impossible to force a way. Kukries and axes were wielded ceaselessly, day after day and week after week, till physical exhaustion and sickness so reduced our numbers that the work had to be considerably curtailed. One portion, five thousand yards in length, took eight men three weeks to complete, and then only resulted in the production of a narrow path floods. The country itself is so level that the entire district may be under water for days at a time, bringing all work to a standstill and transforming the rivers into raging torrents up which no canoe can force a way. The streams rose with such rapidity that an exploring party on the wrong side of the river might easily have been cut off from its base of supply and starved to death. In this lay our greatest danger. Some idea may be gained as to the volume of water which sweeps over the country at certain periods from the fact that the native village of Parimau—seen in the above picture—was on

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170 three separate occasions washed completely out of existence, not one stick re- maining standing, and the wretched people only saving themselves and their be- longings by a hasty retreat to the canoes, there remain- ing till the floods subsided. During the month of June our base camp was inun- dated to a depth of three feet in the shallowest part, some of the members of the party spending a miserable three days sheltering on packing cases piled one upon the other. Tons of Priceless food and_ stores were ruined on this occa- sion. The lot of the natives must indeed be a miserable one, in continuous anticipa- tion of these floods, year after year; and as there is no higher land in the vicinity they are unable to Tetreat to more favourable grounds and there construct permanent camps. Why they do not build their huts on piles, a custom very prevalent in other . parts of New Guinea, I cannot understand, unless it be through mere laziness and fatalisms A move to the hills is out of the question, for sago, the staple article of diet, does not grow at such altitudes, and of other food there is little, certai ly in an insufficient quan- tity to supply the large population of the plains. Under these con- ditions, it is difficult to see how the natives of these parts can ever be raised to a higher plane of civilization, or how their lot can beameliorated. A typical up-river tribesman is shown in the top photograph, rom a) Papuan “ boy scouts” A typical native of the up-river region. From a Photograph. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. — Youngsters in Pariman playing with their fathers’ spears and clube. (Photograph. Notice his becoming head- dress of feathers. As far as we could learn, the worship of gods, idols or otherwise, is almost non- existent. There are no temples such as are preva- lent in other parts, and only on three occasions did we see figures of men, roughly hewn in wood, which might be regarded as representing objects of worship. Even to these no respect was shown, the savages leaning against them, or patting their shapeless limbs, and, added to this, no attention was paid to their position or preservation. One of these figures was washed away by a flood, and another had been leaning so long against a tree that a branch had grown through its ribs! It was clear, however, that they believed in some sort of after-world, for they indicated the direction in which the spirit of a dead man had de- parted by a sweep of the hand towards the horizon. The death-bed is never pleasing, but here it is particularly revolting, for the sick die in full view of the community, ’midst the noise and quarrelling of the people, with the sandy floor of the hut as a bed and with no covering for the body. After death, the entire population burst into the loudest wails and pro- ceed en masse to the nearest mud- hole, there to be- smear themselves from head to- foot in the slime and so- return to their homes. On one occa- sion the entire female popula- tion entered the river in a nude condition,

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 171 paddling like dogs up-stream—not with the object of cleansing themselves, however, for they again proceeded to roll afresh in the mud. Lamenta- tions continue without intermission until the corpse is interred, and, as deaths take place with considerable frequency, the air every few nights is rent with these heart-breaking wails. The body is either buried, placed in a log hollowed out in the shape of a canoe and sup- ported on trestles to prevent the invasions of pigs and dogs, or is laid in an open grave and turned over daily. Whichever method is remembered that they mature and marry at a very early date. The birth-rate, too, is very high. The youngsters are most precocious, and soon begin to imitate the ways of the grown-ups. Observe, for instance, the group of Papuan “boy scouts” seen at the bottom of the pre- ceding page. They are armed with their fathers’ spears, clubs, and so on, and are doubtless looking forward to the day when they will be full-grown warriors. They suffer from many diseases, though not from beri-beri, the scourge of the East Indian One of the expedition camps in the forest on the way to the mountains, From a Photograph. adopted, the result is much the same, for in this hot, damp climate the body is completely de- stroyed within a very short time. The skull and larger bones are then collected and placed in a grass bag for preservation as a family heir- loom, or the bones may be cast away as of no value, whilst the skull is retained, a cord being passed round the jaw, and the whole suspended from the roof of the hut, where it soon becomes discoloured and blackened by the smoke of the fires. Much store is placed on these relics, but the temptation of a red handkerchief proved too great an inducement, and many specimens were obtained, now the property of the British Museum. The Papuan dies young, few attaining thirty to thirty-five years of age, but it must be Islands. Many were badly scarred with small- pox, which doubtless sweeps away great numbers during the periodical epidemics. Malaria is prevalent, and to a lesser degree elephantiasis. While the road-cutting was proceeding, fresh efforts were continually being made, with the assistance of the natives, to force a way into the mountains up the various rivers which ran from the north, but they only served to prove that these routes were quite impracticable. The picture reproduced above depicts one of our camps in the forest on the way to the mountains. During our attempts to make progress many opportunities were afforded of studying the natives amongst whom we had cast our lot and of learning something of their curious customs, which I shall describe in my next article. (To be continued.)

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The Spoofing of Hi-unk. By Constance Skinner. ILLUSTRATED BY A. C. MACHBFERT. A most amusing story of the early days in the Kootenay district of British Columbia. “The incidents are true,” writes the authoress, ‘‘but I have been compelled to change the names of persons and places. I lived in the district for years and worked on one of the papers. The ‘Rev. Nehemiah Smudge,’ the horse - trading itinerant, baptized me, being the first minister of any denomination to reach our village during the year after my birth.” MHERE was tense excitement in Hi-unk. The place was hot enough with feverish human opinion to justify its name, which is Indian for “ hot time,” or midsummer. Hi-unk is a part of an outlying ridge of the Kootenays, and one of the most golden promises that rich, if secretive, British Columbia ever held out to the miner. Up till the spring of 18—, however, Hi-unk had been merely a prospect. It had had no political entity. It was only a remote corner of another district, without representation, influence, or distinction in the government of British Columbia. Members of the Legislature from many districts met at Victoria, the capital, where they passed laws which affected the welfare of Hi-unk, but they cared nothing for Hi-unk. Indeed, they knew it not—it did not yet know itself. A few rich strikes, however, had changed all this. No longer were little, far-separated groups and single prospectors the sole inhabitants of the ridge. Men of every sort rushed to Hi-unk ; they came by scores—miners, gamblers, hotel men, adventurers of all nations and natures. And wherever any twenty of them met they planted a town. And the Indians, with pigeon- toed ambling and genial grins, came to the various “‘ cities” each day with fish and berries to sell to the perspiring populace, and as they sold and traded they pointed up to the blazing sun and then at the ground where every native rock was a cook-stove, and grunted, “ Hi-unk, Hi-unk.” Thus in the summer of 18— was Hi-unk District, B.C., christened. Before the heat had waned Hi-unk had eighteen “cities” and two “ capitals.” The smallest of the eighteen was Salvation City on Dead Dog Creek, which was the home of the church. Here lived the Rev. Eli Boyle, surrounded by ‘he three tents of his congregation, who on weekdays washed gravel for a livelihood. Here also, under the shelter of the Rev. Eli’s tent-flaps, occasionally sojourned an itinerant, the Rev. Nehemiah Smudge, who stopped to say a few words on his way over the ridge into Oregon with a small string of horses. Horse- trading was his method of subsistence. Half a mile farther up the creek was Flannel Shirt, named in honour of Mrs. Flannagan, who did plain laundry work at fancy prices for the citizens of Red Angel, across the creek. Red Angel was one of the “ capitals” of Hi-unk. Through its centre ran a spur of the railroad line which connects Kootenay with the outside world.

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THE SPOOFING OF HI-UNK. 173 Red Angel considered itself a terminus, while Iktass, farther up the line, calle Red Angel a “ way station.” Iktass was the other “ capital.” Iktass, in current Chinook, or trader’s patois, means “‘ clothes.” The city was so christened in honour of her most prominent citizen, Sandy Wallace, of the Nugget Hotel, Trading Store, and Post Office, who lost his clothes to a passing Indian while bathing in Jonas Lake. Red Angel perpetuated in history the owner of the richest claim, so far, in Hi-unk—Alexander Angel, a giant Scot, with a beard that would toast bread. The question was a burning one in every aspect of it. Which of these two cities should finally be crowned as the capital of Hi-unk ? They were both on the single railroad line that traversed the district ; therefore, as “termini,” their claims were of equal importance. Iktass claimed to have a larger population, which claim Red Angel explained by declaring that Iktass was including in its census all the men and Indians round Jonas Lake. In the opinion of Red Angel men, Iktass was capable of robbing sluice - boxes. To its rival’s claims Red Angel retorted with the in- disputable and unanswerable reply :— “We have the only newspaper in the whole district of Hi-unk 1” How was this momentous question to be decided without bloodshed ? Most unexpectedly a way was opened from the outside. Jim Battlesby, proprietor of the Hi-unk Morning Glory, had a brother who was editor of the Nelson Clarion. He was known in his own section as “ Bobby the Kid,” or “Kidder” Battlesby, because of his joking tendencies. Apart from his “ kidding,” Bob was an up-to-date, bright young fellow, making money with his paper and his claims, and a power in local politics. Therefore, when the Clarion, early in the spring, paid its compliments to the Hi-unk Morning Glory as a “live newspaper,” and gave it part of the credit of ‘“ the Govern- ment’s action in creating Hi-unk a new and separate district which shall now elect its own special member to represent it in the local Legislature,” Jim copied the article in the Glory, “Pointed up to the sun, and then at the ground, and ¢runted, * Hi-unk.’ ~ and added a stirring editorial explaining to Hi-unk its new, important, and_ responsible political status. “There was only one way in which the division could be made so as to create the new electoral district,” said the Clarion (and the Glory copied it), “‘and that way gave Hi-unk a member. In this year of 18—, therefore, Hi-unk must elect a representative to sit in the Provincial Legislature of British Columbia and protect her vast interests.” “Tt shall be a Red Angel man, so that he can cinch the capital for Red Angel!” said Red Angel. “Elect an Iktass man and secure Iktass her rights,” was the slogan up the line. The feeling in Iktass was especially bitter, be- cause the only paper in Hi-unk, being a Red Angel concern, _ inde- fatigably championed the cause of Red Angel. It was gall and wormwood to the Iktass subscribers of the Hi-unk Morning Glory to read Editor Jim Battlesby’s peans of praise on Red Angel as the divinely - appointed capital of Hi-unk, the future centre of British Columbia, and the some- day hub of the world. “Elect a Red Angel man to represent Hi-unk district,” chanted the Glory, on one of the days when it did not miss publication, “for these reasons: Red Angel is the logical capital ; Reason dictates Red Angel ; Red Angel has the population! “To the east of us, along the richest ridge in the world to the bounds of broad and beautiful Hi-unk, lie the growing and prosperous towns of Hot Hut, Faro Bunch, Indian Chief, Shamrock City, Dried Fish Creek, Nakatla City, Dead Chink, and Edinburgh. To the south Salvation City and Flannel Shirt. It‘is immeasurably to the advantage of these towns that Red Angel should be Hi-unk’s capital, and the home of its first Assembly man. “Let Iktass, our sister up the line, put aside all envy and all greed, and nobly labour for the best good of Hi-unk district. 4 “Tf there is to be a contest—which Heaven forbid—then two nomination papers will be handed in to Acting Judge Kelly at the Red Angel Court-house on or before one-thirty p.m. of the . ('

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174 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. afternoon of June the first. This district will then be put to the expense of an election, which would be deplorable and useless extravagance, for the Red Angel nominee will win anyway you fix it. Therefore, let the nomination be unanimous. Let this election be by acclamation. Yes, sister cities! Let there be one voice and one word.” This article had immediate and large con- sequences. Before noon on the day of its pub- lication the citizens of Red Angel had met in impromptu convention in Joe Morgan’s saloon and had honoured the writer by naming him as their chosen candidate to represent Hi-unk in the next Assembly. The sheriff was bidden to spread the good news through Salvation City and Flannel Shirt and the eastern cities, and to call the inhabitants thereof to a monster mass meeting at Morgan’s on the next evening. Here Sheriff (‘‘acting”’) Magee showed some of that resourcefulness which had caused Joe Morgan to give him the office of sheriff a few weeks before this story opens, when Magee, having been done to a turn in a little gambling game with a stranger, had published the crooked work aloud, and before a breath or a gun could be drawn had taken from the stranger his weapons and the remnants of the Magee fortune. “Nice work,” Mr. Morgan had said, coming out from behind shelter. ‘“‘ Boys, Mr. Terence Magee has proved him- self a natural - born arm o’ the law. You will be doin’ me a special favour by makin’ Mr. Magee sheriff of Hi-unk dis- trict.” “What'll yer take, sheri/f? ” said Buck Riley, udge Kelly should find it convenient to come in from his claim three miles away and “ hold court ” to dispose of the case. Now the sheriff hastened to pull the gambler out of his cell and his noon siesta. “What's up?” hellowed Pete. “ You’re wanted,” said Magee. “ Goin’ to try me to-day ?” boomed the fog- horn, with a note of interest. ‘“‘ Ought to make a clever game of this case, if yer judge knows how to set her spinning. Say, how is Jake ? Able to appear against me? It won’t do him no good ’’—and the human megaphone let out a laugh that threatened to split the hills—‘ because Bill Larkin'll swear I was down ter Salvation with him that night. He hates the very sight o’ Jake. He'd fix a alibi fer any feller that’d do up Jake.” “Turn off that voice of yours,” said Magee, shortly, ‘while I tell you what I want you to do.” Which he did while rushing his prisoner down to the creek. “If I had my hands free I’d make my get- away,” said Fog-horn, tripping against the sheriff almost accidentally. “No, you don’t,” answered Magee, drawing his gun. ‘‘ Now, whisper it,” he commanded, and Fog-horn chanted the news of the election gently, tunnelling the Rockies with the news. Having enlight- ened Flannel Shirt, they went down the creek to within hailing dis- tance of Salvation, and again Fog- horn Pete’s voice shook the atmos- ” throwing some “Nice work!" phere till the coin on the bar Rev. Nehemiah and beckoning to the crowd. And so the Smudge, who was “ sojourning’’ that week appointment was confirmed. Sheriff Magee had several prisoners in the jail, most of them being Iktass men. Among them was a Western character known from Carson City to the Yukon, a gambler with a voice which had earned fcr him the title of “Fog-horn Pete.” When Pete lifted up his voice he could have saved ships thirty miles out to sea. The sheriff had him locked up for stick- ing a knife into Jake Wells, awaiting such time as Jake should die or pass the crisis and Acting with Brother Eli Boyle, rode one of his horses up the creek and begged the sheriff and his prisoner to come into the water and be baptized. “That'll do now,” said the sheriff. ‘‘ Come on, Fog-horn,” and they turned back up the stream. “Here’s where I go back to jail, I guess,” said Fog-horn, as they reached Red Angel. He spoke in his ordinary conversational voice, which brought men rushing out of the saloons up the

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THE SPOOFING OF street, gun in hand, ready to do or die in re- capturing the jail-breaker. “Go on,” said Fog-horn no notice of a dozen muz. pointing at him. “ Ef I was goin’ ter break jail I'd make my get- away an’ no actin’ sheriff would stop me. I think too much o’ Red Angel to give Iktass the laugh on her. Ain't yer ashamed to talk that way ter a man what’s usin’ his natural gifts to save the city? ‘That’s what I’m doin’—savin’ the city. You tell ’em about it, sheriff. I’m too plumb disgusted.” Acting Sheriff Magee explained briefly. The citizens of Red Angel apologized. “ Yes,” Fog-horn joined in, ‘Cand I done it with these irons a-gallin’ into my flesh—jest as ef my services didn't count fer nothin’.” “You never mind about them handcuffs now,” said Acting Sheriff Magee. “They fit yer wrists all right, and they ain’t comin’ off, neither.” Fog horn grinned. pertikilar. I’ve got a alibi. the trial.” “ Fog-horn,” the sheriff said, “ Red Angel is grateful to yer fer bearin’ her message to Sal- vation City and Flannel Shirt, and there’s ways Red Angel kin show her gratitude without breakin’ the law, and she’ll do it.” “You betcher life!” said Red Angel in chorus. “ Personally,” the sheriff continued, “TI like yer. You're as slippery as a cake 0’ wet soap, but perhaps that ain’t yore fault. It takes the hand o’ Providence to wet the soap. You’d stick a knife in any man what'd cross yer, and ye’re the crookedest gambler on the ridge, but there ain’t nothin’ mean about yer. And what- ever you’ve done, ye’re allus good-natured.” “Thank yer, sheriff,” said Fog-horn, much moved. “I'd like to shake yer hand fer that.” “So you shall, son—after the trial.” “Oh, I kin wait,” said Fog-horn, hastily. “*T wasn’t hintin’ at nothin’.” “ Now, Fog-horn,” the sheriff went on, more and more seriously, “ you kin make Red Angel so solid fer yer that even if yer alibi peters out and Jake cashes in they’d acquit yer.” “Tell it,” said Fog-horn, briefly. “ You kin ride the ridge thro’ the Sister Cities o’ Red Angel as hard an’ fast as yer kin clip it, an’ let yer voice loose as yer ride, tellin’ the men to be here ter-morrer night to nominate Jim Battlesby without fail. But whereas yer only told it to eight men in Flannel Shirt and to them two reverend gold washers an’ their Chink cook in Salvation, yer’ll tell it to up’ards of a hundred men along the ridge. With that voice o’ yourn yer don’t have to stop an’ hunt up every man in indignantly, taking “T don’t want ’em off— I kin wait till HI-UNK. 175 the city ; yer don’t have to camp in no bar till they collects ; ver jes’ have to trot along down the main street an’ shout it to ’em. An’ yer ought to be back home here to the jail by noon ter-morrer at the latest.” “Sure, sure,” boomed Fog-horn. ‘“‘ T’ll do it an’ much obliged. I’d love to do it. Better gimme yer own horse, sheriff. ‘That little pony’s a racer; nothin’ in the district couldn’t catch him. Once lemme git the bridle in my hand, an’ a quirt in the other. 4) Acting Sheriff Magce interrupted. “ You'll take Injun Joe’s horse, what is tame as a garden flower an’ ain’t got a dangerous speed, while bein’ fast enough fer this trip. He knows the road blindfold an’ don’t need no guidin’, I ain’t no call to risk my horse. Go get Joe’s pinto, Sam.” He called to one of the group, who instantly departed on his mission. “Now call Jim Battlesby or somebody out’n that newspaper office what kin write so other folks kin read it and spell so there’s no mistake.” A cry was set up, “ Oh, Jim! Jim Battlesby ! Oh-h, Jim!” At the window of the Hi-unk Morning Glory’s office across the street appeared a large, long, red face shaped like a turnip, and a high-pitched voice with an occasional hoarse note shrieked back, “ Jim ain’t here. He’s down to the claim on Dead Chink. What yer want?” “How do, Mr. Tabbitt?” said the sheriff. “ Oblige Red Angel by comin’ out here, and bring some white paper and a pen and ink and some paste with yer.” The head disappeared. “ Timothy Tabbitt’s got a voice that’s queerer’n Fog-horn’s,” added Magee, “only it ain’t so useful.” The appreciative citizens of Red Angel were still smiling when Mr. Timothy Tabbitt appeared, carrying a large sheet of blank paper and a pot of paste. He came speedily, his long, heavy body and short, fat legs wobbling with the impetus of curiosity. Mr. Tabbitt, be it said, was assistant editor, advertising and circulation manager, and foreman of the printing machine of the H1-unk Morning Glory. Battlesby, being proprietor, dictated the policy of the paper; also, being its managing-editor, he wrote the paper. Mr. Tabbitt, as assistant editor and foreman, printed it. When he forsook duty for sundry liquid pleasures there was no Morning Glory, though by dint of much striving Battlesby generally managed to get it out as a noon “extra.” That this turnip-headed man held a place of his own in the esteem of the Red Angels was evidenced by the fact that they always called him “ Mister” ‘Tabbitt. The sheriff assisted Fog-horn Pete into the saddle, while, under directions, two citizens

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176 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. bound the paroled gambler’s feet to the stir- rups and roped his waist to the pommel. Fog- horn clamoured in vain for the use of his hands. “No, son ”?— Acting Sheriff Magee’s voice was very firm— “this is no quick get-away fer you —nor no alibi. Tie the quirt so it flips on his haunches, Sam ; that'll keep the pony on the run. You sit tight and nothin’ll happen to yer. Ridin’ tied on a horse with yer hands hand-cuffed ain’t no bigger chance than some you’ve took in your his- tory. An’ now, ter make sure yer’ll come back, Mr. Tabbitt’s going to write a notice to paste on yer back. Somethin’ like this, Mr. Tabbitt :— “This here is Fog-horn Pete from Red Angel Jail. He is out to tell yer to all meet at Joe Morgan’s hotel an’ bar ter-morrer Wensday night to nominate Jim Battlesby fer member before Iktass wakes up. Please to all come. Speeches an’ refreshments an’ dancin’ after nominatin’. Signed, Mayor of Red Angel. “The mayor ain’t here, but he ought ter be, so it’s all right to use his name. Last I seen o’ the mayor he was sittin’ up in bed sayin’, ‘ That’s the twenty- seventh blue-eyed rhino- ceros that’s jumped through that winder this mornin’.” “Takes his liquor hard, Steve does,” a citizen re- marked. Mr. Tabbitt was pasting the notice between Fog- horn’s shoulders. To make “Mr. Tabbitt.” it more secure, he applied strips of black court plaster from his pocket-case. “Oh, say, Mr. Tabbitt,” the sheriff exclaimed suddenly, “write a P.S. ‘To the citizens of Hot Hut. Bein’ the last town in the district, please somebody turn this horse around so’s Fog- horn kin come back, and give it a lick to start it goin’. Be free with yer grub but spare yer licker, and see that Fog-horn is sent back without fail, because he is in jail for murder and must be tried.’ ” “TI could git along fine ef I only had one hand free,” interjected Fog-horn, pleadingly. “Yes, you could,” said Magee, in a tone that precluded further argument. “ Fog-horn, I believe that Red Angel will remember you for this,” said Mr. Tabbitt, with feeling, putting his pen behind his ear. “Mr. Tabbitt,” replied Fog-horn, “ it will. I swear it.” The sheriff laid the lash with a whistling sound on the pony’s withers. The beast sprang forward. Fog-horn gripped the saddle with his knees, and was off at a racing gallop down the road, while Red Angel followed on foot, shouting and shooting till sound and sight of the messenger were lost. Up at Iktass Mr. Battlesby’s prose poem pro- duced quite another effect. Briefly, Iktass was “ seeing red.’”’ Patriotic spirits, mixed with the strong spirits at Wallace’s emporium, were even for swooping down on Red Angel and wrecking the office of the Glory. They posted a notice on the door of the jail which read, ‘“‘ Any wall- eyed gazabo what is seen readin’ that lyin’ Red Angel sheet what calls itself the Hi-unk Morning Glory will be jailed for contempt, if nothin’ worser happens. Signed—Iktass.” Before the ink was dry on the notice, Iktass had convened, and, amid stirring scenes, had “* Fog-horn was off at a racing gallop down the road.”

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THE SPOOFING OF HI-UNK. 177 nominated Matt Shrink, a silver-tongued medical orator. Some training as a “ barker” at street fairs, as well as sundry seasons on a touring liniment wagon, had bestowed upon Dr Matthew Shrink the gift of speech unstoppable. It was the kind of speech that gets the money. It now got everything Iktass had to offer—namely, the nomination. A letter embodying the deed of Iktass that day was written to the Hi-unk Morning Glory at Red Angel, with a postscript which ordered the immediate cancella- tion of every Iktass subscription to that sensational prevari- cating sheet. Fog-horn Pete’s mission reflected credit on Acting Sheriff Magee. It was a _ tremendous success. In fact, there are ballads in horrible metre cur- rent in West Koote- nay to-day which celebrate the marvel- lous ride of Fog- horn Pete. Neither Paul Revere nor Sheridan—both good riders—achieved any such feat as did he who went forth bound on a borrowed steed to serve his city. For that evening social distinctions were for- gotten, all restrictions of caste put aside, and Fog-horn Pete, by unanimous consent, was tendered a banquet in the jail after the meeting. Joe Morgan donated a keg of liquor; other friends came not empty-handed. It was felt that Mr. Timothy Tabbitt aptly expressed the feelings of the entire gathering when he said :— “Tm not meaning to touch on_ painful subjects, Fog-horn, but if Jake Wells dies I’ll always say this—that Kootenay never hung a better man than Fog-horn Pete.” “You betcher life!” the audience echced, with feeling. Some of them had tears in their eyes. “Course I’d be sorry to see Jake go,” said Fog-horn. “Specially from a little mite of a scratch like that—and accidental, too. But I don’t keer ; I got a alibi.” The group of admiring friends regarded him “* Fog-horn Pete was tendered a banquet in the jail.” sadly. There were gentle shakes of the head. Here and there a strong man gulped. The sheriff himself lifted the glass to Fog-horn’s lips and held it there while the manacled hero drank deep. The days, made swift and merry by pleasant interchange of slur and insult, rolled along towards the fateful first of June. Iktass had used up nearly all the waste paper round Jonas Lake in writing notes of a personal nature to Red Angel. Red Angel had said little in reply, for Red Angel had the trump card up its sleeve and could afford to wait. It was Fog-horn Pete who discovered this trump and put it up the sleeve of Red Angel. In fact, Fog-horn Pete was the real director of the Red Angel cam- paign. His clever- ness and his daring as a political boss struck the commu- nity dumb with wor- ship. As the Glory said, it was an “‘ awe- inspiring sight to see this illiterate gambler, now con- demned for murder, directing from his prison cell the most brilliant political campaign in all the history of Canada. Aye, himself under the very shadow of the gallow-, using his genius to the last to insure the lives and prosperity of future generations, yet unborn.” This panegyric burst forth when Fog-horn, out of his vast store of legal knowledge, had informed Mr. Tabbitt that Matt Shrink was ineligible for office because he was not a Canadian citizen. “Keep it dark, Mr. Tabbitt,’ he urged, “till June first. Then, when them Iktass galoots hands his papers to acting jedge, the jedge’ll jes’ spring it on ’em and tear up the papers, an’ Battlesby’ll go in by acclamation.” The next morning Postmaster Riley rode out to the judge’s claim—at the city’s expense—to bring his honour into town to receive Fog-horn’s instructions. “Fog-horn’s almost too good a man for the fate that’s waitin’ fer him,” said Kelly, when

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178 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. he was informed of the dramatic réle he was to play. “ That reminds me, friends—and you specially, Mr. Tabbitt,” Fog-horn said, pleasantly. “ That thar spiel in the paper to-day’s a plum elegant bit o’ writin’; but ’tain’t accordin’ to facts. 1 ain’t ‘condemned fer murder.’ In the second place I ain't been éried yet, an’ in the third I’ve got a alibi that can't be beat. Lastly, Jake Wells ain't dead.” “ That’s nuthin’ but a technicality, Fog-horn,” said the sheriff, “ an’ you can’t win this case on no technicality.” “T ain’t plannin’ to,” Fog-horn answered. “T know by experience what I kin do with a alibi. After all I’m doin’ fer Hi-unk district, an’ pertickler fer Red Angel, it gets me why yer want to go so strong on this settin’-in-the-shade- o’-the-ol’-gallers-tree stuff, an’ a-gettin’ me con- demned fer murder—me, the man what’s made this city. Why ”—his tone rose indignantly— “ jes’ think o’ Red Angel hangin’ the man what's made her a capital!” He paused for breath. “That’s jest it,” said Acting Sheriff Magee, absent-mindedly testing the bars across the window. “ That’s jest it, Fog-horn, It’s the ro-mance of the thing.” Mr. Tabbitt hastened back to the office, where he found Battlesby with brows puckered over a letter he held in his hand. “ See here, Tim,” he said. to Nelson to-night.” “Who's that letter from—your brother ? ” “Yes ; says he has a good business proposition he wants to talk over with me, and as he sends me my expenses down there I guess he isn’t kidding this time. _ I may be able to raise a loan. We sure do need it, since Iktass has cancelled all its subscriptions and taken out all its ads, and Red Angel hasn’t bought a paper since it nominated us. If I have anything private to wire you, I’ll fix it up so that nobody can under- stand it but you, or itll be all over town. Tell the boys I’m off on political business. They’re in the mood to believe it.” And the chosen of Red Angel departed. ’ “Tm going down It was the twenty-ninth of May, three days before the day. Already men from Faro Bunch, Hot Hut, and other cities in Southern Hi-unk were beginning to straggle in. An insolently- worded note from Iktass informed Red Angel that the men of the northern cities, with their nominee, Dr. Matthew Shrink, would arrive the morning of nomination day, ‘on the specially chartered Jonas Lake special train, due at ten a.m., but probably arriving about noon.” “ Due at ten a.m., but probably arrivin’ about noon,” Fog-horn read aloud, when they brought him the note. “Yes. Where'd Iktass raise a special train ? ” Mayor Steve Lilly exclaimed, indignantly, his civic pride wounded to the quick. The mayor, be it said, had succeeded in exter- minating the blue-eyed rhinoceri which had previously troubled his peace. Like another great hunter, he had forsaken the big-game fields and was returning to politics. “They ain’t got no special,” said Fog-horn. “That ten o’clock train that comes in some- wheres round noon on Fridays is the freight from Junction City. It don’t stop at Iktass, but it crawls along so slow that any man who's got legs can board it.” “ Ain’t that jes’ like Iktass ? ” cried the mayor, in contempt. “ Smudge’s Trail goes ter Junction City, don’t it?” Buck Riley asked, idly. “Sure,” Fog-horn answered. “ An’ it’s a good trail too. That psalm-singing, horse-tradin’ Nehemiah Smudge has been over it and back with his horses so much that it’s beat down hard *most like a race-track.” “What made me think o’ Smudge’s Tra'l,” Buck continued, ‘‘ was because I heerd from that stranger as was in to Morgan’s to-day, that the holy trader is on his way in here with a nag that outclassed the wind in some trottin’ races in Oregon last year.” “How'd Smudge git a hoss like that?” the sheriff queried “Wal, the stranger didn’t say he stole it off of a drunken trainer that had it out on a little ranch near Sunnyside, Washington, nor he didn’t say he didn’t. He jes’ mentioned the circum- stances, and, ses he, ‘ Work it out fer yerself.’ James A. Bolling, the man what owned this mare, would give some reward to git her back again. But, in course, he can’t do nuthin’ now she’s this side o’ the border an’ her white star painted out.” ‘An’ thet’s the polecat that was callin’ on the sheriff an’ me to repent,” said Fog-horn, much incensed. “JT wisht I could prove it on him.” Th: sheriff spoke feelingly. ‘“ Specially as he’s bring- ing a horse here that kin beat mine.” “ Somewhere on the trail, is he?” horn ruminated. The gambler was silent for some time, while the others reverted to the great theme of politics. Presently Mr. Tabbitt produced the nomination And Fog- papers, which Red Angel was never tired of examining, and Fog-horn heard him say, ‘1 wanted to lead off with Alex Angel's signature, but I couldn’t find him. ‘They say he’s still

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THE SPOOFING OF HI-UNK. 179 down to Nelson on business. Looks bad not to have Angel’s signature on the papers of Red Angel’s nominee. Iktass’ll make a lot out of that.” “Tt sure will,” the mayor assented. Gloom settled down over the genial gathering in the jail. The silence was broken dramatically by Fog-horn, who suddenly shouted :— “Oh, what fools we’ve been! And I heard that all along, and didn’t take no stock in it. Oh, punch my head, somebody. Won't some- body punch my head ?” “What in thunder’s got you?” the sheriff demanded. “No, we ain’t done,” Fog-horn continued, ignoring the question. “No, we ain’t. I'll fix that if it’s the last thing I ever do on earth.” He rushed towards the door. A dozen strong hands seized him. “Lemme go, you fools! Lemme go!” he yelled, and struggled manfully. A moment more and he was lying on the floor with Mr. Tabbitt holding his hands, while Acting Judge Kelly pinioned his feet and Mayor Lilly sat on his chest. Acting Sheriff Magee stood over the group, pointing his gun. “Don’t try that again, prisoner,” said Judge Kelly, firmly. “Prisoner.” Fog-horn repeated the word vaguely. ‘‘ Did someone say ‘ prisoner ’ ? Where am ! ?”’ he asked, weakly. His eyes, wandering blankly, met Magee’s. “Acting Sheriff Magee stood over the group, pointing his gun.” “In jail.” The sheriff’s voice was grim and icy, and Fog-horn “came to.” “Let me up,” he said, still weakly. ‘‘ And please ter excuse me. But when I saw that thing sudden that way, I clean fergot everything else.’ ““What’d yer see?” asked the mayor, sym- pathetically. “A rhinoceros ? ” “No, no; worse’n that!” Fog-horn almost sobbed. “Tell it, confound yer; tell it!” the judge exploded. “T will, friends. An’ you listen to every word, coz there’s work to be done. Red Alex Angel’s the richest man in Hi-unk, ain’t he? His mine’s nearly half-way ’tween here an’ Iktass, ain’t it? And the Jonas Lake people’s puttin’ up a smelter at Iktass, ain’t they? An’ if they’ll smelt Alex Angel’s ore fer him on the proposition they’ve made him, he’ll move to Iktass an’ take his mine an’ his money an’ his power with him——” “Hold on!” the mayor cried. ‘ You mean Iktass is trying to buy Alex Angel?” “ They’ve made him a proposition. Oh, why didn’t we get his name on those papers before he went up there?” “Up there! Where ? You mean he’s in Iktass now? He’s in Nelson.” The hubbub was wild for a few seconds. “ Look here,” Fog-horn said, authoritatively. “Jim Battlesby’s in Nelson, ain’t he? Has he writ anythin’ about seein’ Alex Angel in Nelson ?” “No-o,” said Mr. Tabbitt, meditatively ; “ he hasn’t written at all yet. Funny he didn’t send us word about that right away, knowing it’s important.” “ Was that why you jumped fer the door jes’ now?” Riley asked, kindly. “Yes, boys,” Fog- horn answered, sadly. “T only saw the one dooty standin’ out. Mebbe you kin under- stand how I feel ? ” “Sure,’ said the mayor. “I kin. It’s as if he wanted the last act of his life to be heroical, so’s_ folks’d talk of it after he’s gone, ’stead of harping on the things he was hung fer.” “ That’s natural — very natural,” Judge Kelly opined. “T ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” said the sheriff, ‘‘ only this —that’s the second time Fog-horn’s offered to ride my horse sence he was put in jail, an’ everybody knows I’ve got a fast horse.” “It won’t be me,” said Fog-horn, sadly, ‘‘ coz I’m nothin’ but a jailbird ; but some feller’s got to ride yer horse up ter Iktass to-day and git Alex Angel’s name to them papers. We can’t

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189 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. let Iktass git that big mine-owner. And mind this: Iktass’ll be lookin’ fer a Red Angel man to foller Alex, and unless he’s a man they’d never suspect in the world, they’ll stick him in jail the minute he lands, an’ he’ll never get a word with Alex, Now, who’ve yer got here that could make ’em believe he’d run away from Red Angel ? You want some feller that’s got a terrible fierce grudge against this town, and good reasons fer lightin’ out.” There was a deep, thoughtful silence, while Fog-horn gazed at the floor, his brows knitted, and occasionally shook his head dejectedly. “ Why——” Riley began sud- denly, then stopped. Fog-horn did not look up; he seemed to have heard nothing. Riley caught the mayor’s eye first. They both Jooked at Fog-horn, then at each other, and their expressions matched. The mayor nudged Mr. Tabbitt and pointed to Fog-horn, and Mr. Tabbitt’s sad face brightened. Riley nudged Morgan, and so it went round till they were seven souls with but a single thought —not including the sheriff. Fog-horn lifted his head. “The man what ought to do it is the sheriff, but it’s unfortunate he’s the best-known man in the Kootenays—and the most disliked.” He relapsed again into gloom. “ Fog-horn,” said the mayor, his voice shaking with excitement, “ we have thought of a man.” “Then send him, that’s all I’ve got to say.” “ Fog-horn,” said the mayor, ‘‘ you are goin’ to ride the sheriff’s horse to Iktass and git that signature. You're the man we've thought of.” “ Why—why——” Fog-horn began, like one in a dream. “ That’s the thing I’d give my immortal soul to do. But—it can’t be true,” he whispered ; “ it can’t.” “ Tt ain't!” said Acting Sheriff Magee. “ Sheriff,” said Judge Kelly, sharply, “I wouldn’t interfere if I was you.” “JT ain’t goin’ to let this cardsharper steal my horse and ride off into Washington,” said the sheriff, with emphasis. “He ain’t stealin’ it, sheriff,’ the mayor gently corrected him. ‘‘ We're givin’ it to him.” “In course, if the sheriff’s not willin’ I can’t accept his horse—not even to save this town.” Fog-horn spoke with noble pathos. “ Better let Iktass win.” “ Sheriff,” said the mayor, firmly, “ are you willin’ to resk yer horse to help Red Angel? If not, why, say so ; ef yer think tt would be wise to say a@ thing like that.” There was dead silence while the judge took the bracelets off Red Angel’s political boss and escorted him to the door of the jail, where stood the sleek black horse whose speed was the sheriff’s boast. “He lashed about him with the whip.” Mr. Tabbitt handed him the papers, and the mayor shook his hand. “You ought to be back by afternoon ter- | morrer. That'll give us a day to git the other | names.” | “ Look fer me round sundown,” said Fog-horn. “TJ don’t want to force the horse too hard comin’ | back, fer we’re goin’ to go like the wind.” : A moment or two more and a little dust-cloud bie be only sign of the hero. Soon even that jaded. The sun had set, and the long twilight was just beginning to creep over the Kootenay hills when the watchers on the porch of Morgan’s saloon saw dust rising along the wagon-road from Iktass, away up the ridge. When the word was passed that Fog-horn was returning, the city went into a ferment of excite- ment. The dusk increased, and it seemed an eternity before the sheriff's horse came into view. The mayor shouted through his hands. “ Hel-lo, Fog-horn! | What’s—the—good— word ?” The horseman stood up in his stirrups and yelled back, “‘ Repent !’” ; “What'd he say?” asked Riley. “Try him | again.” “What's up?” the mayor shouted.

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THE SPOOFING OF HI-UNK. 181 “ The devil’s loose !”” was the answer. “Come down here,” the judge ordered, and the little black trotted briskly down the street and drew up at Morgan’s steps. The watchers, delirious with joy, rushed at the rider, séized him with strong, loving arms, and would have dragged him from the saddle, but he lashed about him with the whip across noses, hands, shoulders, so vigorously that they fell back. “Oh, unrepentant sinners!” screamed the gentle rider, swishing merrily. ‘Oh, nest of vipers—liquor drinkers !” “Where did you git my horse?” It was the sheriff who strode through the group, wrested the whip from the hand of the energetic evangelist, and fotced him to dismount. “And that’s my saddle, too—which is better luck than I expected.” “°Tain’t Fog-horn—’tain’t Fog-horn at all,” said the mayor, stupefied. He looked at Judge Kelly for support. The mayor was never quite positive concerning what he saw or did not see. “ You're right, mayor,” said his honour. “ It ain’t Fog-horn.” The Rev. Nehemiah was explaining. “T was comin’ in from Junction with a ’orse T’d traded fer—a beautiful ’orse, a perfick ’orse. Like a gift from Heaven he came to me, an’ I took him with a thankful ’eart. One ’orse like that, I says, is enough fer me. The devil’s greedy, but I won’t be, says I. So I starts home, ridin’ the racer. And just three miles above Jonas Lake I sees a rider comin’ along on a little black ’orse that was tired, and I saw he had a bad face that was a-laughin’. Oh, I couldn’t bear to see that bad face a-laughin’, so I calls to him, an’ I says, ‘Repent!’ With that he puts his horse across my path and says, ‘’Old on, brother.’ And I says, tryin’ to push past *im, ‘Save yerself! The devil’s loose.’ ‘I know he is,’ he says, a-laughin’ at me, and then he puts out his hand an’ takes my horse by the bridle. ‘I'll trade yer,’ he said. And at first I wouldn’t. Oh, that perfick ’orse ! Then the laughin’ demon with the bad face, he says, ‘Yes, yer will, brother,’ an’ there was his gun a-pointin’ at my ’eart, an’ I had no chance to draw mine. Oh, what could Ido? What could I do?” And Smudge’s body rocked with frenzy. “So he takes my perfick ’orse an’ gives me this one—for reasons, he said, of his own. He told me to ride it in to Red Angel and ask the Vol xxxi—13, sheriff what he thought of the trade. What do I want to do that for? An’ he says, tell the mayor there’s some important papers he had to leave behind him in Iktass, an’ they’re posted up in Sandy Wallace’s saloon, where he traded ’em fer a gun, an’ every man in Iktass has writ a word on ’em. I asked him, ‘ What kind of words?’ an’ he said, ‘Strong words, brother; strong words.’”” Red Angel heard, but was speechless, and the dark moments passed by. Automatically, Postmaster Buck Riley handed Mr. Tabbitt a letter and a telegram that had arrived for him that evening, but had not been delivered hitherto owing to the excitement of Fog-horn’s supposed returning. Automatically Mr. Tabbitt received them, and automatically he peregrinated towards the Glory office. Two hours later a large man with a fiery red beard, who had just alighted from the Nelson train, finished attending to his boxes and bundles and strolled into Morgan’s, where gloom was thicker even than smoke and fumes of barley- corn. “Halloa, boys!” he said. “ Celebrating ?” “Red Angel, by thunder!” exclaimed the sheriff. ‘‘ Where’d you come from ?” “There was his gun e-pointin’ at my ‘eart." “Nelson,” said the tawny giant, signalling to Morgan. ‘“ And say, I’ve got some news for you. Jim Battlesby’s taken over the Neison Clarion, and Mr. Tabbitt’s going to help him.” “Red Angel,” yelled the judge, “air you drunk? We've nominated Jim Battlesby to run in the election this year, an in spite of them thieving Iktass galoots, we’re going to elect him

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182 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “There ain't going to be no more elections this year.” in September the first member fer Hi- unk.” “Why, you crazy gazabo,” said Red Angel’s godfather, “ there ain’t going to be no elections this year—won’t be for three years more. And even if there was, you couldn't elect anything. Hi-unk ain’t an electoral district.” There was a ghostly stillness, broken only by the sound of a strong throat swallowing liquid. Then Acting Judge Kelly said, huskily, “ Where ts Mr. Tabbitt ?” “Let’s go get him,” said the sheriff, and the crowd moved as one man in the direction of the Glory office. They pushed the door open and entered. Mr. Tabbitt was not in the outer office ; he was not in the inner office. On the desk was a news- paper, a letter, and a telegram. The mayor gathered up the telegram with a shaking hand and read :— ‘ “Dear Tim,—Come home at once; mother is dying —SisTER NELL.” “That don’t explain nothin’,” said the sheriff, impatiently. “‘ Try the letter.” The mayor read :— “ Dear Tim,—When I got here my brother Bob was down at Robson on business, and so I have to wait till he gets back. They tell me here in the office that Bob has a good offer to go to London with a bunch of promoters, and that he wants me to take charge of the Clarion, in which case they could use you here, too, and, in fact, are counting on you coming. I spoke about the nominations to Grey in the office here, and he just grinned as if it was a joke. Another funny thing which makes me awfully suspicious is that several important men who ought to know tell me that there are no elections this year, and also that the Covernment never made Hi-unk an electoral division at all. Which reminds me that my brother once said to me, ‘TIl pull your leg, Jim, when you least expect it.’ And I can’t help remembering that he is called ‘ Kidder’ Battlesby. As you know, we took all that about Hi-unk and the elections just the way it was printed in the Clarion, and without any further information. I advise you to take that copy of the Clarion out of the drawer of my desk and look at the date, and I will look it up here, and if my worst suspicions are con- firmed you will receive an urgent telegram from Sister Nell. If you do, don’t lose a minute ; just hike-—Yours, Jim. “P.S.—Look up the date of that paper at once.” ‘The citizens of Red Angel filed into the street silently.”

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THE SPOOFING OF HI-HUNK. 183 “The clonk-clonk of tbe press under the fall of the axe.” “Sheriff,” said the mayor, moistening his lips, “ what is the date o’ that paper ?” “ April the first,” answered the sheriff. The citizens of Red Angel filed into the street silently, paused, regarded the vacant Glory office, and then stared hard at each other. The first sound that broke the still air was the crash of a hand- ful of type going through the middle pane of a window. Then came the deluge. The shivering of glass under the hail of bullets was orchestral. Richard Strauss himself has done nothing louder, or more in his own mood, than the resistive clonk-clonk of the press under the fall of the axe. The walls creaked and fell in splinters, and the last touch was to collect all the files of the Glory and all the rolls of unused paper, soak them with coal oil, pile the office ruins about them, and shoot into the heap. Slowly, here and there, the mass ignited, then flickered, flamed, ran, leaped, and blazed in a tower of angry gold. Erstwhile subscribers sang, danced, and shouted madly. They ceased not from celebrating until the Hi-unk Morning Glory was a blackened heap, and there remained naught but ashes of the evil sheet which had so basely prevaricated on high political matters, and tortured the heart of a sensitive community with a groundless hope. Red Angel was quits with the Glory, and con- “* Erstwhilz subscribers sang, danced, and shouted madly." tent. But one thing rankled deep in every breast, though no one spoke of it, and that one thing was an unavoidable conviction that some- where on the mountain trail over the border a large voice—Fog-horn’s voice—was waking laughing echoes from the hills. A large voice—Fog-born’s voice—was waking laugbing echoes from the hills.”

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ROUND THE UNITED STATES By CHOS. W. WILBY. IN A MOTOR- “The Sphinx,” a wonderful natural monument carved by wind and weather— It is situated in the Petrified Forests, and was visited From a) by the Author. (Photograph, An account of a wonderful journey. With his wife, the author has recently accomplished the only circular motor-car tour of the United States on record, travelling over nine thousand miles in just a hundred and five days, and traversing about twenty different States. This remarkable feat is not likely to have many imitators at present, since the route leads along rough trails through hundreds of miles of uninhabited wilderness, desert, and mountain passes. In spite of this fact, most of America’s natural marvels were seen from the car, and the author here describes how he reached them and narrates some of the perils and mishaps of his great journey. IL. Tie were now headed for the Imperial and the irrigation ditches of the reclaimed - VY. Valley by way of the narrow, wind- lands met, and we knew we were in the B 5 ing ledges that form the infamous Imperial Valley. Listening to the music of ) P9]| Devil's Canyon, an arid, rock-strewn __ the life-giving waters, we pushed on, and pre- ~ — waste, with gradients upto twenty- five per cent., over which the gallant car crawled at the rate of a mile in two hours. The rocky path was often the course of those torrents which, born of a cloudburst, vanish in a twinkling when they reach the sandy floor of the canyon. Here we found ourselves between lofty, impressive walls of rock, which gradually opened like a huge jaw on to the lonely desert beyond. It was our first experience of the south-western wilderness of sand and scrub, guarded by solitary human outposts, in the shape of crazy shacks amid the shifting dunes. Never shall I forget the impression that this desolate waste made upon me. The land rose and fell in huge lines or sand-beaches, which represent the shores of the ancient sea-bed. Over all was the gloom of advancing twilight, behind us was the canyon, towering like a mystic spectre, and before us the unending waves of sand and the lone, unvarying trail, dotted with brush and the sentinel giant cactus. : At last we came to the point where the desert sently a solitary store loomed up. There were shelter and food and bed here, but we decided to continue along the trail to El Centro, in the heart of the valley. Twenty miles farther on, however, the trail vanished, and there was the gleam of water in our path. The ditches had overtiowed and made an impassable quagmire, and for hours we searched in vain for a path before we found one that led us to the more northerly settlement of Imperial. At the very edge of the town, the houses of which were screened against dust and flies, was the wilderness, as if waiting for the day when it should come back to its own and the daring human intruder on its solitudes should trouble it no more. In the meantime the desert, which had hitherto stood for death, was now being made to give life. The weary and worn of the cities in the East, the poor wrecks who had all but fallen before the white man’s plague—consumption— were here regaining their inheritance of health and the joy of existence. The waters of the turgid Colorado were bringing life to the barren wastes, for thousands of years of storm and wind

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 185 had covered the sands with the silts and washings of the mountains, and it had needed only man’s tillage and industry to make another Egypt of the forgotten land. No one seemed to know of a road which would take us to the Colorado at Yuma, and so we pro- ceeded south to the Mexican custom-house at Mexical—a name which is a combination of the words “ Mexico” and “California.” Here we found that the older town had been swept away by an inundation of the Colorado, so that we had no sooner crossed the border than the American road came to a dead stop at a huge hole which the waters had torn in the earth. The gap must have been half a mile across and over a hundred feet deep. It was here, we were told, that the first shot had been fired in the Mexican War. We now had a battle royal with sixty-five miles of tangle, desert, and sand and several miles of sand levee. Here and there we passed huge areas planted with cotton which is said to rival the long-staple variety of Egypt. Tall arrow-weeds and iron-wood trees overlapped the trail and made progress exceedingly precarious. We never really knew whether we were on the tight road or not, untif'n the darkness we saw a man with a lantern, who informed us in Spanish that he was the custom-house officer of Los Algadones. We gave up our papers to him and entered United States soil again, obtained some crude directions at a signal-box on the railroad, and finally came to the Colorado and the Govern- ment works opposite Yuma, Arizona. Our destination lay on the other side, and the ferry which here plies across the broad, blood-red stream had ceased running for the night. Accordingly, we left the car in the care of the Government official, and, loaded with the hand- bags and suit-cases which we needed for the night, set out to cross the lofty railroad bridge which spans the river. We got safely across, in spite of the bewildering spectacle of a huge engine and train at the farther end of the bridge. That night, over the supper-table spread for us in a corner of a typical Western saloon, we told our adventures to an admiring throng, including the ubiquitous and shirt-sleeved representative of the Press. . Our notoriety as “‘ transcontinentalists ” was now beginning to make us the cynosure of . Western eyes. Reporters would spring out upon us from the most unexpected corners, and our morning start would be sure to cause a crowd of red-shirted gentry to assemble, with hands thrust deep in their trousers-pockets. They would lazily comment upon us as freaks, but were always sympathetically inclined. They were the milk of human kindness and considera- tion itself ; in fact, even outlaws and “‘ gunmen ” offered us their hospitality. Beyond Yuma lay the desert again, beautiful with giant cactus, mesquite, ironwood, and the intense green of the palo verde. But, after all, it is an unlovely and harsh kind of vegetation. We saw no bird life, except the pretty ground- runners and the wrens, which burrow a way into the giant cactus and there build their nests, safe from all attack. Nothing soars here except the eternal mountains ; it is, in fact, a veritable waste whose cruelty we had, luckily, no chance to prove, for our canteen and water-bottle were kept well filled and we had no accidents. We followed with a fair degree of success the faint trail that led through the grey-green “ gardens,” On one stretch, over the forest plateaux of Arizona, a gang of men preceded the car for many miles removing the boulders. From a Photograph,

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186 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a} whose monotony was broken only by an occasional hut near a water-hole or by a cluster of shacks and tin-can shanties dignified with the name of a town. There were struggles with sand and dry creek-beds which obligingly did duty as roads, and we could only get across the dangerous quicksands of the Gila River under two-mule power. We were glad to reach the reclamation lands near Arlington and to take a well-earned rest under the friendly roof of the Phoenix Hotel, having made one stop en route, at Agus Caliente Hot Springs. We were tremendously impressed by the wild grandeur of the scenery. Among the lava- strewn and sandy trails there moved the shadowy figures of forgotten races in that northerly migration of Aztec and kindred tribes, which seems to have only been arrested by the yawning chasms of the Grand Canyon. When these races had all but vanished, there had come out of the heart of Mexico the Spanish explorers, like Coronado, searching for the fabulous treasures of gold—the fabled Seven Cities of Cibola and Quivira. We resolved to follow in their footsteps in quest of the golden cities, which are represented by the modern Indian villages of Zuni. Our track was seamed with countless gullies, but we forgot the roughness of the going in the witchery of the desert colouring. The dun carpet of sands spread between the green of cactus and the purple of the lava rocks turned into a soft, rosy haze in the middle distance, while in the background the earth swam in a bath of violet, accentuated by the deep indigo of the sky and the opalescent blues of the mountains. This magic colouring always receded Extricating the car from a quicksand with the help of mules. | Photograph. with our advance, always apparently within our grasp and for ever flying beyond reach. North of ies, now steering direct for Flagstaff and the Grand Canyon—the trails led on to the high mountain plateaux, and here, near Camp Verde, we found a Government en- gineer ready to guide us on horseback through the swamps and over the rocks which awaited us for the next sixty miles. We had been four days coming two hundred miles, and two more days were to elapse before we saw the Lowell Observatory, which crowns Flagstaff. A mile an hour was good time. We froze at night in the tents of the road-gangs, and in the daytime we melted under the terrible heat. Water had to be fetched from long distances to cool the engines. Rocks had to be removed with crow- bars to prevent the vital parts of the machinery being torn out of the car. Once we were caught in a cloud-burst upon a hill which threatened to become a raging torrent, and were dragged out of the soft mud by an old outlaw and his two ponies. At another time we plunged along a boiling creek for many yards in the vain attempt to find dry land and a trail. Gloriously solemn, awe-inspiring forests heralded our approach to the Grand Canyon, eighty-six miles to the north of Flagstaff. All unannounced, there burst upon us the glory of colour and form, the majesty and spell of that mighty chasm. It was, indeed, an incongruity to view this ages-old marvel from the tonneau of an up-to-date motor-car. Then, too, there came the anachronism of a spin along the lava- trails into the dream-picture of the Painted Desert, with its solid peaks floating in intangible

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ROUND THE UNITED STATES IN A MOTOR-CAP. 3187 rosy vapours that seemed to make a mirage of the reality. Our co rse now lay south, through Winslow and Holbrook, viz the Little Colorado, and through the Third Petrified Forest of St. John’s and the pueblo of Zuni. On the way to Winslow we had been helped out of a “ wash” by some Indians, and had followed the line of bluffs in the direction of where we had seen the lights of a town. The trails suddenly left the bluffs and headed direct for higher ground about a mile beyond a glistening sand-flat. Water was there —everywhere, in fact—and in the darkness we approached it in fear and trembling. We had entered what was afterwards found to be the dangerous Tucker Flats, which connect with the Little Colorado, the river which we had religiously avoided, according to instructions obtained at the Indian schools of Leupp. Train coaches have been known to be bodily engulfed in this kind of “ flat,” and it was with much trepidation that we heard the ominous thudding of the slipping wheels as we crawled through the slime. We had advanced a quarter of a mile when I gave the order to retreat. Slowly we backed out. The water was shallow, but a quicksand might swallow us at any moment. We searched the trails and tried another cross- ing, only to flounder into yet deeper water and then ignominiously retreat. We next “hit” a third trail, which led into the bluffs, and ran into a pocket canyon. We were now convinced that our first trail across the watery flats was the right one, so we headed the car into the silent wastes again, passed our farthest rut with some- thing of the spirit of the Pass of Thermopylx, and—got across. We spoke no word. The emotion of that mauvais quart d’heure was too great to permit of utterance. Most of our way into New Mexico was sheer path-finding, though the people of the district gladly gave me all the help they could. I first took the car through the Petrified Forest, where we saw a wonderful Sphinx carved by the winds and the sand out of the limestone, and at St. John’s I hunted up guides among the Mexicans for the Seven Cities of Cibola. In these parts the inhabitants are descendants of the Spaniards, and the American is still a sort of anachronism. Only a few miles to the north, however, one is on Indian territory, amid the ruins of adobe pueblo villages which were the stimulus to that wonderful feat of exploration by Coronado which has never been equalled. Zuni, the capital, is dominated by the striking- looking rock known as Taaylalone Mesa, to which the tribe has generally retreated whenever attacked. In Coronado’s day Ahacus and Hawikuh were the principal pueblos. Ruins that are easily identified as those of the seven pueblos are still plainly to be seen. In addition, the pueblo Indians have three farming villages of Pescado, Nutria, and Ojo Caliente. The tribal name is Ashiwi, meaning “ The Flesh,” and these interesting Indians came under Spanish notice as early as 1539. The Spanish mission, however, was not established among them until nearly a hundred years later, and the present Zuni was not occupied until 1692. It was subsequently garrisoned by the Spaniards, who lost several friars at the hands of the con- quered people. The church gradually fell into ruins, and the pueblo was entir.‘y abandoned by white people after the American War with Mexico. In recent years the Government has built extensive irrigation wc:xs on the Indian lands and established a large school, where the younger generations are becoming educated in the ways of civilization. The Zunis are quiet, good-natured, and industrious, friendly towards the Americans, jealous and mistrustful of the Mexicans, and bitter enemies of the Navajo Indians. The Spanish Inscription Rock, or El Morro, as it is called, owing to its resemblance to a castle, is about thirty miles to the east of Zuni on the old historic route. It comprises a ruined, prehistoric pueblo, consisting of the remains of two blocks of houses on the summit. On the rock early Spanish conquerors have carved their names, the earliest in date being that of De Onate, in 1605. The scenery all around is of the most soul-stirring description. Owing to local ignorance and the wretched condition of the trails, we were compelled to strike south and make for the railroad by a big détour around the immense lava-beds of Western New Mexico, known as malapais. Here we found ourselves on the rim of an immense crater, looking down upon a tiny settlement of Mexicans at Salt Lake, or Laguna de las Salinas. A mounted party was coming up the trail from the lake within the crater, a handsome girl in cowboy costume leading the way. They were trekking on pleasure, she said, and had burros laden with their camping outfit. The trail ended at the water’s edge, and here we found a nondescript group of men lounging about a few shacks, one of which did double duty as store and school- house. We wanted directions badly, but the storekeeper could speak no English, but pointed out a friendly-looking ranch foreman. Casey —for that was his name—proved a friend indeed. He wanted us to accept the hospitality of the ranch, ten miles away, and partly on our route, and he said he knew of a road to the Inscription Rock. Moreover, he offered to come along with us there and then and supply us with all the

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188 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Sometimes the travellers found themselves in an immense gully, out of which it seemed almost impossible to drive the car. From a Photograph. petrol we wanted. Before starting, however, we made a careful examination of the curiosity within which we found ourselves. In the midst of the lake was what looked to be a small vol- canic cone, while on the opposite shore, hugging the outer crater, was another cone of volcanic cinder, up which we climbed to the summit, where, to our astonishment, we found ourselves looking down into a second crater filled, like a cup, with clear, dark green water, fed by hidden springs. We lunched out on the sands of the wilderness that day while the driver and Casey sped on to the ranch, some three miles farther, for the precious petrol, of which we stood in great need. Where the road to the Inscription Rock turned off westerly from the ranch road a dry wash ran across ou’ path. It looked innocent enough, but one of the rear wheels sank into quicksand, and two hours later we were still stuck there, making frantic efforts, with the aid of the four ponies of a passing Mexican, to pull out. Finally we gave up in despair, and, making the car snug for the night and dismissing the Mexican and his senora with ‘‘ Muchas gracias,” I sent the driver on ahead ‘with the heavier suit-case to tell Casey of our acceptance of the hospitality we had so recently declined. We followed leisurely behind, and night found us still following the lonely trail on foot. At last the moon arose, big and golden, ahead of us, and we heard the cheerful whistle of a man and the rattle of wagon-wheels on the adobe earth. At the ranch-house, a low, one- storey structure of stone set against some bluffs, there was a blazing wood fire awaiting us and the usual fare of hot biscuit and fried meat. Nothing could be done to extricate the car until next morning, and under a pile of heavy Navajo blankets we slept soundly till the voice of Casey and the creak of wheels told us that our rescuers were on the way to the dry wash with ropes and planks. It was past ten o’clock before the men and the driver returned with the car, none the worse for its night out. The ranch was something like six thousand feet above sea-level, and we had no difficulty in making out the lofty peaks of the White Mountains, some ninety miles to the south. We filled up with petrol once more and demanded the bill. We might as well have asked for the moon ! Payment was out of the question, and we could only express our heartfelt thanks and take our leave, feeling that some day—we didn’t exactly know how or when—we might be able to get straight with the hospitable Casey. After crossing a Continental Divide, a thousand feet above sea-level, we reached our destination —McCarty’s, on the railroad of the Santa Fé system—at ten o'clock that night, only to find that the hotel accommodation was non-existent. The ranch had been Paradise compared with what we now were ushered into—a railroad truck without wheels, which did duty as a bed- room and kitchen combined. But the next day brought sunshine, and a

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ROUND THE UNITED STATES IN A MOTOR-CAR. 189 ‘The view from the summit of the wonderful rock village of Acoma, one of the sights of the South-West. From a Photograph, rocky trail along a mesa clothed in dwarf cedar led us to the plains of Acoma and the Enchanted Rock. After the Grand Canyon, surely this sky village of the pueblo Indians, perched on a lofty, isolated rock, has no equal in the South- West for grandeur and colouring. Picture an immense amphitheatre of coloured rock, some ten to fifteen miles across and thirty miles long. In the midst, and heralded by huge masses of frag- mentary rock carved by the winds into fantastic resemblances to castles and giants, stands the mesa, surmounted by the pueblo of the Acoma Indians. Three miles to the north towers the great rock which, in Spanish, is known as the Mesa Encantada, and on the lofty crest of which, tradition says, the pueblos once built their homes. Long ere the Spaniards came to this enchanted land a mighty cataclysm had carried away the steep, narrow path which led to the summit. For centuries no foot ever again trod the rocky summit, and no home has been built there since. The present pueblo, which is built in tiers with ladders on the outside to each floor, was old when Columbus landed in America. We could see no sign of habitation as we descended the amphi- theatre towards the plains. A solitary Indian horseman, riding across the lengthening shadows of the valley, was the only living thing. We were conscious of an overpowering sense of tragedy and loneliness ; the region might have been devastated by the Flood. There was little or no verdure beyond the dry, wild grasses of the plain to soften the landscape, savagely hacked and torn asunder by the force of Nature and weathered into a thousand grim shapes whose beauty served to emphasize their cruelty. It seemed impossible that the lonely assembly of crag and precipice, centred by the dizzy air- island of the great mesa, could be an integral part of the United States. We climbed to the deserted old Spanish church, gazing above the pueblo across a view of plain and hills. The dusky inhabitants regarded us with indifference, though they showed clever tactics in dodging our cameras. Lithe young bucks strode past with the grace of Greek youths, a fillet across their tawny brows. Women crouched over conical clay ovens, built in front of the house-ladders ; bright-eyed children played in the shadow of the grey adobe walls. A girl, carrying a tiny brother on her back in a shawl, emerged from some mysterious corner and offered us pottery, and now and then a solitary figure climbed a tottering ladder to a platform and disappeared through what looked like a trap- door. The pueblos seemed to be the embodiment of the proverb, “ That which is is enough ”’— of that indifferent content and easy life which is one long daydream. Life’s pace was the gait of the dozing donkey which even then plodded within the shadow of the adobe, the veritable, venerable spirit of the native’s New Mexico. Yet, we could not help feeling that ae, as representatives of the white man’s civilization, were interlopers among these children of the sun, whose life was so utterly unconcerned with modern conditions that if the rest of humanity were to become extinct to-morrow it would remain entirely unaffected.

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190 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I will skip the events of the next few days, including an exciting dash over the dreaded quicksands of the River Puerco, and come to the day when we left Santa Fé in a snowstorm, in order to follow the most historic irail in the United States—one, indeed, which has more tragic and romantic memories than any other. The Santa Fé trail goes back to the earliest pioneer days, when an attempt was made to establish trading relations with Mexico from Independence, Missouri, close to the present Kansas City. In those days New Mexico and Arizona were parts of Mexico, and to reach Santa Fé the drivers of the heavy wagons, known as “ bullwhackers,” had to plod along for something like eight hundred miles before reaching their destination. Their way led along the Arkansas River to the lofty and dangerous pass of the Raton Mountains in Colorado. From the opposite side of this pass they descended on to the high plateaux of New Mexico, past the present towns of Raton, Wagon, and Las Vegas. Here the scorching heat of the Kansas plains gave place to the verdure and refreshing cool of the great mountain plateaux, but it can be truthfully said that there was scarcely a mile of the trail when the lives of the traders and home-seekers, the passengers of the famous Concord stage-coaches, were not in danger, not merely from the attacks of the blood-thirsty savages of the plains, the Comanches, the Kiowas, the Pawnees, and the Apaches, but also from the highwaymen of the mountains. The trails were then, as they are now in the Western sections, mere ruts across the prairie or plain, marked by the rude crosses over the roadside graves of victims of the Indians or the perils of the “ trek.” We followed the trail throughout its length, through Dodge City, past the famous Cimarron Crossing of the Arkansas, Walnut Creek, and Pawnee Rock. Pawnee Rock! No spot on American soil has furnished the scene of more bitter and relentless warfare than this strange outcropping of stone amid the limitless plains. Here Indians of every tribe had swooped down for ages, at first to wrest the surrounding buffalo pasturage from enemies of their own race, and later to lay siege upon the hapless bands of trappers or traders who sought refuge behind the rocky fastness—a siege that could have but one outcome, the starvation of the whites by their fiendish foes. We, of course, took the trail backwards, but we lost none of its realism, and when we reached its actual beginnings at Boonville, on the Missouri (Independence was simply the outfit station), we were still under the spell of that thousand-mile ride through the eventful pages of American history. We took up from Inde- pendence one of the old bullwhackers and sur- vivors of Indian fights. He was the proudest man living when he found that he was again a pioneer, for ours had been the first automobile to tour the ancient trails of the United States. At Washington we received the personal congratulations of the President, and New York gave us a great welcome. We had accomplished a feat which no one had thought possible. We had travelled, with scarcely a scratch, over nine thousand miles of desert and wilderness and con- fusing trails. We had been up as high as ten thousand feet and as low as five hundred feet below sea-level, and the thermometer had ranged anything from somewhere near zero to a hundred and ten above. From a) On the old pioneer trails, which seemed to ¢o on for ever and ever. [ Photograph.

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HOW SELIMA WAS By CHARLES RUDY. ILLUSTRATED BY H. FOLKARD. AVENGED. The tragic life- story of Mahomet the Berber, a Cairo hall- porter, who later became the author's servant during a visit to Upper Egypt. Mahomet the Berber. From a Photograph. HOMET the Berber was the hall- porter of an old-time pasha’s palace, turned into a family pension, near Sharia Dawawine, in Cairo. In appearance there was nothing to distinguish Mahomet from his fellow-bowabs, who sit cross-legged throughout the livelong day with but one apparent object in life—to accost and enter into conversation with any and every native who loiters their way. He was tall, gaunt, and muscular ; the nut-brown face was slashed with Dervish cuts across the cheeks, the eyes were coal-black, and the nose short and thick. In his black shirt-robe and white turban, he was like a hundred other bowabs: It was only when you got to know him that you noticed a difference. Then you saw that his wrists were scarred, as though they had been eaten into by thongs. So were his ankles. When his mouth relaxed into a grin, which was rare, the toothless upper gums stared at you strangely. The lower gums behind the thick lip were provided with a perfect set of pearly teeth. Mahomet was sullen by nature, or glum—and no wonder, considering that his had been an adventurous life. and that he had stared death in the face on more than one occasion. He was reticent, however, and it was only after I had been living at the pension some time and had sugared my stay with regular weekly tips that he unfroze towards me. I tlien learnt that he had been a slave among the Dervishes, and had escaped. It was still later, however, when he accompanied me to Upper Egypt, that I suc- ceeded in gaining his confidence. I was thus able, bit by bit, to piece together the story of this remarkable man’s life, and to corroborate it in its most essential details. Mahomet the Berber was born in a small village on the left bank of the Nile, near where Egypt ends and the Soudan begins. A group of date palms and the minaret of a mosque in a field of berseem are all that can be seen of the hamlet from the river, and few are the strangers of an alien creed to visit it from one year’s end tothe other. There are no ruins to be examined, and if the village ever played a réle of its own it was in the time of the Dervishes, when the Mahdi steeped the Soudan with the blood of thousands of unhappy slaves procured from villages under his evil sway, or from others in Egypt and Abyssinia, where he had agents trafficking in human flesh. El Bab, where Mahomet was born, was, in the early days of the Occupation, such a frontier

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192 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. village. General Gordon had been killed in Khartoum, the Anglo-Egyptian forces had retreated, leaving the Mahdi to rule the Soudan, and round about Wadi Halfa and Korosko police detence had not been organized sufficiently to prevent raids from the south across the Egyptian frontier. “We in our village did not know exactly what was going to happen,” Mahomet told me, “whether the Mahdi would come and conquer us, or whether we would remain Egyptian. There were Dervish agents all over the place, and they told us that the Mahdi was coming to drive the infidel out of the country. We were afraid of them, for they were powerful, with spies everywhere. Unfortunate the man or the woman who thwarted them! ‘Those who displeased the agents disappeared into the desert to the south, and if they did return—it was very rarely they did—they were changed so that no man could recognize them. Sometimes whole families were swept off. That happened to my mother’s cousin’s family, and to this day no trace has been found of it. Halas!” And Mahomet lifted his hands with a peculiar gesture of finality. Abdul Saffi, the Senoussi, was the leading Dervish agent in El Bab when Mahomet was a youth of about eighteen, and from all accounts he uved up to the best traditions of his infamous traue. To the palm grove beyond the village caravans came from the oasis of Selima, and remained hidden there for days at a time. Strange black faces, of Soudanese niggers, were tu be caught sight of at times in the village, and Abdul’s house was the scene of much activity. Mothers would tremble for their children, lovers for their sweethearts, husbands for their wives. In the dead of night screams would be heard of women being hurried to the grove, and then one day the news would spread like wildfire that the caravan, with its burden of human misery, had swept away into the desert to the south. There would first be a sigh of relief, then one of dismay, as it was found that some dearly- loved one had vanished. But who dared com- plain? There was Abdul Saffi, the uncrowned king of the village, strutting down the only street, a grin of satisfaction on his evil face, a gleam of low cunning in his crafty eyes. He had spies everywhere ; it was dangerous to talk. And as he strutted along comely girls hid from him, or fled away into their huts, while young men bent their shoulders as though they were old and feeble. All of which, however, was of no avail, for what Abdul did not see his spies saw for him, and together they waxed fat. There lived in El Bab at the time Selima, a young girl, named after the fairy oasis in the Libyan Desert, which, from being one of the Islands of the Blessed in the days of the ancient Egyptians, had become a veritable vale of tears, for it was the great rallying-point for slave traders on the desert route between the Mediter- ranean and Omdurman. Selima, like her namesake among the oases of the Libyan, was pretty—one of the prettiest girls in E] Bab. According to Mahomet, she was slender as the lotus, with big, soft eyes like those of a gazelle, and teeth whiter than the core of the suyar-cane. He had found favour in her eyes, and they were soon to be married. Then they would go away to Kahira, which is Cairo. But, like many a other fellah, Mahomet had no money, and so they remained on in El Bab, waiting until their savings should be sufficient to take them away. One of the reasons why they were anxious to leave E] Bab was that they were rather afraid of Abdul Safi. It is true that he was Selima’s cousin on her mother’s side, but then, as Mahomet said, he would have sold his own daughter if he had had one. “Let him touch you, however, at his peril,” added the youth, with a fine show of appropriate courage, and, reassured, they forgot the danger they ran. Things drifted thus, and would have continued to drift had they not been brought to a sudden climax. It was one summer’s night. Selima came running breathless to the trysting-place—a white saint’s tomb beneath a huge palm. She was late. Seeing Mahomet, she flew into his arms with a sob. “It’s all over,” she gasped. ‘“ Abdul has visited my father, and I am never to see you again. If I do”—and she shuddered—‘ some- thing terrible will happen to both of us.” Sobbing, she clung to him. It was some time before he could console her, and then it was agreed that they should fly immediately. They were to go home and gather what few savings ‘they had, and were to meet at a certain spot on the river-bank where Mahomet knew a boat was lying. ““ Now run, sweet one,” he said to her, “ and go carefully, for you may be watched. In less than an hour we'll be away and safe.” He saw her disappear into the gloom, a shadow flitting into the darkness. Ought he to have accompanied her? No, better not. Some- body might have caught sight of them together, and then the game would have been up. No——- He started. What was that? F A piercing cry rang out. Then silence. It was her voice.

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HOW SELIMA WAS AVENGED. . 193 “T’m coming!” he yelled, and made one bound in the direction from which the cry had come. As he did so he saw a shower of stars flash brilliantly in front of his eyes. There was a dull crash, then a pain shot through his head, and he knew nothing more. When he awoke it was dark. He remembered nothing and was still dizzy. He could not move. He was lying down, and his legs and arms were bound. He could not move his mouth ; it was gagged. His head ached. Slowly he remembered. It seemed all an ugly dream. But—where was Selima? What had happened to her ? What had happened to him ? Where was he? He must have been stunned when he leapt after the girl. Had Abdul seized her ? How long he lay thus trying to unravel the mystery he was never able to say, but at last steps approached, and a door was flung open. Daylight streamed into the room or cell in which he found himself, flooding it with sunshine. The new-comer was a negro—a tall, powerful creature with a bestial face. He carried a jug of water and a flat Egyptian loaf. From his waist hung a courbash. Mahomet was ungagged and the bowl of water held to his mouth. He drank eagerly. His tongue was swollen and hurt painfully. So did his head and his limbs. He was offered bread, which he refused sullenly. The negro sneered. “We'll make you eat, you dog,” he said. “You won’t waste on my hands, unless it is with this,” and he shook the courbash. Then he proceeded to gag Mahomet afresh. ““Where’s Selima?” he managed to gasp, before the negro had rendered him speechless. The black man laughed. “When you’re big enough to know I’ll tell you. In the meantime she wants a man to look after her, and not a baby.” With another horrid grin he was gone. The door was slammed and Mahomet was in darkness. The hours that followed were interminable. Here he was, helpless. Somewhere, where he did not know, was Selima, likewise helpless, and probably in the power of an unscrupulous slave-dealer. He remembered fainting once. Then he awoke from unconsciousness to a terrible nightmare of burning thoughts and pain. Again the door opened, and who should come in but Selima ! She had been crying, but with that extra- ordinary fund of reserve and impassibility so characteristic ot the Oriental, she would have appeared to anyone who did not know her so well as Mahomet to be uninfluenced by any powerful emotion. He was not to be deceived, however, and when she spoke he knew it was from her lips and not from her heart that the words fell. Moreover, he saw the tears well in her eyes, and they were only kept back from rolling down her soft cheeks by her great self- control. “ Mahomet,” she said, slowly, dropping on her knees beside the prostrate youth, the corner of her shawl hiding her mouth from him for the first time, “forget me. I can never be your wife. I—renounce—our love.” As she said this the lower part of her shawl grazed his hand, and at the same time her tiny hand, hidden by the shawl, gave his a fierce clutch. For the fraction of a second their eyes met, and behind the veil of tears Mahomet saw the gleaming light of a great passion, a great, undying love. He struggled to free himself, to seize her, to speak with her, when a harsh voice called her from the door. She started, and the shawl fell from the front of her face. It was the last glimpse he was to have of it, and it seemed to him that her beauty had faded during the night, and that sorrow had ripened in its stead. “* Good-bye !” Just the whispered word, he struggling to free himself, to speak with her, and she was gone. Long heart-gnawing hours followed. Then again the light streamed into the room, and this time Abdul Saffi entered. He stood calmly opposite his victim and sneered down at him. The slave-trader bent down and felt the muscles of the man’s arms and legs. ‘““A fair price you’ll fetch on the market,” he mocked; then added violently, ‘ You would run away with Selima, would you? Ha, ha! Take that, and that, and that!” And he struck him again and again on the face. “ You won’t run away with her again, you dog. She shall be a slave in my house, and then I'll sell her, as I’m going to sell you.” Mahomet writhed, stung by the cruel words and the cowardly blows. But he was helpless, and his efforts to free himself only seemed to amuse his tormentor. “You toad !”” he sneered. with a pigeon. Ha, ha!” With that he left him. I pass over the subsequent mental and physical tortures of Mahomet the slave, and how he was taken one night to the grove and tied to a man riding a camel, and how, after two days of travel- ling, the oasis of Selima was reached. Here caravans were met coming from Khargeh with slaves, and together they all wended their way southward across the desert to Dongola, and then on to Omdurman, where the world’s great slave-market was held in the world’s blackest patch, “ Trying to mate

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194 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I pass over the years of slavery to which Mahomet was subjected—years of sweltering heat and thirst, of cruel blows and chains, of fetters and the courbash, of harsh words and no kindness. It was a living death. Chained toa companion, he was driven down to the water’s edge in the morning, and throughout the long, hot day, with the courbash swinging over their backs and their throats parched with thirst, they were kept busy unloading durra from the boats that came down the Nile. Towards evening they were driven back to their stockade prison. Many of his companions died, one after the other, and when life was extinct the chains which bound the living to the dead were burst, SS oe = = | | SS l “He struggled to free himself.” and new ones soldered the living man again to another living companion in misery. “ Five of my companions died in the eight years that I was in Omdurman,” Mahomet told me, and he disclosed his toothless upper gums.

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HOW SELIMA WAS AVENGED. 195 “ For each one that died the driver knocked a tooth out of my head. He told me he wanted to remember how many I had killed. Once he knocked out two instead of one, and then laughed.” He showed me his wrists and ankles, scarred deeply with the marks of chains and fetters. Then, baring his back and chest, he disclosed the wounds inflicted by the courbash. “ All through,” he added, “I had but one thought—Selima. She had deceived me that day in my prison in order to save me. I knew that. She had been told by Abdul Saffito whom may Allah be merciful !—that if she did not renounce me I should die. To save me she renounced me. Where was she now? I would find her. I would look for her, as far or farther than Iskan- dria (Alexandria), and find her—if Allah willed. That was as soon as I escaped. I only lived for that. It gave me the strenzth of ten men. I also decided that I would kill Abdul.” In his excitement Mahomet clenched his fists, and the gleam of passionate hatred returned to his eyes. His fifth companion died and the chains which bound him to the dead were severed. His mouth bleeding from the sixth tooth that had been knocked out in vile sport, he made one bound from the ground on which he was lying and, thanks to the momentary negligence of his driver, was out of the prison, out in the open air, a free man! It was night, and he made a dash for the river. Already behind him he could hear the hue and cry raised. He reached the river—black, sullen, majestic, rolling its waters slowly, relentlessly northwards. A sentinel fired at him—once, twice. “T don’t know what I was thinking at the moment, but it suddenly struck me that if I pretended I had been shot, and made as though I was falling into the river, I might be saved. It was my only chance, and better death by drowning than continue leading the life of a dog. “So, loosening my galabieh, I jumped into the river. Ican swim well. In amoment I had thrown off the white galabieh, and it floated down the river. Shots were fired at it, and there was some laughter. ‘The hound is dead,’ I heard the sentinel say, proudly. In the meantime I was clinging to a beam under the wharf or landing- stage. The minutes seemed hours. I was wait- ing for all to grow quiet before venturing out. At last there was silence. “Groping along the river’s bank as best I could, I made my way up stream. What with swimming and crawling, always hugging the land, I came to a river-boat a few yards away from the shore. Something told me that there help and rescue were to be found. I swam out to the boat, and the next moment was on board. Joy! I was saved—thanks be to Allah! The boat belonged to an agent of the Egyptian Government—a secret agent stationed there to befriend escaped slaves like myself, and to report the Mahdi’s movements to Cairo. In a few days I was in Egypt, in Wady Halfa, and then I went to El Bab.’ But the Mahomet who had left eight years earlier on the night caravan ride to the oasis of Selima was not the Mahomet who returned. The one had been a handsome, healthy youth, strong and well-made. The Mahomet who returned, like Enoch Arden, in search of love and a new life, was changed. He was thin, worn to a shred, his body scarred with many wounds and his shoulders bent with the toil of forced labour. He was neither young nor hand- some ; he was old and broken, like a brown rush drying beside the Nile. “J walked through the village, but no one knew me.” This sentence, which is Mahomet’s own, is a tragedy in itself. . ‘I went straight home. My mother was dead. My brothers did not know me. When I told them who I was they at first thought I was an impostor. At last they believed me. ‘Where is Selima?’ I asked. They shrugged their shoulders. ‘Gone,’ was all they could say. ‘Where?’ They shook their heads. ‘ And Abdul Safi?’ They pointed in the direction of his house. ‘ Up there,’ they said. “T waited until nightfall, without telling them my plans. I made them swear, however, that they would tell no one that I had arrived in the village. Then I left. ‘Where are you going ?’ my brother asked me. ‘ To find Selima,’ was all I answered. “T was approaching Abdul’s house. It stands at one end of the village, but somewhat apart from it. The door leading into the selamlik was open, and I entered. Abdul was sitting there, cross-legged, onadivan. He did not know me. I went up to him. A knife was up the right sleeve of my galabieh.” - Here Mahomet paused, and he drew the sleeve of his galabieh across his brow as though intent on wiping out the memory of a horror. “T asked him, ‘Where is Selima?’ He started. He had recognized me, for I saw a look of fear creep into his evil eyes. He was speech- less. I asked him again. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘ You will tell me where she is!’ I hissed. And I shook my fist at him. He was cowering in front of me, livid with fear. “Then suddenly he seemed to gather a moment’s courage. ‘Dog!’ he snapped back at me. ‘ You'll never find her.’ With that he

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196 THE WIDE jumped to his feet, shouting, ‘ Ali, Ali, help!’ Ali was the name of the black warder when I was first made prisoner. At the same time I saw him whisk his hand into the opening of his galabich, and the next instant the flash of a “I struck, and Allah guided the blade of my kuife."* revolver barrel threatened me. I struck, and Allah guided the blade of my knife. It sank into the man’s heart, and he fell. There was the report of a shot, but the bullet went wide. Steps were heard coming from the harem quarters, and I fled. “TI did not know what I was going to do. WORLD MAGAZINE. There would be inquiries, but then no one had seen me. So I returned home and waited. My family had their suspicions, but they were shrewd, and the police did not push the matter very far. Too many people knew what Abdul’s traffic had been, and it was readily assumed that he had been killed by one of his former victims, but no one really cared by whom. “In the meantime I had inquiries made about Selima. She had been a slave in that fiend’s house for a time, and then she had disappeared. I went down the river to Cairo in search of her. But ”—and there was a suspicion of a tremor in Mahomet’s voice—‘‘ I never could trace her. She had gone—just a pebble thrown into the desert. : “But Allah is great—and at least I avenged er

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ODDS AND ENDS. Where Liquorice Comes From—Moving @ Canvas Town—Giant Water- Wheels, etc., etc. ‘The accompanying photograph shows one of the great heaps of liquorice undergoing the dry- ing process at Aleppo. Inverell is @ flourishing town in the northern part of New South Wales. It has only quite recently been con- nected by rail with Sydney, which is some five hun miles distant 5 revi- ously, Glen Innes, forty-two miles away on the main Northern trunk line, was the nearest rail- way point. It is now, however, the terminus of the North-Western line, which junctions on to the Northern line at Werris Creek, some two hundred SERY few people have any idea where the and forty miles from the Metropolis. ‘The photograph familiar liquorice-root comes from. As a reproduced below was taken while the line was un ler Liquorice-root drying in the sun at Aleppo, Syria. From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem. matter of fact, the bulk of it hails from construction; one part of the line had been com- Syria. Here it is gathered and piled into pleted, and it was necessary for the local camp of great stacks, where it remains until it is navvies, platelayers, etc., to be ied farther on to B thoroughly dry. It js then taken to the the next section. e canvas homes of the workers and factory to undergo certain processes. The finished product their families were accordingly shifted bodily on to the js used for flavouring confectionery and beer, as well as railway trucks, and the contractor's engine took them entering into the make-up of man) brands of tobacco. some ten miles away to the scene Some idea of the extent of the industry may be of their new labours: This queer gathered when it is stated that, on an average, eight removal serves to show the prac- thousand tons of dry Jiquorice-root is shipped from tical method of our cousins in Aleppo annually, while Bagdad yields another six : Australia. thousand tons, Antioch four thousand, and Damascus five hundred tons. With the exception of the Damascus output, the whole trade is in the hands of a single firm. Moving a canvas town on an Au alian railway. From a Photo. by Dufty & Burgess. Vol. xxxi.—14.

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198 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Hama, in Syria, is famed for its huge water-wheels, locally known as naura. There are four of them, and they are driven by the River Orontes, which flows through the town. Each of the wheels bears a distinguished name, and the visitor to the city is made aware of their presence long before he sees them by the creaking and groaning noise which greets his ear. At first it suggests a pipe organ, The result of a bl Syrian water-wheels—The one in the foreground is said to be the largest in the world. From a Photo, by American Colony, Jerusalem. izzard in a Ne! and later a brass band practis- ing. ‘The wheels are built of a dark mahogany, which gives them, at a distance, the appear- ance of iron. The largest of them boasts of a diameter of seventy-five feet, and is declared to be the biggest water-wheel in existence. The naura are erected on what is known as the undershot principle; that is to say, they are driven by the water striking them at their base. They serve not only to supply the town with water, but also irrigate the adjacent gardens. The wheels never stop, summer or winter, and day and night their creaking is heard. In the summer months small boys may always be seen bathing in the river in the neighbourhood of the wheels, and for a small coin they will get in between the spokes of the wheels and allow themselves to be carried around many times, or hang on the outside of the wheel and drop back into the water when half-way up. Terrible storms at times sweep over the north-western States of America. Hardly a winter passes by but Nebraska, the two Dakotas, and neigh- bouring States suffer severely from blizzards and_ violent storms. The following photo- graph shows telegraph - poles lown down and _ snapped by the force of a hurricane that visited the town of Alliance, Nebraska, a few years ago. The tourist who is ferried over the Nile from Old Cairo to the Island of Rhoda is shown the Nilometer, which dates from Roman times, and the old gardens near it, and is then hurried back to resume the usual route of the guides. By so doing, however, he misses one of the most town. (Photograph. braskan

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE CANADA A special grand double number of *‘The Illustrirte Zeitung” Ghe great German illustrated paper (in either German or Eng- lish text) gives a complete survey of Canada in all its phases. The Fhals are by the best Canadian authors, with the co-operation of the local governments. Every articte is beautifully illustrated. Read the Contents: j The Younger Half of North America. By Arthur Hollitscher, Berlin. Summary of the Constitutional and General History of Canada. By J. Castell Hop- kins, F.S.S., Toronto. Canada, a Country of the Future. By Ge- heimrat Prof. Dr. Paasche, Vice-president of the German Reichstag, Berlin. Canada asLumberland. By Prof. Dr. Her- mann Hucho, Leipzig. Farming in Canada. By W.J. Elliott, Super- intendent of Agriculture for C. P. R., Calgary. Fruitgrowing in Canada. fy W. Bert Road- house, Deputy Minister of Agriculture, Province of Ontario, Toronto. The Sportsman’s Paradise. By C. F. Lane, Mortreal. Geographical Conditions in Canada and their Effect on Economic Development. By James White, Secretary of the Com- mission of Conservation, Ottawa. Canadian Mining Resources and Mining Statistics. By the Department of Mines of the Dominion Government. Undeveloped Waterpowers of Canada. By the Commission of ‘‘onservation, Ottawa. The Industries of Canada. By H. T. Mel- dron, B.A., Assistant Secretary of the Canadian Manufacturers’ Association, Montreal. Opportunities for Profitable Investment in Canada. By Fred W. Field, Managing Editor of ‘The Monetary Times of Canada ”’ Toronto. Banking in Canada. After a paper read by Sir mund Walker, President of the Canadian Bank of Commerce, Toronto. Transportation in Canada. By J. Castell Hopkins, F.S.S., Toronto. Canada and Her Art. By Eric Brown, Di- rector of the Victoria Museum, Ottawa. The Indians of Canada. By the Depart- ment of Indian Affairs, Ottawa. The German-Canadian Economic Society. By Dr. Gustav Stresemann, President cf the Society. Canada and the German Emigration. By E. A. Fabarius, Director of the German Colonial School, Witzenhausen. Illustrations In Colors: First glim se of Canada. After a drawing by Frank Craig. At high sea. View of Quebec.* After a water-color by Sheldon. Picturesque landscape in the Rocky Moun- tains.* After a painting by Cyrus Cuneo. In Stanley Park, Vancouver.* After a drawing. Prominent Canadian personages.* Picturesque views of the-:mountains of Canada. ‘Double page.) Harvest on a large Canadian farm. After a painting by Cyrus Cuneo. Lake Louise. After a painting by Cyrus Cuneo. Relief tnap of Canada. (Double page.) Niagara Falls.* After a painting. Pleasure-seekers in the mountains of Canada.* After a painting by Cyrus Cuneo. * Full page illustrations. And about one hundred other illustra. tions in black and white. If you are interested in Canada, do not fail to get this splendid number. Price 50 Cents, by mail 60 Cents. Of your Newsdealer, or The International News Company, 83-85 Duane Street, New York Kindly mention this magazine when! writing)\to_ advertisers.

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“I BVENTUALLY REACHED THE SURFACE HEAD DOWNWARDS.” SEE PAGE 206.

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TAE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE No. 183 Vol. XXXI. JULY, 1913. A PRISONER BENEATH THE SEA. | TOLD BY ANTON GRAF, AANND SET DOWN BY G. H. BALL ILLUSTRATED BY FRED HOLMBS. Mr. Anton Graf, the narrator of this story, claims to be the oldest active diver in the world. During the course of an experience extending over a period of nearly sixty years he has naturally met with some thrilling adventures, one of which is here described. N the middle of August, 1879, there ! was a terrible storm in the English Channel, the sea being so rough, and the tide rising to such an extent that in some of the streets of Dover the water was two or three feet deep. For some days previous to the storm I had been employed by the Coast Wreckage Company on salvage work in connection with a steamer which had sunk about twelve miles off Dover. The severe weather, however, caused a temporary stoppage of ali diving operations, and I received orders from my employers to go out with the steam- ship Harold from Dover to render assistance to any ships found in distress. Before we had been in the Channel very long we saw a steamer collide with a barque below Folkestone, the sailing vessel being so badly damaged, having been struck amidships, that she quickly sank. The barque was loaded with salt and empty petroleum barrels, and as soon as she disappeared beneath the waves many of the barrels came to the surface, dotting the sea all round us. We did our utmost to save the crew, but were only successful in rescuing the steward’s boy, whom we noticed floating on a half-barrel near the scene of the disaster. ‘The steamer was the Idezwild, owned by the Navigation and Transportation Company, and carried a cargo of iron ore. She had also been considerably damaged, her bows being much bent. Her captain decided to try to reach Folke- stone, but his attempt was futile, for the water rushed into the vessel in great streams. When we saw the precarious condition she was in, we asked the captain to close the bulkheads, which he did, and we then towed the steamer into Dover Harbour. The sunken barque, an American ship named the Delson, had foundered about fourteen miles west of Folkestone. and when the gale subsided, about two days later, I received instructions,

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204 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. through the Trinity Commissioners, to blast the masts out of the ship. in order to prevent other vessels coming into collision with them. I was informed that there was a good deal of jewellery and money in a locker in the cap- tain’s cabin, and I determined to obtain these valuables after I had carried out my other orders. The blasting work did not take very long, three charges of dynamite proving sufficient to get the masts out. As soon as I had finished these opera- tions I commenced a search for the desired cabin. I quickly found it, and also the locker in which, in all proba- bility, the valuables were located. The drawer, however, was locked, and I went back to the deck to search for a piece of iron in order to force it. I dis- covered what I wanted hanging from one of the davits, and soon twisted it free. In returning to the cabin, I had to be very careful to keep myself free from the stanchions, so that I should not get my lines fouled when I wanted to regain the my hose and lines round my arm, and commenced to grope my way to the three steps which led up to the door. These I reached with little difficulty, but when I tried to push the door open I found to my consternation that I could not even move it the fraction of an inch. I must explain here that in the part of the Channel where I was working it is only possible to carry on diving operations for about four or five hours during slack tide. At other times the ' currents are so strong as to make diving a very hazardous undertak- ing and practically out of the question. When I entered the cabin the tide was flowing down Channel, and in con- sequence the current kept the cabin door open. I had been so occupied with the task of collecting the captain’s valuables that I had failed to notice how quickly the time seemed to go. A strong current was now running in the opposite direc- tion, and pressing with tremendous force against the door, keeping it as securely closed as though heavy bolts were assisting the relentless currents deck. Anton Graf, the veteran diver who here relates one of the most thrilling experiences that have happened to him in the course of his me. jous career. It took me some time to wrench open the drawer, but I eventually suc- ceeded, and on putting my hand in I found some paper money, a watch and chain, some rings, and a lot of coins. These I put into one of the bg pockets of my protection overalls, and then turned to make my way back to the door of the cabin. To my surprise, however, no light filtered through from the direction of the door, although, after I first entered, the opening could plainly be seen. I had evidently been too intent on my task to notice the change. The cabin was now in almost complete darkness, and I knew that in making my way back I should have to be very careful to steer clear of obstacles. I rolled From a Photograph. in their fight against. The horror of my predicament now dawned upon me, and I could not help thinking that I should be extremely fortunate if I ever again saw the blessed light of day. It was obvious, however, that inaction would not improve my pro- spects, so I started to feel for the spot where my hose and lifeline passed between the door and the framework. I found them at last— over the top of the door—and, luckily, the tough lifeline was nearest to the hinges, thus keeping the door slightly more ajar than would otherwise have been the case, and so protecting the hose. If the positions had been reversed, there is no doubt that the hose would have been jammed so tightly as to prevent any passage

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cht wit ste Cx rae 00. cise rent te to Dover for assistance, even if there had been time to do so. Anyhow, there was no time to be lost, as the air in my helmet was already getting very close, and it did not seem as though much more was filtering through the narrow piece of tubing wedged in the tight-shut door. Turning round, I descended the steps to try to find an instrument which I could use as a lever in my efforts to force open the door. If I could only move it an inch or so it would probably enable me to give a signal, and, by releasing the hose somewhat, allow more air to reach me. For two or three minutes I groped about for the piece of iron with which I had forced the locker, but nowhere could I find it. Fortunately, however, my knuckles struck the handrail leading up to the door, and seizing this with both hands, and placing one of my feet against the wall, I endeavoured to wrench it free. The strain was so great, of air through the tube, thereby causing my speedy suffocation. Even as it was, the line only partially saved the hose, and within a minute or so I began to experience great difficulty in breathing—a_ hint of the agony to come if I did not speedily extricate myself. For a moment I was non- plussed as to what I should do next. I knew only too well that if 1 found it impossible to escape from my submarine prison, should not remain conscious very long. I was, of course, aware that those at the top would quickly come to the conclusion that something was amiss if I did not ask to be hauled to the surface. But I was quite un- able to imagine what means they could discover to effect my rescue, and as my lines were jammed I could not signal to them in any way to explain my position. There was no other diver on the tender—the John Bull—and it was impossible for them to send TE Nine: pupk: = mY men rip = : SS Wai hi NY se = “| cleared @ path os best | could.”

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206 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. especially as I could hardly breathe, that I was afraid I might burst a blood vessel, but at last the lower part gave way, and it did not then take me more than a moment to release it altogether. ‘The exertion, however, had told on me severely, and I could do nothing further for a minute or two, although I fully realized that every second’s delay only added to my danger. ‘ Eventually, however, I managed to insert the rail between the door and the framework, and, using it as a lever, gradually succeeded in forcing the door slightly open and letting down the hose and line. Now that the pressure was somewhat relieved the air came through more freely, but very jerkily, although this was not to be wondered at, considering that the tide was running at the rate of twenty-two miles an hour. My nerves were in an awful state by this time, and more than once I came very near to suffocation. I now tried to signal to the tender, and to my delight found I was able to do so. I asked for a chain to be attached to the lifeline and sent down, but the answer I got was ‘‘ Come up.” I replied with the signal for “ Trouble,” and almost immediately the desired chain was let down. But here a new difficulty met me. The tide was so strong that my lifeline, instead of being fairly straight, made a wide curve, and the chain did not come within several feet of me. I therefore gave the signal to haul in the line, as I felt that if those above pulled it tight, and then sent the chain down again, I might possibly reach it. This call was also responded to, but with the result that I was nearly jerked off my feet as soon as the slack line was pulled in. A few seconds later I again asked for the chain to be lowered, and this time I was just able to grasp it and pull it through the opening. I then secured it to the door as firmly as possible, and once more gave the signal “ Haulin.” J learned afterwards that twelve men pulled on the chain, and I assisted them with my shoulder as far as possible. Something had to give, the door or the chain, but I knew, if it was the latter, that nothing on earth could save me from a terrible fate. With feverish anxiety I awaited the result, and it is easier to imagine than to describe my joy when I noticed that, inch by inch, the door was yielding. At last I had sufficient space to get my helmet through the aperture. and my body was not long in following. I had been confined in the cabin for an hour and a quarter. . But my troubles were by no means over even now, although I had very little energy left. Through the changing of the tide, all the loose rigging and wreckage had swung round, and now completely blocked my way. I went back into the cabin for the handrail which had proved of such inestimable service to me, and with its assistance I cleared a path as best I could in the direction of the davits, where my moorings were made fast. Evidently the surface of the water above was not very smooth, for each time the tender moved with the waves the davits seemed to jump, causing me to think every moment that something vital would give way. I did not waste a second more than was necessary before starting to work my way up hand over hand, and I soon got entirely clear of the drifting rigging. As I went higher I felt the full pressure of the tide, which was running so fast that I could not keep my feet down, and soon I was confronted with a new danger, as, if my head went lower than my body, I once more ran the risk of suffocation. This unwelcome fate seemed more than pro- bable, as I was now getting more air than I required, and my head throbbed like a steam engine. I clung as tightly as I could to the line, but the strain became so great and the pain so intense that I thought my fingers would part from my hands. By this time I was extremely feeble, and at last my muscles became so overtaxed that I could not hold on a moment longer. I can dimly remember letting go, drifting away, and slowly rising up towards the surface, which I eventually reached head downwards. The next thing I recall is opening my eyes about an hour later on the deck of the John Bull in Dover Harbour. I had a splitting headache, and for nearly a week afterwards suffered from a confused and dizzy feeling. Apart from this, no ill-effects followed my _ terrifying experience, and two or three weeks later I again resumed my hazardous work beneath the waves.

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AFTER BIG GAME IN INDO- CHINA. By H.R.H. THE DUKE OF MONTPENSIER. In the accompanying article the Duke of Montpensier describes and _ illustrates a sporting expedition which he undertook in the little-known jungles of Indo-China. Buffalo, tiger, and elephant all fell to his rifle, as well as many smaller animals. His Royal Highness has a most remark. able story to tell as to the manner in which Asiatic elephants settle their disputes. HAD hunted in i several other countries before the idea came to me to explore the territories of France in the Far East. I had already traversed South America, From a where I killed many pumas and jaguars, and South Africa, where I obtained elephants, rhinoceroses, buffaloes, wolves, and some interesting specimens of antelope. Later, I went to Norway, to hunt for eland, and it was only i in 1906 that I decided to go to Indo- China. Fascinated by reading accounts of life in the East, in China, India, and Indo-China, and lured by the affectionate remembrance of my cousin, Prince Henry of Orleans, who died young in Saigon, I decided to go out and place flowers on his grave, and see for myself the lands which he had loved so well. I took the steamer to Saigon, which I had fixed on as my centre of operations. This was in January, 1907, and this first voyage could only be a short one, as I had to be back in Europe in April. I had no time to lose, so I only stayed a few days in Saigon, just long enough to see the pretty town, nestling in verdure. Outside Saigon one comes at once upon marshes, rice fields, and the HRE the Duke of Montpensier, who here describes his adventures in the jungles of 3) Indo- Phot China. 1 Photograph. glades of the virgin forests, which sometimes re- semble an enchanted park, towards che depths of which some mysterious power urges one with a kind of delicious dread. I hunted a little round Saigon, and chen cook the steamer for the coast of Annam, landing at Phan-Rang. On my arrival I began organizing my little expedition. Some carts to carry baggage, two bags, two rifles, and a gun, and we were off for Nha-Trang. 1s-on had to give up the idea of going in a straight line along the route I had traced, and according y turned my carts back and went towards Phan-Thiet, so as to leave as far as possible beneath us the hills of Annam, and chus reach Nha-Trang. This new route was not with- out some drawbacks, especially as my party only consisted of an interpreter, a Chinese boy, and some natives to carry the baggage and lead the carts. On the other hand, it was interest-

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203 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ing for me to trace gut my path morning; then they return to the myself, the more so as the bamboo forests and clearings to sleep. districts which I intended to Later in the afternoon they come out to cover were excellent for tiger graze and drink. ‘They are not timid, and elephant hunting. and several shots can be fired among I met with a few adventures a herd before they become alarmed. of small interest, and finally The wild ox or “bos Sondaicus,” arrived at Djiring, about a which the Annamites call “con bo hundred and fifty kilometres to rung,’ differs somewhat from the gaur, the north-east of Phan-Thiet. although belonging to the same group. There I fired at three wild oxen First of all, its distinguishing character- and at a gaur, which I brought istic is the horny mass forming a sort of From a) The Duke with a “ gaur, down, as well as some stags, peacocks, and wild boars. The bos-gaur, generally called ‘“ gaur,” is not known in Europe, and is often wrongly termed “bison.” The name is not correct ; the bison is the ‘bos bonasus” of Lithuania and the Caucasus. The gaur is certainly the finest of all the wild bulls; he overawes all opponents by his courage, audacity, and great strength. He is a huge beast, and sometimes measures six feet to the root of the tail. He is distin- guished from all other wild cattle by the pro- minent hump between the two horns. The latter are massive, flat at the base and ringed, and they describe a very wide curve from the root up- wards. The coat is of an olive-brown tint, shading to black, with very short, fine hair. The gaur is found both in the forest and on the mountains, for, in spite of his great size, he is extremely agile, so that he can run up the moun- tain slopes and climb the rocks with ease. Like the elephant, he feeds on grass and plants, and when he cannot get these he falls back on bamboo shoots and the buds and branches of trees. The gaurs feed until about nine o’clock in the one of the most difficult and dangerous animals to hunt. (Photograph shield on the top of the head extending from horn to horn. The animal has also a large white patch on the under side, and behind, at the root of the tail. The wild ox is a little smaller than the gaur, but he measures at least five feet in length. The wild oxen are not so fond of mountainous places as the gaurs are. They are more often met with in the prairies, but always near forests. Their favourite food is grass, and it is only rarely that they eat bamboo shoots. They have a very keen sense of smell, but their sight and hearing are less strong. The single bulls are the most dangerous, and it is not wise to disturb them if one is not well armed. The first tiger hunt which I had was in the very heart of the Annamite mountains, on the way towards Nha-Trang, to the south-west of Nin-Hoa, and to the north of Yum. The Mois told me of a tiger which had carried off a bullock, leaving his prey at the foot of a tree in the middle of the forest. He would probably come back for it after nightfall, either to devour it or to drag it off somewhere else, so I had a small plank platform put up in the tree and got up on this about half-past four o’clock in the afternoon. I examined my rifle, found it

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AFTER BIG GAME IN INDO-CHINA. 209° in perfect order, and settled down to my vigil. The heat was terrible, and I took a bottle of water up with me which I was glad to sip at intervals, although the liquid soon became tepid. I spent the whole night in the tree all alone, and I shall never forget my feelings during those terrible hours of solitude and darkness. I watched for the tiger until dawn, but Mr. Stripes did not keep the appointment. I could not sleep ; first of all it would have been dangerous, and secondly, the mos- quitoes did not allow it. Their feeble, irri- tating buzz sounded ceaselessly in my ears, and I vainly tried to drive them away. Next, the red ants began their attack ; I felt their pricking on my face, but at such a time it seems only natural to accept martyrdom. All at once, in the silence, I heard a strange creaking sound, which came closer and closer, resembling the rusty wheels of an old clock when the weights are pulled up. The noise approached, and I listened with a feverish anxiety. What on earth could it be? Nearer and nearer it came, until it ended in a strange and horrible cry: Gec-Ko! Gec-Ko! Now I recognized it—the lament of the gecko, a hideous beast, a chameleon with knobbed and blistered skin, the ugliest of all the lizards. The gecko, as luck would have it, took up froma) ‘A scdae in the jondies’of Acuna, its place in my tree, and its ill-omened cry went on all night. In desperation I struck at crackling dead leaves. A few moments later the the horrid creature with the butt end of my gun, gecko resumed its mournful lamentation, with and heard it fall down and creep away over the intervals of silence ; the last cry which I heard was far away and more long-drawn-out than all the others. After my fruitless From a) A splendid specimen of “ gaur,” the finest of all the wild bulls. (Photograph.

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210 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN The end of “Ong-Cog,” the terror of the villages. From a Photograph. night vigil I went in the direction of Cam-Rang, where I intended to remain for the time necessary to find “ Ong- Coq,” as the natives call the tiger. I knew on good authority that the district was very often visited by tigers. I was in luck, for a short time after my arrival the natives came to tell me that a tiger had carried off a calf during the night. It was then about seven o’clock in the morning, and I quickly finished dressing and left, carrying my little double-barrelled *303 rifle. I went to the spot where the poor calf had been killed, The marks of his last struggles appeared on the sand as well as a pool of blood and the deep foot-prints of the tiger. The tracks were easy to follow, and they brought me to the mountain, where there were more footprints and blood. Ilita cigarette, slung my rifle over my shoulder, and walked on quietly, feeling sure that I should have some miles to go before coming up with the enemy, even supposing that I had the good luck to find him at home. I was walking on calmly, when just as I arrived on the other side of the slope I saw, about three yards away, the tiger himself, crouching over his victim! The splendid animal looked at me, with his mouth From a) The Duke as he appeared on his big-zame expedition, (Photograph. open—as well he might, if he was

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AFTER BIG GAME IN INDO-CHINA. 211 as surprised as I' was—growling hoarsely. I stopped for a few minutes, simply petrified with astonishment, and I do not know to this day how 1 managed to get. my rifle off my shoulder, or how I fired. J pulled the trigger too quickly, in any case, and the ball only grazed the tiger’s back. I fired a second shot, and this time I wounded him seriously, so that he uttered a terrible roar. For a moment I thought that he was about to charge me. If so, I was utterly defenceless ; my rifle was empty, and I had no knife or revolver. I stood there staring at the tiger, and raised the butt of my gun to meet the expected attack, but instead he turned and fled, and I decided that he would soon grow weak from loss of blood, for he dragged his left hind leg painfully. Then I saw him disappear into a thick clump of trees, and I made up my mind to return, more suitably armed, and then seek for him. Going back to the village, I exchanged my rifle for a better one, and set out again for the tiger’s lair. I absolutely ran the distance to the small clump of trees, I was so anxious to find him. When I reached the wood I had to act with care, for the trees and undergrowth were ex- tremely thick, and I had to stop and listen every moment for the least noise. The silence rendered me very anxious. The beast was evidently there, but I could not see him, and he might spring on me at any time before I could pyt myself on the defensive, in which case there would be no chance for me. Slowly I crept forward, seeking to penetrate the dimness of the wood. Where the brushwood Carrying the dead tiger to the village. From a Photograph, seemed to have been lightly trodden down I crossed it, and there I saw the tiger crouching in the undergrowth, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes brighter than before, but he did not growl. He seemed to be bracing his muscles for a final effort. We both understood the position—that this was to be a duel to the death, and neither of us wanted to fail in our aim. Just as he was about to spring I fired, and my bullet was a little swifter than the spring. Death reached him on his way, and he fell heavily, with his great head between his paws. I was delighted at the sight of the splendid

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AFTER BIG GAME IN INDO-CHINA, 213 beast stretched at my feet. I had been very uncertain of securing him, and the relief was great. Leaving the body, I went back to the village to tell the natives. I saw them coming to meet me, and when they perceived me they came running to hear the news that ‘“ Ong- Coq” was dead. They received the glad tidings with cries of joy and dances of wild delight. When they saw the tiger they approached him with distrust, and then, seeing that he was rigid, they sprang upon him to make sure of his end. I had the greatest trouble to keep them from ruining my trophy, for the Annamites have a custom of cutting up all dead wild beasts, and making fetishes out of their claws and whiskers. I should not have liked my prize to be thus mutilated, and so I drove them off. We cut down bamboos and made a sort of cradle in which to carry the animal, and so returned to the village, followed by crowds of delighted natives, who raised songs of triumph. The tigress, as a rule, has only two cubs at a time, or three as an exception. ‘“ Ong-Coq”’ is a very silent animal, who loves the night. His only desire besides hunting is to search for water to quench his thirst, and he will travel very long distances in search of a pond or a stream. _ The natives have remarked that when a tiger has a safe and comfortable den, if he should happen to be killed another tiger always immediately takes possession of the same den. I need not speak of his strength, for that is well known, but his manner of catching game is quite peculiar to himself. He catches it full in front with his paws clasping it round each shoulder ; then, taking it by the throat with his teeth, he flings it to the ground and breaks its spine. The tiger prefers to devour his prey warm, but he has been known to eat decaying carcasses when pushed by hunger. It sometimes happens that a tiger will kill another tiger if he finds him already devouring his prey. Having killed a tiger, I thought I had been long enough in this district, and decided to con- tinue my journey towards the north. A short time after my departure, while passing through a village, I was told that there were elephants about, and halted to learn further details. They came to drink every evening at the neigh- bouring lake, I was informed. It would have been serious enough for the villagers if they had been content to slake their thirst, but every morning the natives found that the rice-fields had been ravaged by the great beasts and their crops ruined. They begged me to save them from the elephants, and I promised to do my utmost to punish these marauding monsters. I had already hunted elephants in Africa, and I knew how to stalk them and which were the most vulnerable parts to aim at. I took with me a skilled native hunter, and when the night fell, we went towards the lake. It was not far away, in a forest clearing among high trees, but without undergrowth. As we approached I heard the grunting of a whole troop of elephants, and soon I saw them drinking and gambolling about, for all the world like a lot of schoolboys playing truant. They squirted fountains of water from their trunks, and chased each other here and there. The elephant is a very intelligent animal ; he loves tricks, and is most amusing in carrying them out. Moving with the utmost caution, we got to within about ten yards of the happy troop. The moon shone brilliantly, and under the shadow of a high tree I was able to take aim at four in succession. I killed two on the spot ; the other two, mortally wounded, rushed away, but I found them next day lying dead a short way off. The Asiatic elephant feeds solely on grass, leaves, young shoots, and fruit. Strange to say, the only creature feared by the elephant’is the mosquito. The reason is that the elephant has a very porous skin, and the mosquito can penetrate very easily into the large pores, thus reaching the flesh. The only way in which the elephant can get rid of the mosquito is to bathe frequently, and cover himself with dust after the bath, thus stopping up the pores of his skin, so that his tiny assailant is smothered, or excluded, if he has not already penetrated. I cannot close this brief article without describing the strange and almost incredible manner in which two rival elephants settle their love affairs. When two males compete for the companion- ship of a female, they do not forget their dignity so far as to fight for the lady. They simply face each other squarely. Then one of them pulls down a branch from a tree with his trunk, and lays it at his feet. The other takes a larger branch, or pulls up a big shrub by the roots, and also lays it at his feet. Number one then tackles a still bigger branch, and this strange com- petition goes on, turn and turn about, until at last the contestants try to pull down trees whole- sale, and the one who fails to uproot his tree in turn is abandoned by the lady elephant, who has been an interested spectator of the strange duel. She goes off with the possessor of the largest tree, and the vanquished elephant retires shame- faced. This trial-of- strength species of courtship is very remarkable when contrasted with the ordeal of battle of most other animals, and shows the highly-developed intelligence of these enor- mous creatures.

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THE LUCK OF THE _” ROSECRANS." By A. W. QUINT AUVEL, of Redondo Beach, California. ILLUSTRATED BY W. B. WIGFULL. Sailors are firm believers in lucky and unlucky ships; and if ever a ship was unlucky, the vessel that forms the subject of this story was. After an unsatisfactory career as a liner and a transport, she was converted into an oil-carrier, only to be thrice wrecked within a year and carry to a watery grave thirty men out of a crew of thirty-three. A curious sequel is attached to the narrative. SPENT the evening of August 25th, 1912, on board the steamship Rose- crans at Redondo Beach, California. I was there as the guest of Captain Lucien F. Johnson, the youngest master and one of the most genial and reliable seamen in the Associated Oil Company’s service. Six feet tall and twenty-nine years of age, he was every inch a sailor. As we sat in the comfortable saloon cabin I remarked: ‘‘ This ship has the name of being unlucky, hasn’t she, captain ? ” Johnson laughed. “She has been a bit unfortunate,” he replied; “‘ but she’s a good old ship, for all that. If you care to write a yarn about her I’ll tell you some of her history. Here ”—and he handed me a photograph—‘ is a picture which shows us ashore at Gaviota, which happened only a few months ago. But I shall come to that later. The ship was built at Glasgow in the year 1883, and was named the Methven Castle. She joined the Donald Currie fleet, running between Southampton and Cape Town. On one of her early voyages to the Cape, Carey, one of the Phoenix Park mur- derers, who turned informer and surrendered his confederates in the assassination of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Secretary Burke, was followed by one of the sworn avengers, who, disguised as a seaman, shipped on board the Methven Castle, and on her arrival in Cape Town Bay shot Carey dead, firing at him through the Fred Peters, th of the illfated Rosecrans,” whe TOS Oc shad 6 taltscaloos escape frou deaths os 7 From a Photograph. cabin skylight, whilst Carey sat at the dining- table.” Captain Johnson here showed me the chair in which Carey sat at the time of the shooting. “ After some years of unsatisfactory service in the Cape trade, the ship was sold to the American Government, named the General Rosecrans, and placed in the transport service. During the Spanish-American War, ona trip from San Francisco to the Philippines with troops and supplies, she nearly foundered in a gale, lost one man overboard, and finally limped into Honolulu badly damaged. After the war the Government, being dissatisfied with her, sold her to the Associated Oil Company, who converted her into an oil carrier for the Pacific Coast trade, altering her name to Rosecrans. “On March 12th, 1912, we ran into a terrific gale off Gaviota, California, where we were to load oil. After fighting the storm throughout the night, during which the seas swept the decks of everything movable, carrying overboard to death our quartermaster and ship’s carpenter, the vessel became unmanageable and was tossed broadside on the rocks, with a hole twenty-five feet wide in her plates. Spiked firmly on the rocks, with huge seas breaking over us, we awaited the end. “The life-crew ashore, after many vain attempts, finally succeeded in shooting a line

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“ ROSECRANS.” THE F THE LUCK O ‘ypvadupoyg @ mosey “MIO;YeD) “wOIAeTD Yo #y201 24) UO " suess980yy |, 34]

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216 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. aboard, which we made fast to the foremast, and hauled aboard the breeches-buoy, in which we were hoisted in pairs to the shore, at times nearly smothered in the seas as the line slackened, caused by the rolling of the ship. The following day the storm abated, and I determined to save the vessel. After considerable pleading, 1 got the company’s consent to try. It proved a strenuous task, and more than once I almost gave up in despair. Making a last desperate effort, with the aid of the most powerful tugs on the coast, we succeeded in pulling her off the rocks. She was towed to San Francisco and repaired at a cost of fifty thousand dollars, under my supervision. And here we are, as good as new.” “She's a nice-looking ship, captain,” I told him, “and I wish you every success with her. Bon voyage—and good night.” That was the last time I saw my friend, Captain Johnson. Two days later the Rosecrans arrived at Gaviota, and whilst discharging her cargo of oil a sudden explosion took place on board, followed by a second, and in a few minutes the whole ship was a mass of flames. The crew saved their lives by jumping overboard and being picked up by boats from the shore—with the exception of one man, Oscar Busland, who was so badly burned that he died the following day. A newspaper account of the disaster read as follows :— “Santa Barbara, August 28th, 1912.—In tow of the tugs Defiance and Navigator, the hull of the oil steamer Rosecrans, gutted by fire near the Alcatraz pier yesterday, will be taken to San Francisco to-morrow night for repairs. A pre- liminary examination to-day showed that the fire had been confined to the boiler and engine rooms, all above the water line; estimated damage seventy thousand dollars. The explo- sion of accumulated gases is believed to have been the cause of the conflagration. The steamer was brought near the pier, and all day several streams of water played on the burning material ; but the temperature had not been much reduced by nightfall. In fact, the heat was so great that seamen declare the temper of the metal sides has been drawn out, and they say it will be impossible ever to use the hulk for commercial purposes.” All the pets of the boat were saved, and late on Tuesday night Captain Johnson rescued the parrot from the flames after it had been soaked with oil. Before morning seamen boarded the luckless craft and rescued three helpless kittens. They had been fearfully singed, but were as spry and playful as ever. If the boat had not been cut from her moorings when she was, the fire undoubtedly would have spread to the pier, and then to the shore, where hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of buildings and tanks would have been destroyed. The company was in favour of converting the hulk of the unlucky Rosecrans into a coal barge, but again my friend, the intrepid Captain Johnson, urged that the hull was still staunch and worth reconstruction. The company finally yielded to him, and again this fateful craft was rebuilt under his supervision, at 2 cost of a hundred thousand dollars and—once more under his command—resumed service in Novem- ber, 1912. And here follows the last chapter in the history of the “ Hoodoo Ship,” as she came to be called. I quote from a newspaper :— “Tuirty Go Down to DeatH WitTH ILL- STARRED ‘ ROSECRANS.’ “Astoria, Oregon, January 7th, 1913.—-The oil tank steamer Rosecrans, Captain L. F. John- son, from Monterey, California, to Portland, Oregon, while crossing the bar to the Columbia River early this morning during a fifty-five-mile gale, ran aground on Peacock Spit, and was lost with more than thi'ty of th: thirty-three on board. “A man from the wrecked ship was reported this evening as having been washed ashore at Tioga, Washington, six miles from the scene of the wreck. The Point Adams life-saving crew, which, with the life-crew from Fort Canby, had been on the scene of the wreck since early morn- ing, rescued two men this afternoon. They had taken refuge in the rigging of the foremast when the ship went down, and for many hours they clung there, the waves breaking over them. This afternoon the wind decreased, permitting the life-savers to reach the men. “The wind at the mouth of the Columbia River was blowing fiercely from the south-east when the ill-fated tanker essayed an entrance, and she was hurled upon the rocks at the same place where the steamer General Washington went aground a year ago. “ The raging tumult of water about the ill- fated crew defied the rescuers’ utmost efforts. Meanwhile, huge seas battered at the castaways relentl ssly ; the gale, bitterly cold, stiffened their clinging fingers until they slipped moment by moment closer to the end in the turmoil of water beneath. Tugboats and a life-saving crew stood by, hoping against hope ; but there was no chance to aid.” The “ hoodoo ” evidently perched on the bows of the Rosecrans when she was launched as the Methuen Castle at Glasgow, and never left her. My gallant triend Captain Johnson went down with his ship, after three wrecks within a year, for none of which was he responsible.

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THE LUCK OF THE “ROSECRANS.” 217 By a curious coincidence, the same mail by which we received the above story also brought us, from another Californian contributor, the following narrative, which forms a sequel to the history of the ship, being an account of the miraculous escape of one of the three men who survived the final tragedy of the Rosecrans’ ill- starred career. THE QUARTERMASTER’S STORY. By EvuGEnF B. Biocx, OF San Francisco, CALIFORNIA. Wit death literally reaching out for him, an The shipwreck occurred off the mouth of the Columbia River, in as terrible a tempest as ever lashed the North Pacific. Many a good ship has met its doom in this region, whose treacherous waters have claimed the lives of scores of hardy seamen. : Though two other members of the ill-fated Rosecrans’ crew escaped the tragic fate of their comrades by clinging to the rigging until the life-savers were able to reach them, their expe- rience, horrible as it was, lacks the extraordinary details of the third survivor's ordeal. Swept off the deck of the sinking vessel by a “The raging tumult of water about the ill-fated crew defied the rescuers’ utmost efforts.” American seaman fought a remarkable battle for his life and won—through that mysterious luck of the seas for which seafaring men pray in time of disaster. The sailor referred to is one of the only three survivors left to tell of the wreck of the big oil steamer Rosecrans, which sank off the coast of Oregon, on the morning of January 7th last, taking with her thirty unfortunate souls. Vol. xxxi.—16. gigantic comber, Fred Peters, the quartermaster, was hurled into the seething surf to face what was apparently almost certain death. An instant later a plank was also washed overboard by the angry seas and, by a sheer fluke, carried directly beneath his body. On that plank, so providentially brought within his reach, Peters rode the breakers for six hours until he was finally cast ashore on the

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218 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, AL \) N \ : 3S \\ \ \ \Y AWN “TT was on the crest of an immense breaker as high as a house.” rock-bound coast eight miles from where his ship had foundered. The poor fellow was nearly unconscious when picked up, and it was some time before he was able to narrate his extraordinary experience. His story, recited as he lay on a cot in the hospital at Astoria, Oregon, was as follows :— We were bound for Portland, Oregon, from Gaviota, California, with a cargo of oil, and anti- cipated a storm as we proceeded north, During the winter the North Pacific Ocean is always treacherous, and the mariner who navigates there is very glad when spring comes. During the night preceding the wreck the expected gale duly came along. This did not alarm us, but as we approached the bar of the Columbia River, which is the dread of seamen, the storm grew steadily fiercer. After midnight the tempest became still + -,>r> 2»?

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Pa Mmeonat: de els THE LUCK OF THE “ ROSECRANS.” 219 worse, and soon a sixty-miles-an-hour gale was blowing. The sea had been heavy enough before, but now the waves rolled higher and higher every moment. Within a short time the worst storm that any of us had ever seen was raging. The seas were literally as high as a house. One after another they towered over us, seemingly far above the steamer’s masts ; then they fell with terrific force upon the decks, washing away anything movable and burying the vessel in cataracts of foam. Meanwhile, the rain and spray beat upon the windows as though striving to shatter the glass, and we had to hold on hard to prevent ourselves from being injured in the steamer’s mad plunges. There were eight of us on duty, and twenty-eight were asleep in their bunks below. Even the wildest gale will not prevent an old shell-back from sleeping. The night was pitch dark. We could see practically nothing, but we could hear and feel immense combers breaking completely over the steamer with an awful roar. For three hours or more the Rosecrans pitched and rolled in the storm ; then about 5.3c o’clock in the morning we suddenly felt a terrific jar. The ship shook from stem to stern, and there was a horrible grating sound. A moment later the vessel took a sudden list to port. We were aground ! It did not take long to realize what had hap pened. In the storm the helmsman had not seen the lightship that shows her beacon by the North Head. Soon afterwards a light caught lus eye through the darkness, and he mistook this for the lightship, whereas it really came from a point on shore. By this time the steamer was pounding fiercely on the jagged rocks, with mountainous seas break - ing completely over her. Ten minutes or so later there was an awful cracking sound—the Rose- crans had started to break in two ! The whole of the crew were now up on deck, tut we had little hope of rescue in that terrible storm. Our wireless man sent out an “ S.0.S.” cali—the wireless distress signal—but before he could repeat it a giant wave broke over the ship and put his apparatus out of commission. Somebody tried to lower a boat, but it was smashed like an egg-shell, and other boats shared a like fate. We all put on life-pre- servers and decided to wait—the only thing we could do. Wider and wider became the lreak in the hull, and soon we could feel ourselves sinking. I realized that death was a matter of only a very short time, and decided to try to make my way toa boat. Scarcely had I taken a step towards it, however, than an immense wave broke over the steamer. I was swept completely off my feet. by the terrific rush of water, and a second later found myself struggling in the secthing, roaring surf. Then, by sheer luck—which we sailor folk always hope for in time of trouble—a plank was swept over the side of the ship and carried right under me. It seemed to come up under my elbow as I was fighting for my life. I grasped it with all my might, lay flat down on it, and put my arms tight around one end. With my legs

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- 220 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I tried. to hold myself to the other end as hest I could. ‘Then began a fearful ride through the breakers that I shall never forget. Over the waves and under them I was swept on my plank. One moment I was tossed up sky wards, the next I came tumbling down in the spray. Now I was on the crest of an immense breaker ashighas a house,and now | came hurtling dizzily down between two great waves. The same experience was repeated over and over again, until I lost all count of time, though I know it endured for hours that seemed eternities. Sometimes I was driven deep under the icy water, and came to the surface again gasping To Whom It May Cencern. San brancisce,Cal., January 14,1913. I have read with ceneiderable care the narrative by E.B.Block of the experience ef Fred Petere, quartermaster of the Steamer Resecrane, follewing the wreck of that veaadl, I find all ef the facte te be accurate and cerrect te the best ef my knowledge. In the ceurse ef uy duties on the etaff of a lecal newspaper I had full accees te the offpcial reperte of the Reeecrane wreck and can therfer pass en the narrative written by Mr.Block, We have gone down, taking with her all the poor souls aboard. A sudden horror came over me, and I felt like giving up; but just then I saw a speck ahead. It seemed like a light somewhere on shore. “Tl stick it out,” thought I, and I did. Slowly the time crept by, but the sea did not moderate—the waves were running as high as ever, tossing me high in the air, burying me in the depths, as regularly as clockwork. How long I endured this I do now know. ‘They tell me that it was about noon when they picked me up, so I must have ridden those breakers on my plank for six hours. It seemed like six years or longer to me. Focsimile of a letter testifying to the accuracy of this story. for breath and well-nigh beaten from my hold on the plank. All this time the bitter cold of the water and the shrieking gale was eating into my body, until my arms seemed frozen around the board and I could not have let go had I wanted. I tried to move once or twice, but found that my body was numb. My only hope was that I should drift toward shore and be washed up on to the beach, for 1 knew that there was no chance of rescue in this awful hurricane. Gradually dawn began to break. I had been tossed about for ages, it seemed, when at last it began to get light. 1 looked about me each time I rose on the crest of a wave, but there was not a sign of the ship, and I realized that she must All of a sudden, as I was thrown up high on a great wave, I saw a beach ahead, apparently about a hundred yards away. Nearer and nearer I drifted, until at last one great, roaring breaker flung me on to the sand and rushed me up the beich. I remember seeing men dash up to me, and I dimly recall watching them pull my arms from around the plunk. Then came a blank. The next thing I knew was when I looked around and found myself in the hospital, and learnt that two other men—rescued from the rigging—and myself were the sole survivors of the Rosecrans. My life had been saved by that lucky plank, on which I had ridden the breakers for eight miles !

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MY ADVENTURE WITH CANNIBALS. By ©. BEDDOSS. ILLUSTRATED BY W. MATTHEWS. From a) A West African trader's story of his experiences among a tribe of man-eating sa The river above the town where the Author was captured by cannibals. [ Photograph. es. Another white man, tired of their exactions, closed his store and fled secretly, whereupon the cannibals seized the author. ‘Unless the station is replaced by the full moon,” they Before then, however, things happened as here narrated, and Mr. Beddoes saved killed and eaten.” told him, “you will be his life. FaHE Fans, or M’Pangwes, as they | are variously called, are a tribe of people occupying the hinterland of # the German Cameroons and French ~ Congo. They are a warlike tribe, and resemble the Zulus more than the usual West African races. They are cannibals, and some travellers claim to have seen dried human flesh hanging up in their huts for food, but although I have been amongst this and other tribes of cannibals for twenty-eight years, I have never seen what these travellers describe. I have certainly seen the Fans eat human flesh, but only the bodies of their enemies, and they eat these simply to show contempt. The Fans are the only tribe on the West Coast who do not recogni:e slavery, every man, woman, and child being free ; also, if any slave escapes from another tribe and comes to these people, he is a free man while under their protection. They are good traders and hunters, and will bargain for days over a piece of ivory until they get the right price, which they know as well as we whites do. We usually build our trading stores in their towns upon the river banks, and a town which has a station in it is considered lucky, as the townspeople charge a toll to all strangers who come to trade, thereby making a tidy living over and above their own trading. Sometimes they carry this toll-levying rather too far, and then the trader is obliged to remove his store to some other place. One has to do this secretly and at night, otherwise there would be a row, bloodshed, and all one’s goods stolen. After the station has been removed one has, moreover, to give the town a wide berth in passing up and down the river in canoes and steam launches. These people’s weakness lies in always being at war amongst themselves ; it is seldom, indeed, that you find two towns friendly with one another. I was stationed at a town one hundred and ninety-six miles up the Rembo River—at that time the farthest station from the coast—and being quite out of trading goods and provisions, and not feeling quite up to the mark, I decided to take a trip down to the sea-coast. Accord- ingly I locked up my place, leaving ‘five or six boys and the headman in charge, and started off in a canoe, with ten boys, on my journey. I reckoned the trip would take me four days, stopping every night at one of our stations t» sleep. Our first station below me was at a town called N’zum, about forty-five miles away, so I intended to make that town my first stop. We pulled easily, the strong current doing most of the work, and took our midday meal in the canoe, allowing her to drift while we were eating. We did not arrive at N’zum until after dark. so could not see much. My boys unloaded the few things we had in the canoe and made her

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222 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fast, and mean- while I walked up the beach towards our store, wonder- ing why the white man in charge had not heard us ap- proaching and comedowntomeet us. I thought per- haps he was down withfever,oraway for a day at some of his branch places. I walked on for some fifty yards, then all of a sud- den I was seized and thrown d wn on my back and my gun snatched out of my hands. Looking round in amazement, I saw that there were at least a hundred yelling savages about me. My revolver was taken away, my hands tied behind my back, and I was then dragged to my feet again. The boys were treatedina similar manner, but per- hapsmoreroughly. Amid much yell- ing, we were all escorted up to the town, where I was pushed into a hut by myself and the boys into another. I could get no explanation of this unlooked-for con- duct, but I guessed that they had had a row with the trader and were going to revenge themselves upon us—a decidedly cheerful look-out. I had on only a thin suit of pyjamas, and soon the mosquitoes began to bite terribly. I could not protect myself from their onslaughts, as my hands were tied, and was soon enduring agonies. After about an hour of this, however, a man and woman came in, and the woman commenced putting up an ancient mosquito- net over the bed. The man took away all my cartridges and my belt, and then untied my hands. He told me that the store had been removed the day before, and they were going to keep me as a hostage until it was replaced, but I should “Twas seized and thrown on my back.” hear further particulars in the morning. I asked for my box of clothes and blankets, but he only laughed, saying they had already been divided amongst my captors. He further warned me not to attempt to escape, as there would be armed men outside the door all night, and any attempt would not only be useless but would make things worse for us all, as they would then be obliged to keep us tied up. The woman went out and brought me a few roasted plan- tains and a tin of my own corned beef. They would not allow my own boy to do anything for me, and, as a matter of fact, kept the whole lot of them tied up all night. The guards outside my hut had lit a fire, and were sitting round it, with their guns over their knees, smoking—my tobacco, I suppose—and talking. Knowing I could do nothing that night,

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MY ADVENTURE WITH CANNIBALS. 223 I got under the mosquito-net and was soon asleep. The following morning I turned out and went outside the hut, where the guards were still sitting round the fire. I asked for water to wash, and one of them, calling the woman who attended to me the night before, told her to bring me some. She brought a pail of water but no soap or towel, so I just swilled my face and hands and wiped them on the mosquito-net. While I was having my breakfast the chief and his men at the other end of the town were sitting round the palaver-house, trying to come to some decision as to what to do with us. Meanwhile the guards never left my side, watch- ing me as a cat watches a mouse. About noon the chief and his elders evidently made up their minds, for they filed down to my end of the town, followed by all the women and children. They brought my boy out to interpret, for although I could speak and understand their language fairly well, I could not comprehend everything they might wish to say. The chief opened the conference with a long speech, during which he gesticulated wildly. He said that the store had been removed during the night from their town, and that as I was a white man he i itended to keep me till it was replaced. I told my boy to ask him why he had made us prisoners, as I had nothing to do with the removal of the store. I added that he must release us at once, and return all our pro- perty, or there would be trouble, for when the white men down the river got to know they would certainly come up with the gunboat and burn his town. The chief replied that he intended keeping me until the head white man —my agent—replaced the factory or store in his town. I was to write a letter to him telling him this, and also that he must not attempt to send the gunboat, as the sight of her coming round the bend of the river would be the signal for my death. 1 had further to inform him that if the store was not replaced by the full moon I should be killed and eaten, together with the boys who remained. The chief warned me that they meant every word of this, and that I must explain it to the big white man. I told the chief that if he would let us go now, and would promise not to levy too heavy a toll, I would return in a week’s time and replace the store. This, however, he would not agree to, so after three or four hours’ argument I was compelled to promise to write. They brought me some of my own paper and a pencil, and I wrote telling my agent all the circumstances. On no account was he to bring the gunboat up, I said, till after we got away, as the cannibals would be sure to carry out their threat. After I had given the chief this note the whole town had a look at it, but as no one was able to read they were not much the wiser. That evening passed similarly to the last, except that my meat was finished, and I had to put up with dried fish and plantains. My tobacco also was finished, but the woman managed to get me a leaf, so I was all right for a day or two. They also gave me a pillow, one of my blankets, and my own mosquito-net in place of the ragged thing I had had the night before, so I was much more comfortable. My boys were also much better off; they were divided, placed in three different houses, and supplied with nets and food. They were not tied up, but a strong guard was placed over us all. I was allowed liberty to walk about out- side, but was not to go near the river bank, being always followed by my two vigilant guards with their guns ready for instant action. I went to bed early to get away from the mosquitoes, and in spite of the gloomy outlook managed to sleep soundly. In the morning the cannibals sent six of my boys away with my note, keeping four. My own personal steward was sent along with the note. The day passed very quietly, nothing happening except that the chief of the town came down and sat talking with me for an hour or two. There were a good twenty-four days to run before the next full moon, and many things might happen before then, so the only thing that worried me was the chance of the agent sending the gunboat up. I knew that if the people saw her coming it would be the signal for my death, but knowing the circumstances I did not think my agent would be so foolish. Four days passed, things going on just as usual, but on the fifth the chief told me to write another letter, which he sent down with the remaining four boys. I suppose he wanted to get rid of these boys, as they were only a trouble to him, seeing that he had to keep a guard over them and find them in food. I asked for some clean clothes, but could not get them, so had to put up with my dirty pyjamas. Time passed slowly on, and still there was no news. I began to take a great interest in the moon’s age. On the night of the eighteenth day of my imprisonment twenty or thirty men left the town, fully armed, in three canoes, to make a raid on another town about ten miles f rther up the river. They returned in the early hours of the morning with five prisoners— three men and two women. On our side there were two men missing, shot or captured by the townspeople they went to raid. When the raiders landed with their prisoners there was high glee, and as the hapless five were

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224 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. being dragged up .o the town, the women and children danced round them exultantly. In the middle of the town three stakes were put up, and the captives were tied to them, one to a single stake and the others in pairs, back to back, with the stake between them. They were bound very tightly, for 1 could see the cords cutting ingo their flesh. They were com- pletely naked, with not a vestige of cloth round them, and were left the w.ole day in the blazing sun without food or drink, the children amusing themselves meanwhile by throwing things at them and beating them with sticks. I tried to interfere on their behalf, but was given plainly to understand that I was to mind my own business and keep to my house. After this indiscretion on my part, in fact, my guards would not allow me to leave my hut. During the afternoon the woman who looked after my house came down with a paddle, and left it in the hut—whether accidentally or on purpose I cannot say. After she had finished her work and gone, | hid it up under the roof of the hut, for it occurred to me that it might come in very useful. There were always plenty of small canoes on the beach, and if I got a chance I might be able to get away, now I had a paddle. That evening, to judge by the commotion in the town, I felt sure the cannibals were going to kill and eat their victims. I felt quite sick at the thought of it. As soon as it was dark the death-dance com- menced round the five poor creatures, and every- one in the town seemed to go crazy. They danced, shouted, screamed, and made the most blood-curdling noises, impossible to describe and appalling to listen to. The dance, I knew, would be kept up till daylight, and if all the victims were not finished off would be carried on the next night. I knew only too well what would happen. The victims would be hacked to pieces one at a time and eaten. Sometimes they cut them up and boil them, and I supposed they would do this with some of the prisoners, but the first victim would be sure to be hacked to pieces and eaten raw, as the Fans seemed too frantic to wait for the longer process. My two guards were very much excited, and were yelling and dancing in front of my hut, not taking much notice of me. Towards mid- night they completely lost control of themselves. and rushed up and joined the others, who were now tearing their hapless victims to pieces. Now was my chance. I got my paddle, and peeped cautiously out of the door of the hut. Everyone had gone quite mad and entirely forgotten me, so I slipped out and. keeping well in the shadows, reached the river The steamer in which the agent went to the rescue of the Author, who is indi From a Photograph.

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MY ADVENTURE WITH CANNIBALS, 225 bank and pushed a small canoe down into the water. I was now in the fullmoon- light, but the canni bals were tvo intent on their victims to notice me, and I got a good fifty yards away Lefore I was missed. Then the fun commenced with a vengeance. Men rushed about look- ing for paddles and their guns, and there was a scene of the wildest confusior. Needless to say, 1 paddled for all I was worth, and I had over a hundred and fifty yards start be fore they got a canoe into the water. They fired several shots after me, but could not reach me with their ol] flint-lock gans, and I don’t suppose in their ex- citement they thought of using my gun. They manned one or two canoes and came after me, but I had a good start and a light canoe, and found to my delight that | could easily hold my own. I worked harder during that hour than ever I did before or since, for I knew that if I were captured now my life would nu .e worth a moment's purchase. Turning the bend in the river about two miles below the town, I saw the lights of a steamer at anchor about three miles distant. The natives must have seen it also, for after firing a volley or two they gave up the chase. In another half- hour I was on board the vessel—our own steamer, which was coming up to my rescue. The agent was himself on board. If argument had failed to rescue me, he said, he had intended to give them the store until some more favourable opportunity occurred to remove it. T had a wash, put on some clean clothes, and then went below for a good sleep. Next morning | was quite myself again. “I pushed a small canoe down into the water.” We steamed up to the town, but found it deserted. The natives evidently thought our steamer was the gunboat, and had accordingly cleared out to the bush. There was plenty of evidence all around of the ghastly orgy which had taken place the previous night, and we had not the least com- punction in setting fire to the town. Then we went back to the steamer, and waited until the last house had been reduced to ashes. I went down to the sea coast with the steamer, and had two weeks of sea breezes, later returning by steamer, with a good supply of trading goods and provisions, to my own station.

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re A RAILWAY By Stephen J. Hunter. From a Photo, by) ‘The two-miles-long stretch of arches An account of what is perhaps the most daring and original railway enterprise ever planned—the building of a hundred-and-fifty-mile line over the open ocean, using a chain of islands as stepping-stones. From beginning to end the proposition was a hard-fought battle against the forces of Nature, in which many lives were lost, and the final success of the undertaking speaks volumes for the resource and pluck of the engineers. continents with bands of steel, tamed ~ the Jungfrau and scaled Pike’s Peak, laid steel tracks up the Himalayas o Darjeeling, ‘taken the rails over the mighty Andes of South America, and in Peru lifted them three miles into the air. Snow and ice have been conquered—witness the White Pass Railway in the Yukon, threading storm-swept defiles once almost impassable to man. But his latest, and in some respects his most daring and most original, achievement has been the building of a line over the ocean in Florida, thus creating a veritable railway across the sea itself. The object of this unique undertaking was to connect New York with Havana by rail. Passengers can now leave New York and travel, without change of cars, to the capital of Cuba. The track runs down along the East Coast of Florida to Miami, and then across the Ever- glades to Water’s Edge. Here it virtually jumps out to sea. Between this point and Key West-—an important naval station belonging to the United States Government—there runs a stretch of coral islands, called Keys, and the railway is carried to Key West by using the islands as stepping-stones. From Key West the trains are carried bodily across the ninety miles of ocean to Havana in specially-con- structed ferry-boats. This novel line has occupied six years in building, and is rightly regarded as the most daring enterprise of its kind ever put in hand and carried to a successful completion. It owes its inception to Mr. Henry M. Flager, often referred to as the “ King of Florida,” who has certainly done more than any other man to develop this country, there being over six hundred miles of line in this wonderful State From a Proto. by) The Key West express going “* out to sea.” (Florida Photographic Concern.

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ee es ACROSS THE SEA. which crosses the Long Key Channel. for which he is responsible. His latest scheme, however, was a decidedly original one, pre- senting problems which the railway-builder had never been called upon to face before. Virtually it meant the constructing of a railway out to sea, for of the hundred and fifty miles of track between Miami, on the mainland, and Key West, fully seventy-five miles lie over the water, and a considerable portion over the sea itself. Indeed, the line has been appropriately nick- named “‘ the sea-going railway.” The first question the engineers had to decide was how far down from Miami the track could be laid on the mainland before “ jumping off” on to the “ keys.” To ascertain this, engineering parties spent months at a time in the Ever- glades of Florida, carrying out surveys. The Everglades may be likened to a large shallow lake, enclosing thousands of islets covered with dense thickets, and containing great numbers of alligators. These brave men suffered terrible hardships in this inhospitable region, and one party had to be rescued by a relief expedition, being found on the verge of starvation. In the end, it was decided to run the line down to Homestead, and from there across the Ever- glades to Water’s Edge, or Land’s End, the distance between Homestead and Water’s Edge being some seventeen miles. At this point the road becomes truly marine, or more accurately amphibious, reaching its destination, Key West, by crossing no fewer than forty-seven islands. The largest of these is only sixteen miles in length, the majority being only a few acres in extent and very swampy. The channels between them vary in width from a few hundred yards to seven miles, with a depth of water from a yard or two to over ninety feet. The railway is carried over these gaps on em- bankments, viaducts, and long steel bridges. (Florida Photographic Concern. Surveying in the islands themselves was certainly not “all honey.” Most of the work had to be done afloat, and some of the engineers were lost among the hundreds of islets for days at a time. On account of the distance between the keys, tall towers had to be built for sighting the instruments. The laying of the track through the Ever- glades was got over in a very novel manner. First of all, a channel, three to four feet deep, just enough to float a dredge, was dug along each side of the track route. Down these dredgers moved, using the materials they excavated for building the railway embankment. This means, of course, that a river now flows along each side of the track. It was very tedious labour, for the dredges frequently got stranded. They had then tobe hoisted bodily out of the mud, have wheels attached to them, and then be dragged into deeper water. Alligators often gave the workmen an anxious time, for they were found to be very ferocious, attacking enyone without the slightest provocation. On more than one occasion they were discovered in the early mornings in possession of the dredges, from which they had to be driven off before the crews could board them. From beginning to end unforeseen difficulties arose. For instance, when the track had reached the first island, Key Largo, an inland lake was found that had not been encountered in the preliminary surveys. It was a mile wide and six feet deep, and the bottom was wholly com- posed of peat. At first the engineers tried to throw a trestle bridge over the lake, but the foundation was found to be too unstable. There was no option, therefore, but to drain the swamp and fill it in, a piece of work that occupied fifteen months. What is to the-lay mind, the most interesting

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228 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A temporary staging at Key West on which trains were run before the main MIAME road on the right é MAP OF was completed. From a ma FLORIDA Photograph. * EAST COAST RAILWAY EXTENSION. ss part of the whole undertaking now commenced— the erection of the mighty viaducts and embank- ments that carry the steel rails over the ocean, Key and which necessitated the services of a fleet oe of very miscellaneous and costly craft. Indeed, the line was virtually built from boats, and as one of the engineers remarked: “ It was a web- footed proposition from start to finish.” For use along the keys alone there were requisitioned “incon three tugs, eight stern-wheel steamers of the Zrcetion ¢ Mississippi River type, thirty gasolene launches, ear fourteen houseboats —each with accommoda- tecanhe, tion for a hundred and forty-four men—eight work-boats fitted with derricks and conerete- = mixers, three floating pile-drivers, one floating Pong Key or shop, and over a hundred barges and | ighters. fe Duck Key = By the time the first island was reached an pory army of nearly four thousand men had been z collected and distributed over the route, there being no fewer than thirty construction camps scattered among the numerous islands. As a matter of fact, much difficulty was experienced in securing the services of reliable workmen. This was no doubt due to the fact that the Panama Canal had snapped up the best of the available supply. The result was that hundreds of tough customers were found in the camps, and strict rules had to be enforced to maintain law and order. Intoxicating drink of any kind was debarred, and the strictest measures were employed to prevent the men from getting hold | of it in any way. Occasionally a small boat THE KEY WEST EXTENSION OF THE FLORIDA EAST COAST RAILWAY. Fy mM Meee would try to escape the vigilance of the engineers and the revenue cutters, but it was usually Pa reer any ER Ee ‘ captured sooner or later by the revenue men and railwa - crosse: : seventy-five miles of ocean, using the islands as stepping-stones, Promptly scuttled. The men certainly found the ( FOOQIC

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A RAILWAY ACROSS THE SEA. 229 work trying; the summers were intensely hot, and the mosquitoes of the keys are both numerous and fierce. From Key Largo, the first of the islands tapped by the railway, to Long Key, the line is carried over the sea-gaps between the keys by embankments built up from the ocean bottom. Then we reach the first of the four long-arched viaducts. If the engineers had had their way, they would have connected the whole of the forty-seven islands over which the line passes by where there is an opening of ten thousand five hundred feet. It consists of no fewer than a hundred and eighty-six arches, and is some two miles in length. In the erection of this particular viaduct two hundred and eighty-six thousand barrels of cement, one hundred and seventy-seven thousand cubic yards of crushed rock, one hundred and six thousand cubic yards of sand, six hundred and twelve thousand feet of piling, five thousand seven hundred tons of reinforcing rods, and two million six hundred thousand feet The railway was built from boats of this type, and many men lost their lives through the craft being wrecked or driven out to From a sea in storms. massive ramparts; but the Government at Washington became uneasy at the notion of a solid wall stretching from the mainland to Key West, fearing that it might shut off the tidal flow, and so disturb the aquatic equilibrium of the Bay of Florida. The builders, therefore, were politely informed that they must include a certain number of bridges by way of openings in their embankment in order that the im- memorial habits of the tide in this part of the world should not be hampered. The first long viaduct encountered is that which extends from Long Key to Grassy Key, (Photograph. of dressed timber were used. A large fleet of boats had to be chartered to convey this material to the scene of operations. The crushed rock alone filled vighty tramp steamers. Where the water was shallow special rafts had to be constructed toi carry the necessary erecting plant, ordinary vessels being used in the deeper water. When some ninety of the arches of the Long Key viaduct had been completed, a hurricane that swooped down upon the keys not only tested the work of the engineers to the utmost, but made havoc in the ranks of the men. The

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230 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. One of the island "* stepping-stones,"’ showing the pathway cut through the palms to make room for the railroad track. From a Photo. by Florida Photographic Concern. finished arches stood the test well, but hundreds of moulds and costly wooden frameworks were washed out to sea and lost. The camps on the islands were blown down, vessel after vessel was torn from her moorings and swept out to sea, and much valuable floating equipment destroyed. Many of the labourers were housed in huge barges, or “ quarter-boats,” with two-storey superstructures. These craft were towed from key to key as the work advanced. One of them, “Number Four,” was torn from its moorings at Long Key before the hundred and forty-five men aboard could try to get ashore. Shortly before daylight it drove out across the Hawk Channel, in a smother of sea and a roaring wind, and was smashed on the back of the Florida Reef. The great barge was pounded to pieces in a twinkling, but there were men in her who showed heroic resolution even in this terrible situation. Bert A. Parlin, one of the resident engineers, and the leader on board, might have saved himself, but he went below to try to put heart into his men, and was killed by a flying beam when the superstructure collapsed. The men who had the grit and courage to use their wits crowded out on the balcony to windward to escape this falling wreckage, and swore that they would pull through. Those who had the will to live were saved under almost incredible On the top of one of the embunkments, showing open sea on either hand. From a Photo. by Florida Photographic Concern.

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A RAILWAY ACROSS THE SEA. 231 circumstances, while the cowards who had crowded into the hold perished to a man. As the quarter-boat floundered towards the reef, with the scas breaking clean over her, and with death for all on board apparently certain, a barge whirled past her in a fog of spray. ‘Two mechanics, Kelly and Kennedy, stood side by side on the deck of the quarter- boat. “That barge looks good to me,” said Kelly. “Yl go with you,” replied Kennedy, laconically. Kelly jumped for the barge as it sped past, and Kennedy was at his heels. A grey sea rose and swallowed them, and their com- rades counted them as _ lost. Almost a week later, the barge was picked up with Kelly and Kennedy aboard, crazed and almost dead for want of food and water. They recovered, however, and returned to the keys. As many as eighty-seven of these quarter-boat men were picked up out of the sea alive. With remarkable strength and with courage truly indomitable, they had ridden out the hurricane, clinging to bits of wreckage, to tables, and to trunks. The Italian steamer Jenny passed them late in the afternoon of the day of the wreck, found forty-four of them, and took them into Key West. Her boats risked the dangerous seas all night long, and it is tragic to record that they heard the voices of others in the darkness, but were unable to locate the calls for help. The British steamer Alton picked up twenty-six more, and landed them at Savannah. For days and weeks news of other castaways came from distant ports—Mobile, Gal- veston, New York, London, Liverpool, and even from Buenos Aires, whither they had been taken by passing ships. Without boats or life-preservers, knowing nothing of the sea, and undisci- plined for such a crisis, these hardy toilers battled for life with a success which makes their Railroad-building at eea—This photograph shows bow the islands were linked up. From a Photo. by Florida Photographic Concern.

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233 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. story remarkable in the annals of ship- wreck. ; Of forty-nine men who went out to sea in two houseboats, only one, John Russell, was” saved. He floated on a couple of planks for three days, was blinded by salt-water, and heard ships pass him in the night before he was seen and picked up and taken in to New York. There was something fine about the finish of one Mullin, left in charge of a cement- mixing plant on board a barge. He was alone when she went out to sea, but there was an electric -light plant on board his craft, and as long as those ashore could see the craft in the grey dawn. Mullin’s lights were blazing like a Coney Island steamboat. Evidently he stoked his boiler and stuck to his job until the moment when the sea swallowed him up. Another lone hero on one of these cement barges found himself blown out into the wild Atlantic. Instead of giving up the game as hopeless, he set to work with his wrench to loosen the bolts which held the cypress-wood box of a water-tank to the deck. Stowing himself in the tank, he stayed there until the barge sank under him; the big box floated off, right side up, and he drifted in it for several days until he “ tched the coast of Nassau. As soon as the line was finished to Knight’s Key, a distance of a hundred and nine miles from Miami, it was decided to erect a station here, build a dock, and make it a place of call. A trestle embankment, two thousand feet long, was consequently carried to the dock, which is connected with the open sea by a deep channel, permitting vessels of twenty feet The longest viaduct on the system, seven miles in extent. From a Photo. by Florida Photographic Concern, draught to come alongside the dock itself. From this point onwards the engineers decided, princi- pally for quickness and also for economy, to span the remaining larger ocean gaps by long steel bridges instead ‘of by concrete arches. It was discovered that a steel bridge could be erected in one-third of the time demanded for a concrete one ; moreover, on account of the treacherous sea and sudden storms that arise in these waters, it was safer. The steel bridge which carries Ihe Bahia Honda bridge in course of construction—The Government authorities insisted upon a certain number of bridges and open spans, as otherwise the embankments might have interfered with the tides. vom a Photo, by Florida Photographic Concern.

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A RAILWAY ACROSS THE SEA. 233 Dredges at work scooping up material to form an embankment. From a Photo. by Florida Photographic Concern. the track rests on huge concrete piers, sunk deep into the ocean bottom. Between Knight’s Key and Pigeon Key there is an opening of ten thousand two hundred and fifty feet. Of this distance seven thousand three hundred feet is crossed by steel girders, carried on masonry piers. We now come to another gap, some twenty-two thousand nine hundred feet in length, which is bridged by a seven thousand eight hundred feet steel structure and by some very long embankments. Between Bahia Honda Key and West Cumberland Key another gap occurs of five thousand six hundred feet, four thousand nine hundred and fifty feet of which are spanned by a steel bridge, with a two-hundred-and-ten-foot drawbridge for vessels. One of the greatest difficulties of the whole undertaking was that of obtaining fresh water, which had to be transported in tanks from Miami, a distance of over a hundred miles. At one time it was thought to cut this distance down by hauling water from Manatee Creek, fifty miles away. Accordingly, a water station was put in, and an attempt made to fetch water from that point. A north-west wind came along one day and blew the water out of the bay, so that it was impossible for boats to get within two miles of the water station, and they had to go back to Miami until the water regained its natural level. Three weeks later the wind came from the south-west and piled water up in the bay far above the normal level. A awing-bridge on one of the channels to allow vessels to pass. Front a Photo. by Florida Photographic Concern. Vob, xxxi.—17.

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234 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. All sorts of unlooked-for difficulties of this kind complicated the work of the engineers. On the viaducts and bridges in the open sea the track is kept at a level of more than thirty feet above high water. It has been found, after careful examination, that the maximum height of waves throughout these waters is twenty-five feet. The highest waves known in these regions, therefore, could not break over the top of the bridges or viaducts. It is in the fall of the year, during the months of September and October, that rough weather is experienced in the Bay of Florida. It should be stated, perhaps, that although the viaducts and bridges are of tremen- ous length, they do not, by any means, complete 1e connections. For instance, the viaduct cross Long Key channel is ten thousand five undred feet in length; but the embankments t each end bring its total length up to ineteen thousand one hundred feet. any of these great ramparts were nrown up by suction dredges. ere and there, too, special ridges had to be erected. These had to comply with 1e requirements of the officials at Washing- ton. One boasts of one hundred mpcte Tote e foot clearances each side of a central pier, while there are two bridges with forty foot clearances, and seven bridges with fixed openings of from fifty to sixty-five feet. No contractors were employed, the work being carried out entirely by the Florida East Coast Railway, which appointed Mr. J. R. Parrott as the director of the works, and Mr. J. C. Meredith as constructing engineer. The latter is a famous bridge-builder, and is regarded by his brother engineers as a man of much courage and resource, and he certainly showed these qualities to the full while engaged in the construction of this unique railway. Although a single-track railway, the extension has cost over three million pounds—or more than twenty thousand pounds per mile. It is expected, however, to be, in every sense of the word, a financial success. It brings New York within close touch of Cuba and also much nearer the Panama Canal, the West Indies, and the States of South America. The journey naturally appeals to the tourist, as this is the only railway which runs for so great a distance over the sea. The traveller can locate his bearings when he leaves the mainland only by the numerous lighthouses which rise from the sea on their skeleton legs, and are visible from the carriage win- dows. Sombrero Reef, Alligator A passenger express train on its way across the sea to Cuba. From a Photograph. Reef, and the American Shoal lighthouses take the place of milestones, which is just as it should be on a “‘sea-going” railway. Throughout the journey ships are seen from the carriage windows—the vessels that ply regularly between the ports on the Atlantic Coast of America, Cuba, the West Indies, and South America.

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SHORT STORIES. gw WAS living in @ Buckingham- | shire at the time when this extra- ordinary adven- ture befell me—in the sum- mer of 1900—and I had in my employment a farm bailiff whom, for the pur- pose of this narrative, we Mre. R. W. Palmer, will call L——. whose narrow escape at the hands of a drunken —_, . bailiff is here described. time that L—— was given From a Photogragh. to bouts of secret drink- ing, during which times he could scarcely be considered responsible for his actions. He was extremely clever in avoiding my notice on such occasions, and how long this state of affairs might have continued it is impossible to say, had it not been for the following incident, which brought matters at last to a definite head. It was market-day in the adjoining town, and the farmers from all round had come in with their cattle and sheep.. I was not in need of any stock for the farm just then, and I had not given L—— any instructions to attend the fair. He, however, went there on his own account, and evidently drank a great deal more than was good for him. I say “ evidently ” with reason, for his next proceeding was to make heavy purchases of cattle, sheep, and pigs on my account, informing the sellers that I would pay them by cheque during the course of the next few days. This was perfectly satisfactory to them, and the result was that the same evening I was absolutely dumbfounded by the sight of great herds of animals being driven into the park that surrounded my house, and there left to graze ! I forget now how much this little escapade of L—’s cost me, but it cost Aim his place, for I bundled him out, bag and baggage, on the spot, and congratulated myself upon being well rid of a worthless scamp. Little did I guess the sequel ! The discharged bailiff hung about the country- I did not know at the. THE BAILIFF’S REVENGE. TOLD BY MRS. R. W. PALMER, AND SET DOWN BY J. P. LOUGHNAN. ILLUSTRATED BY PF. GREY. An exciting story of the Bnglish countryside. How a lady discharged her drunken farm bailiff, and how he sought vengeance for his dismissal. side after he had lost his post with me, but I did not see him again for several weeks. This, if I had but known, was a very remarkable thing, beca:ise he was on the look-out for me, and as I drove about the country a good deal the chances were all in favour of a man like L—— being able to waylay me on the country roads. The truth of the matter was that, not only was he still drinking heavily, but the country folk and my own employés purposely misled him as to my movements from day to day. Thus, while he was lying in wait for me at one spot, I should probably be driving out in the opposite direction. Fearful of alarming me unnecessarily, none of the people ever mentioned L——’s name or his intentions to me, so that I was in complete ignorance of what was going on until the eventful day which I am about to describe. I had ordered my pony carriage at three o’clock, in order to drive over and call on some neighbours who lived about seven miles away. As was my custom, I drove myself, taking with me an old coachman, who sat behind me on the back seat of the carriage. There were two roads, by either of which we could travel, and as it was a fine afternoon I chose the longer route. Nothing at all out of the way happened during the journey ; I found my friends at home; had tea with them; and at about five-thirty prepared to set out for home again. As we drove away from the house, James, the coachman, said to me: “ Are you going home the same way as you came, ma’am ?” “No,” I replied, “I am going back the shortest way.” “ Please, ma’am, I think it would be better to go home the way we came,” said James. “Nonsense, James,” I answered ; ‘‘I want to get back as soon as possible, and I am going by the shortest cut.” I could not see his face, but I can imagine now the struggle that was going on in the faithful fellow’s mind during this dialogue. He did not want tc say anything to frighten me, but, for reasons of his own, he wanted me to go by the other road. Was he to tell me all he knew?

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236 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. He decided not to do so, and we bowled along in silence through the deepening shadows of approaching evening. About two miles from the house we had left the road ran down a hill, bordered on either side by thick woods, and then “Our pursuer dropped his reins and put up fi gun again.” passed up another hill and on into the open country. When we reached the top of this hill I saw ahead of us, at the foot of the slope, a two- wheeled farmer’s cart drawn up by the road- side, with a man sitting quite motionless on the driver’s seat. . James had evidently been keeping a very sharp look-out ahead, for I had scarcely time to notice the man and cart when a voice behind me exclaimed, “ For Heaven’s sake, ma'am, drive as hard as you can!” “Why ?”” I asked, in amazement. “Tl tell you why afterwards, ma’am, but ~- please whip up now and drive as hard as you possibly can until we get out of sight of that cart ahead |”? There was no doubting the tone of sincerity in Tames’s voice. The road ¢ , being narrow, it was A 4 Z impossible to turn 2 a , back, so I followed his advice and whip- ped up my ponies to the smartest trot they were capable of, all the time keeping an eye on the mysterious cart at the foot of the hill, which we were now rapidly approaching. It was not until we were fairly close that some glimmering of the truth flashed across my mind. Then I saw that across the knees of the man in front there lay a gun, and, glancing at his face, I recognized the features of L——, my discharged bailiff ! Then I realized that James's fears were nc idle fancies, but that here, by the side of the path ahead, death was lying in wait for me, unless some merciful power intervened. How shall I describe that rush down the hill ? Every instant I expected to see the man’s hands -_ . oe

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SHORT STORIES. 237 close on his weapon, and every instant that he delayed made the space between us shorter and the result of his shot more certain. I bent my head down instinctively, and, laying the whip along my ponies’ backs, sent them galloping onward down the road. The moments seemed like hours, and it was not until we were almost level with the other cart that a new truth burst upon me. The man in the cart was asleep! Oh, if we could only sweep past without waking him ! The hoof-beats of my ponies sounded like pistol shots on the roadway. Surely, surely, I thought, the noise must rouse him! Six—four —two yards separated us from the cart on the roadside. Then we were level—we were past him—and he had not awakened! A wave of relief swept through my heart, and at the same instant there came the voice of James, harsh with excitement and fear :— “* Look out, ma’am! Look out ! head down! He’s shooting !” Even as he spoke the roar of a gun rang out, re-echoing through the silent woods, and the Bend your whistle of a charge of shot soundeu over our heads. Crouching low, I lashed the ponies to their topmost speed, just as another report crashed out behind. R-r-ip! R-r-rip! The pellets cut their way along the woodwork of the carriage and chen went buzzing off into the air. L—— had aimed too low this time and too much to one side, but a few of the pellets had grazed the outside of the carriage. Thank goodness! we were still untouched. é “ Drive hard, ma’am, drive hard!” breathed the coachman. “He is coming after us! It we can reach the village we shall be safe.” I nodded at James’s words and kept the ponies at full stretch, while the rattle of pursuing hoofs told me that L——had now begun the chase in grim earnest. Fortunately my ponies were fast ones, and, having got a start of over thirty yards, I felt that we were fairly safe if we could maintain our lead. The village was two miles away, and I settled down to do those miles in record time. Foramilewe kept our lead (I quoteJames), and then our pursuer dropped his reins and put up his gun again. He gave us both barrels, and we heard the pellets pattering on the road all round us, like raindrops, but once more he failed to wing us. Instead, he put himself hors de combat, for his horse swerved towards the hedge, the wheel of his cart went over a heap of stones, and next moment L—— was flung clean into a . thick hedge, which, luckily for him, broke his fall and saved him from serious injury. This left us free to continue our course unmolested, and we eventually reached home, quite unharmed, after the most exciting drive that I have ever experienced. What became of L—— afterwards I never knew. He disappeared from that neighbourhood the same day, and was never heard of again, so far as I could make out. But even now I some- times shiver to think of what would have happened if he had been awake that evening when we passed him at the foot of the hill. A DEAL IN OSTRICHES. BY CHARLES CONWAY. ILLUSTRATED BY T. SOMBRFIBLD. How two men, both very hard up, evolved a novel scheme for making money, and how it panned out. @ thing to raise the wind, and at j once,” I remarked. We were sitting in my humble rooms in Cape Town, and both of us were very short of funds. Just at that time the colony was passing through a period of severe depression. We had tried various specu- lations, but nothing had prospered, and now, but for a matter of fifty pounds or so, which was

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f a = 238 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. quickly melting away, we were absolutely “ on the rocks.” IT awaited my friend's reply with anxiety, as he puffed calmly away at his pipe. 1 knew him to be a man of great ingenuity and resource, but was scarcely prepared for the startling proposal he made. “Let’s take a shipload of ostriches to South Australia and scll them at a big profit,” he suggested at last. I stared at him in amazement. “ But the cost!” I gasped. “I believe a brace of birds are worth some three hundred pounds. Why, to buy a shipload would need a fortune.” “T didn’t suggest buying them, did I?” drawled Wynyard, in his exasperating way. Seeing, however, that I was getting impatient, he condescended to explain. “In the fi st place, there is a decided slump in ostriches in this colony. Secondly, there is a brisk demand for them in Australia. We will persuade breeders that it is to their advan- taye to send them over to the better market. We will see to the carriage of the birds, and the shippers will send an agent with us to watch their interests and see to the actual sales.” “ But still,” I objected, “1 don't quite see how we can manage such a big undertaking without funds. We shall have to charter a vessel, buy timber for the pens, pay carpenters to fit it up, and so on.” “We must insist on each of the shippers Paying us half of the freight in advance,” returned Wynyard, in his optimistic way. “ Well, I agree on one condit on,” I told him. “You must undertake the interviewing of the ostrich-breeders. It will need more than my powers of persuasion to induce hard-headed Dutchmen to part with their birds, and hard cash into the bargain, for a possible good sale in another continent.” “ Right you are,” aiswere | Wynyard, cheerily. “That will be all right, for I shall point out that their own agent will be with us, and the actual financial business in Australia will be managed by a guarantee society.” My friend had such persuasive gifts that we triumphed over our early difficulties, and in three or four weeks a consignment of valuable birds was actually awaiting shipment. During this time I had chartered a barque of three hundred and fifty tons, and had seen to the erection of stout wooden pens in the hold, each to accommodate about a dozen ostriches. All had gone well, and we were fecling extremely hopeful. With fair luck we expected to make about five hundred pounds each. Unfortunately, however, the birds were not insured. Our resources were now far too low for us to take this precaution, and the Dutch shippers would not. According to their belief, it would have shown want of trust in Pro- vidence to have guarded against loss in that way. It was during the actual shipping of the ostriches that the first mishap occurred. I was down below, receiving and classifying the birds. I had got about a score safely stowed away, when there was a pause. I went on deck to see what was wrong. To my disgust and anger, I found that my orders had been disobeyed. I had _ insisted that not more than one bird should be put in the cage at a time. This cage was a wooden box, about seven feet high, with a door on one side. ‘The only fastening was an ordinary catch, and as there were two birds. inside, the pressure had forced one of them to put his foot through the bottom of the door. “Lower away at once!” I yelled, for the cage was some feet from the deck, and I knew that the door would soon give way. Scarcely had I spoken when this happened, and a fine cock bird fell out in a furious rage. Immediately there was a stampede, every man taking to his heels and seeking refuge on the wharf. What was to be done ? I knew that I was running the danger of being ripped open by the bird, but there was nothing for it but to seize him at once, or he would tush round the deck and probably break his neck. So I chanced it, and sprang on him before he could get on his legs. Gripping his neck with both hands, I knelt beside him and tried to keep his head down, as I knew it would be fatal to allow him to reach an erect position. I had, however, to guard against several dangers, all menacing me at once. The brute was snapping at me with his great beak ; his strong wings were flapping in unpleasant proximity to my head, and his savage claws were beating the deck close to my legs. I could not have kept up the struggle for long, but fortunately the novel experience apparently frightened the ostrich, for he finally ‘“‘ caved in,” and became fairly quiet. “Come and give me a hand,” I called, as soon as I could get breath, and one man with more pluck than the rest came to my assistance. “Stand at that side and catch hold of one wing,” I ordered. When he did so I took a firm grip of the other, and so, standing at the sides, we were safe. as the bird's dangerous kick can only be delivered in front.

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SHORT STORIES. 239 In a few minutes we had him back in the cage, which was then lowered safely into the hold. When, a few hours later, the last of the ostriches was in its pen, we thought our troubles were over. Unfortunately, however, they were only just beginning. The stretch of ocean from the Cape to Australia is perhaps the most stormy in the world. A glance at the map will show you that you may draw a line right round the globe in these latitudes without once meeting land. Soon after we set sail the wind began to freshen, and day by day it became worse. By degrees, also, = \ the seas be ame more and more terrific. One evening I was so fascinated by watching the great waves that I stayed on deck later than usual. When I finally went below I smelt smoke, and could actually see a gleam of fire through chinks in the wood-work. Rushing up the companion, I found that the tween decks were all ablaze. The alarm was quickly given, and a chain of seamen with hand-buckets was formed. The situation was critical, for conditions were very different from those on a steamer, with patent fire-extinguishers, steam pumps, and other modern appliances. Every drop of water had to be got by throwing a bucket into the sea, hauling it up by hand, and then passing it from one man to another to the seat of the fire. Another difficulty was that a big cask of meat, weighing several hundred- weight, which had been chained to a beam had broken loose owing to the violent pitching. It was rolling about in such a way as to make it dangerous to approach the fire, and we had to watch our opportunity and dodge it. Fortunately I must have seen the fire soon after it broke out. But for the accident of my turning in a little later than usual, it might easily have got a complete hold, when nothing could have saved us. Though we succeeded in subduing the outbreak, the wind continued to increase in force all night. When I awoke next morning I could tell by the motion of the ship that this was no ordi- nary gale. On reaching the deck on my usual visit to the galley for coffee I was met with a rush of air that _ literally took my breath away. In a moment I was thrown “knelt beside it and tried to keep its head down.” down, and my tin kettle went rolling away into the scuppers. On regaining my feet I clung to the mast, and looked round at a most appalling sight. It seemed no exaggeration to speak of the waves as “mountains high,” and the ship, was apparently trying to stand on end. Even an albatross was glad to shelter under our lee. The captain was standing by his cabin door, gazing anxiously at the lower top-sails—the only canvas set, for we were hove-to. He took no notice of my shouted inquiries. Indeed, the rush of wind was so tremendous that it is doubtful whether he could hear them.

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240 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Just then someone took me by the arm, and looking round I saw Wynyard. He led me below and along a narrow little alley to the hold. “ What’s the matter?” I asked him, as we staggered against the terrifying lurches of the little vessel. “If we don’t do something we shall lose every one of the birds,” he said. “ We are no good on deck anyhow, while down here we may succeed in few of them.” The dim light of an oil lamp made visible a scene of indescrib- able confusion. Many of the birds had been actually thrown clean over the dividing fence into some other pen. Some were piled up against the starboard side in a confused medley of long necks, broken wings, and writhing limbs. “Can anything be done?” I said, a little hopelessly, for it seemed suicide to venture into that pandemonium. I did try, however, though it was a foolhardy proceeding. Scarcely was I inside when I was thrown down, and found saving a myself struggling with a bird. Before I escaped my forearm was torn in such a manner that I shall carry the marks of the wound all my life. By the time Wynyard had bound it up, he was, as usual, ready with a plan. Returning on deck to obtain aid, we found the storm, if any- thing, worse than ever. The sailors were standing about, silent and grave, evidently awed by its violence. We induced a couple of them to come below with us, and then set about our task. Wynyard had obtained a num- ber of sacks sewn together, with a rope at each corner. We two and the two hands each took a rope, and clambered on the great cross-beams of the ship, above the pens of struggling birds. Then we slipped the sack under the body of a bird, hoisted him up, and worked him back into his proper pen.

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for the ropes. have been fat out continually, by the di Janterns. in the course of our wor us roa anxi round to his home. a nasty gash in inches long, 24f SHORT STORIES. ‘orget the difficulties and dangers We had to sit down and grip the s, as both hands were needed To have fallen into a pen wou al, for the ostriches were kicking smashing the woodwork to vieces. ‘The difficulties were increased mness of the light from our incident occurred k, which made in spite of ‘A most ludicrous ar with laughter, » and danger. ked a fine cock bird He had sust ained his neck quite twelve but nevertheless imme- diately attacked his dish of mealies. Every mouthful he took, : instead of pro- to his stomach, We had just wor the wound in his tough, gristly neck. feeding all the same, apparently in labour was in vain. Later on, we wrapped him round with coal-tar bandages, an he was well in @ week. ‘After the storm we set to work to box off the birds separately, each in his own pen oozed out of He kept on blissful ignorance that his | But the mortality consequently © obtained enough cash for the birds to pay hundred poun' had been very great, and ur losses were heavy. landed the guarantee society “We hoisted him up and worked him back into his proper pea Sad to relate, however, after all our scheming, there was nothing for us. Wynyard and I parted as soon as we arrived at Adelaide, not to meet again for many years. He went up country with the birds, while I was left alone with two shillings in my t— my only resources !

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THE GHOST OF LEADING ROAD. By T. J. CHOMAS. Illustrated by F. PAGCGERSON. One expects to hear of ancient granges and historic castles possessing spectres, but the idea of a modern American “frame” house being ‘‘ haunted ” some- how strikes one as incongruous. Here, however, is an account of such a dwell- ing and the weird manifestations which have taken place there—as remarkable a narrative, surely, as any in the annals of the supernatural. Mr. Thomas writes: “I personally interviewed all parties concerned in the case, and though I do not believe in ghosts I was greatly impressed by the strange stories told by those who claim to have seen the spectre and heard the noises.” antealk. AUGUST SCHILL, of Cleveland, fe Ohio, sat in his front room reading the paper, as he always did on Sunday evenings, while his wife cleared away the supper dishes and prepared the youngsters for bed. As he glanced over the coloured comic pages he laughed, for the pictures were really funny. Suddenly, however, the laugh died from his lips and the paper slipped to the floor, for Schill felt a cold, clammy hand upon his cheek. He turned to see who had stolen in upon him so quietly, for he had heard no sound, but to his surprise he saw that he was alone. Schill raised his hand to his forehead, and found that it was covered with a cold perspira- tion. Rising, he went into the kitchen, where his wife was engaged in her work, while the children laughed and played. “Who was it came into the front room?” he asked. “Why, no one,” answered his wife. ‘The children have not left the kitchen, and I certainly have not. Why?” “ Oh, nothing,” said the mystified Mr. Schill, and he returned to his paper, but he found him- self unable to read. He kept thinking of that A sketch of the ghost, from the descriptions of those who have seen it. clammy touch upon his cheek, and the more he thought of it the more convinced he became that he had dozed off and tad been dreaming. He said nothi g to his wife of what had hap- pened, however, and the family went to bed as usual. Nothing further happened until about two o'clock on the following morning, at a time when everyone was asleep and the house dark and still. Suddenly the whole family was aroused by a heavy step on the stairs, as of a big man ascend- ing, wearing heavy boots. Schill, armed with a revolver, ran to the landing and looked down, but could see nothing. Filled with wonder, he turned to still the fears of the rest of the household, and even as he did so there came the sound of the front door banging. Bearing a lighted lamp in one hand and his revolver in the other, Schill rushed to the lower floor and tried the front door. It was locked, just as he

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THE GHOST OF LEADING ROAD. 243 had left it when retiring to rest. He went to the back door, but that, too, was not only locked, but bolted. The windows were all closed and fastened, and there was no way by which a person could have either entered or left. Thoroughly mystified, and half inclined to believe that they had all been dreaming, the various members of the family retired to their rooms, but not to sleep, for the mysterious visitant had by no means finished with them. All through the night, until shortly before daybreak, the sound of someone stamping about the house continued. The children, covering their heads with the bed-clothes, trembled with fright, and the puzzled Schill, in order to reassure them as much as possible, remained outside their door with his revolver. From below stairs there came sounds of some- one moving about, and a cold draught seemed to run through the house, causing the gas to flicker so violently that it often threatened to go out com- pletely. Finally, as though to pro- perly finish the night’s reign of terror, the mysterious visitant uttered a terrible shriek, which was followed by the shrill scream of a woman. The cry was that of a person in mortal agony, and continued for several moments, finally dying away | in a dismal moan. : When dawn came Schill and the other members of the family made a tour of the whole house, but could find nothing that would were fastened. Then she lit every gas-jet in the house and returned to the parlour to await the arrival of the rest of the household. Unable to read any more, she just sat still and listened, too terrified to stir. Presently there reached her ears a low moaning sound, which appeared to come from the attic rooms above. Then it seemed to her that she heard a woman whispering, and later there came a terrible scream, followed by the thud of a heavy body upon the floor which made the whole house quiver. Hastily rising, the girl rushed to the door leading from the parlour to the dining- room and locked it. She even stood with her back braced against it, fearful that some terrible shape would force itself in upon her. Meanwhile the shrieking and moaning had died away, only to be followed by the tramping of heavy feet, which seemed to wander about serve to explain the strange = From a) noises of the night. A few nights following this hair-raising expe- rience Viola Lozynska, a young woman who boarded with the Schills at their home in Leading Road, Cleveland, sat in the parlour reading. She was suddenly aroused by someone knocking at the front door, and, rising, she went to answer the summons. What was her surprise, on open- ing the door, to find no one there. She heard a heavy step in the porch, however, and craned her head forward to see who it was. The porch was untenanted, and there was no sign of a footprint in the heavy blanket of snow which covered the boards. Being alone in the house, the young woman was thoroughly alarmed, and, hastily retreating, she double-locked the door and hurried around to all the windows, to make sure that they, too, The “haunted house” in Leading Road. { Photograph. the upstairs rooms and then descend the stairs into the rear rooms. Presently this sound, too, died away, and Viola, nerving herself, decided to open the door just a trifle and peep into the room beyond. She made to turn the key and open the door, but to her horror she found that the door was not locked at all! And yet she was positive that it had been locked, for she had taken the precaution to try it. Carefully turning the knob, she opened the door a mere fraction of an inch and placed her eye to the opening. The rooms beyond were dark ! had been turned out ! With a shriek the now thoroughly frightened young woman slammed-to the door and turned The lights

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244 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the key in the lock. As she recoiled in horror to the front of the room she distinctly heard the sound of mocking laughter in the room above her head. When the other members of the household returned shortly after they found the unfortu- nate girl on the verge of fainting. Into their wondering ears she poured the story of her terrifying experience, and Schill, accompanied by his wife and two or three others, made a complete tour of the house, but could find nothing that would serve to explain away the mystery. Every night thereafter, despite the careful watch kept by Schill and several of his friends, the ghostly visitations continued. The ghost, if such it chanced to be, seemed to have no regular hours for visiting its haunts. Sometimes its nightly visit commenced at eight o'clock; at other times it did not materialize until after midnight. On a couple of occasions it w-s heard as late as four o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Anna Svoboda, Schill’s mother-in-law, had perhaps the most terrifying experience of all. The old lady had been accustomed to sleep in a room by herself, her apartment being on the second floor at the rear of the house. Like other members of the family, she had scoffed at the idea of a ghost haunting the house, but she could not deny having heard the heavy footfalls and the unearthly screams and groans. One night, about a week after the ghost made its first appearance, Mrs. Svoboda found that she could not sleep. Her nerves seemed to be on edge—due, no doubt, to the experience of the preceding week. a A light was burning dimly in the room and the entire house was as silent as the grave. Suddenly, without any apparent cause, the light spluttered and went out, just as it does in all properly-written ghost stories. Mrs. Svoboda had no time to speculate, how- ever, for next moment she felt a cold, rough hand pressing down upon her face. It closed relentlessly about the horrified woman’s mouth, and she realized that she was slowly being smothered. She tried to free herself of the clammy clutch, but the hand was immovable and her struggles were in vain. Next moment, however, the pressure on the woman’s mouth was released, and for a moment she saw the hand poised above her face, sur- rounded by a strange, bluish light. ‘Then the hand vanished completely, in a puff of vapour. No sooner had it vanished than Mrs. Svoboda heard the heavy thump of a foot on the floor. The sounds proceeded out into the hall and down the stairs, as though someone was walk- ing away. When the noise had completely ceased Mrs. Svoboda sat up in bed and screamed at the top of her voice. In response the whole household came rushing to the door, which, strange to say, they found locked! The frightened woman had to open it herself to admit the others. No more manifestations of the ghostly presence were heard that night, but again on the following night the spook showed up on schedule time. ‘This time the ghost contented itself with rattling all the windows and setting up such an unearthly shrieking and groaning that people living in adjacent houses were awakened from their sleep. The house was shaken so severely that Mr. Steve Mondock, who lives next door to the Schill home, was aroused. Mondock stated that he had often heard strange sounds in the adjoining house, and other neighbours ‘confirmed the story, declaring they had suspected the place was haunted long before the Schills moved in. On occasions when the windows and doors were rattled by an invisible hand Schill would hurry about with his revolver, intent on shooting anything or anyone he saw prowling about. But never did he see anything to fire at. One night Schill remained downstairs on guard while the rest of the household slept. Taking up his vigil in the kitchen, the master of the house waited, his finger toying with the trigger of his heavy revolver. Shortly after midnight he felt a chill draught strike his face. Next moment he felt a hand upon his shoulder. Swinging around, he raised his revolver, but, as usual, there was nothing to shoot at. Before Schill had recovered from his surprise he heard a slight click, and, turning again, he saw the kitchen door, which had been locked, slowly open! It opened to a width of two feet or more, then slowly closed again, and as it clicked shut Schill heard a weird laugh just outside. Rushing to the door, the master of the house frantically tried to open it, but it was locked ! So unpleasant did the ghost make it for every- body concerned, especially in the upper part of the house, that all the furniture was removed to the lower floor, and the attic was turned over to the uncanny nocturnal visitor. John Svoboda, a brother-in-law of Schill, heard the stories of the ghost, and, being a firm disbeliever in anything supernatural, he volun- teered to come over one night and “lay” the ghost once and for ever. “Take my word for it,” said he, “ there are no such things as ghosts. You people have been imagining things. How is a spirit going to come back and lock doors and bang windows ? Answer me that.”

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THE GHOST OF LEADING ROAD. 245 Being vouchsafed no reply, John continued to ridicule the idea, and finally, when bedtime drew near, he advised everyone to go to bed, forget all about their troubles, and trust to him. “Tm going upstairs,’ he said, “and I’m going to lay that ghost person by the heels.” And upstairs he went. For ten minutes no sound came from the upper regions of the house. John had evidently cowed the ghost. Presently, however, a terrible shriek was heard; then the rush of feet, which raced — across the upper floor and tore down the stairs at a rapid rate. Next mo- ment John burst into the room, white- faced and trembling violently. — / / hp, ph ea “She saw the hand poised above her face, surrounded by a strange, bluish light.” “T saw it!” he cried. “It’s no joke; I saw it with my own eyes. No sooner had I gone into the back room and turned off the light when I saw something rise from the floor like a puff of smoke, and a black shape, like a giant

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246 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Window SSS SSA Ugoer Floor Han of “Oh, please take it away! Don’t let it touch me!” When she had been quietéd the little girl said that when she turned her head she dis- tinctly saw the white-gowned figure of a tiny baby stand- ing in the semi-darkness on the stairs. “Tt looked at me just a moment,” said the girl, “‘ and then it disappeared.” That n’ght, after the Christ- mas Eve party had broken up, the ghost held forth in ghastly revelry. For an hour or more it laughed fiendishly in the upper part of the house, and once it seemed to be drop- ping heavy weights from a considerable height. It ran backwards and forwards along the floors, and ended its per- formance by emitting a terri- fying shriek that could be heard throughout the neigh- bourhood. Following the episode of Christmas Eve a more careful search than ever was made of THE ‘HAUNTED’ HOUSE. Showing The attic from whence the mani festa tions Seem Jo originate the attic rooms of the “haunted house of Leading Road,” as the place began to football, rolled over and over towards me, as though someone was kicking it. “ The strange vapour, which looked like smoke, smelt abominably. It got into my mouth and nose and eyes and almost choked me, I wouldn’t go into that room again for a thousand dollars !” On Christmas Eve the spectre appeared to the children as they were playing around their tree. A number of neighbours’ children had gone to the Schill home to enjoy a party given by the youthful members of the household. Viola Lozynska, the young lady boarder, was helping the children to have a good time around the Christmas - tree, which was hung with presents, sweets, and ornaments. Little Isabelle Dodd, from a house a short distance away, suddenly paused in her play and turned her head towards the stairs. Next moment she uttered a frightened scream, and ran breathless and gasping into another room. “Take it away!’’ cried the child, be called. The attic floor was gone over inch by inch, and when thus closely scrutinized it was noted that the floor was stained here and there with small dark spots, resembling blood. The search was even carried under the floor, and what was the surprise of The attic corger from which the ghost is said to appear. From a Photograph.

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THE GHOST OF LEADING ROAD. 247 Schill when, beneath the flooring, jammed in behind the clapboards, there was found a man’s shirt, torn and bloodstained. That same night, which was Friday, December 27th, the ghost came forth as usual to haunt his old home. This time the Schills and the other people living in the house were kept awake for over an hour by the steady, hair-raising ‘“‘ drip, drip, drip” of something on the attic floor. Presently this horrifying sound died away, and was followed by ten minutes of demoniac laughter. Someone seemed to be approaching the head of the stairs with heavy tread. At the landing the sounds ceased, and then, to the terror of all who heard, there came the sound of water splashing down the stairs in a veritable cataract. On investigation, however, the stairs were found to be perfectly dry ! Needless to say, the story of the “ haunted house’ spread through the neighbourhood like wildfire, and by the following Monday the whole city was conversant with the weird affair. Several men, firmly convinced there were no such things as ghosts, bravely volunteered to go into the house and put the spectre to flight. ‘They went singly and in pairs and threes, but no one party ever paid more than one visit to the rendezvous of the awesome spook. One and all they fled precipitately, later telling tales of hearing awful whisperings, of hearing blood dripping on to the floor, and of seeing a large, black, bear-like shape hurling itself at them from the corner of the attic room. Among those who volunteered to spend the night in the haunted attic was a neighbour of the Schills, a man known to be most courageous in the face of ordinary danger. Armed with a revolver, he made his way into the attic, pre- pared to spend the night there. For two hours nothing happened and the Schills retired, confi- dent that the ghost, for that night at least, was going to remain in seclusion. Shortly after midnight the whole household was awakened by a loud scraping sound that came from above ; then a woman’s shriek echoed through the house, followed by the scurrying of feet and the fall of a heavy body. The sound of hurrying feet crossed the floor to the upper landing and raced down the stairs, to the foot of which Schill dashed, his intention being to intercept the ghost. Instead of the spectre, however, it was the neighbour who came clattering down the stairs, his eyes starting from their sockets in horror and his face pale as death. Nothing would induce him to spend another night in the house, nor would he ever say what it was that he had seen. “T cannot believe it myself,” was all he could be induced to say. ‘It was too horrible—too ghastly !” Once, while a Mrs. Campfield lived in the house, she happened to mention to an Arabian woman who peddled goods in the neighbourhood that she had heard strange noises in the place. The Arabian woman nodded her head compre- hendingly. “Once,” she said, “a man hurt his neck in the house. He bled—he die—he go away. But he come back sometimes, maybe.” The district soon became filled with strange rumours regarding the mystery of the haunted house. The most persistent rumour had it that a former tenant had been found in the attic with his throat cut, his head being almost severed from his body, and it was whispered that his ghost came back and tried to wash away the bloodstains on the attic floor. Some who claim to have seen the spectre declare it is that of a headless man. Others are positive it is a giant animal shape, horribly grotesque, with fierce, malignant eyes set in a massive head, and with long, powerful legs at whose extremities there are lance-like claws of great length. Perhaps the most remarkable story of all is that related by Mrs. Campfield, who formerly occupied the haunted house, and who moved after the death of her little baby in August, 1912. While she lived in the house Mrs. Campfield often heard strange, unaccountable noises at night, but at first she paid no particular atten- tion to them. One night she was awakened from a sound sleep by what appeared to be the creaking of the boards in the attic floor. Then, as the frightened woman sat bolt upright in bed, listening, it seemed that someone was throwing a bucket of water down the hall. “There was one night that I shall never for- get,” said Mrs. Campfield. “I was bathing the baby, and sent my little boy Arthur upstairs for something or other. I had told him nothing of the previous noises, nor had the word ‘ghost’ ever been mentioned to him. I heard him drop the article I had sent him for and then he came downstairs screaming. I shall never forget the look of terre on his little face.” Mrs. Campfield turned to her boy, who is a bright little fellow of eight years. “Tell what you saw, Arthur,” she said. “T went up to the attic, and had just found what mamma sent me for,” said the little chap, “when I heard a funny noise. Then I saw something big and black coming towards me. It looked like a bear a little, only it was bigger. T ran as fast as I could. It looked as if it had nothing but a head.” “T know children often imagine they see

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things,”’ continued the mother, as the little fellow finished, “‘ so, wishing to show him there was nothing to be afraid of, I ran upstairs —-and there, coming across the floor towards me, was the hideous black thing. As Arthur says, it looked something like a great bear.” The strange part of it is that this was no wraith of the darkness, born of an overwrought imagination. A gas-jet was burning in the room and it was far from dark. Yet Mrs. Campfield saw the horrible, terrifying shape slowly advancing towards her, its eyes glinting menacingly and its lips working into a smile of inscrutable, inhuman malice. In the light of the gas-jet she saw its huge feet moving, sloth-like, along the floor, and she could hear the paws shuffling on the boards like sandpaper. “Mrs. Campfeld saw the horrible, terrifying shape slowly advancing towards her.” 248 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Tt looked all head and shoulders,’ resumed the woman, “and as it came to the head of the stairs I ran. Picking up the baby from the tub, I wrapped it in my cloak and fled with the children out the back way to the house next door. I am positive that the front door and screen were locked, but when my husband came we went back and found the front door wide open. I know that something went out. My husband laughed at me, but he has heard the noises too.” Mrs. Campfield paused, and her face paled a little. “ And—I don’t like to tell this,” she concluded, almost in a whisper. “I saw the same black thing the night before my baby died.” The baby, it seems, had been ill only a short time, and the mother was watching over it when she heard a strange sound on the stairs. Look-

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THE GHOST OF LEADING ROAD. ing up, she was horrified at seeing the same terrible, bear-like shape amble down the steps, pause at the bottom to turn its horrible face her way, and then shuffle past, out into the night. Next moment, from the upper regions of the house, came a soul-chilling groan, followed by an unearthly shriek that made the windows rattle. On Monday night, December 30th, the Schill household was thrown into such a panic of fear that it was found necessary to send the children to the home of a neighbour. All night long the fearsome noises continued. Doors and windows were opened by an unseen hand, and chairs were moved slowly, but per- ceptibly, across the floors. From above came a low moaning, followed by the shuffling sound of feet. This was succeeded by a thumping noise as of someone dropping weights from a height of several feet. Presently these noises died away, and when all had grown quiet it seemed to Schill and his wife and the other adult people that they could 249 and chairs and a few pack.’ of cards with which to pass away the time. A light was placed on the table, and the eleven men sat about the board, playing cards, talking, and awaiting the appearance of the ghost which had so long terrified those who lived in the house. During the progress of the game the men were visibly nervous, but tried to cover it by jesting about the alleged spectre. Some laughingly suggested that it might bea hungry cat ; another said it might be a big rat ; while one man had a shrewd idea that it was nothing at all. Suddenly, while the party were still discussing the phenomenon, a chill blast seemed to circle the room, The Jight of the lamp flickered for a moment and then burned bright again. [rom the hall came the sound of scraping feet and then a groan, like that of a man dying in terrible agony. The shuffling sound stopped outside the door, and next moment, while all looked in breathless wonder, the door, which had been locked, slowly opened the mere fraction of an inch. Through hear the whispering voices of children. Suddenly the whisper- ings grew more pronounced, and ended in a soul-terrifying shriek- ing, which continued for several minutes, dying down at last into a dismal moan. Another period of quiet fol- lowed, and then, with a sudden- ness that was startling, the shrieking commenced again, reaching such a pitch that the sounds seemed to cut into the listeners’ flesh. Schill alone of the entire family kept his nerves together. He sat in the lower part of the house, listening to the awesome noises, while his wife, white-faced and trembling, tried to do her work. She-ly before midnight a party of men, among whom were two doctors, called at the house by request, it having been decided that they should act asa jury to discover the cause of the strange manifestations. At the tir ie of their arrival the house was as silent as the grave, the ghost having apparently grown tired of groaning and shrieking. The eleven men comprising the investigating committee made their way to the attic, where they were provided with a table Vol. xxxi.—18, BLBYEN 10 WAYLAY | | ‘HALF BEAR’ GHOST! Committée Is Chosen to Solve West Side Mystery. ‘NOISES ARE CONTINUED {Big Crowd Gathers at Schill 1 Home, Which Specter i Haunts. Eight layment, three physicians and la detail of pofice, to say nothing of ‘between two and three husdred ex- cited Weat Siders, went ghost hunt- ing Monday night in and about the house at 4200 Leading road. For squares around the prosaic looking story and a half house the air was asurcharged epprehen- ‘gon. From Up to lip sped the infor- mation: “The were-wolf and trolls raved all night in the attic.” Atter a night of pure horror, August Schill and hie family Monday deter- mined to rout the mysterious thing that has made Its home in their at- tic. Quietly Schitt went about among his neighbors, sceking volunteers. He did not ask the young men, but ap- toached those nearer his own age, about forty years, At 7 o'clock five agreed to spend the sight in-the at- te. . A newspaper cutting which refers to the attempt made by an investigating committee to lay the ghost, the aperture there appeared a pungent, yellowish vapour, driv- ing into the room for all the world like the breath of some large animal. ‘The vapour car- tied with it an odour so abomin- able that the men were almost suffocated. Choking, they rose to their feet and made for the door. Before anyone could reach it, however, the door slowly closed again, and when one of the men tried to open it he found, to the speechless astonishment of all, that it was locked! Satisfied that someone was playing a joke on them, the jury returned to the table, but there was no talking or jesting now. Each of the eleven kept his eyes straight ahead, and dared scarcely to breathe. Ten minutes passed. No sound came to the ears of the anxious men. Another ten minutes went by, and still no sound was heard. Then, with a suddenness that caused all to turn deathly pale, came the horrible shrieking and groaning, and then the sound of a falling body. And, most remarkable of all, the sound seemed to be in their very midst —tight in the same room ! When the shricking and groan- ing had subsided there ensued a

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250 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. | low scratching sound in a far corner of the room. All eyes were turned in that direction, and next moment a yellowish puff of smoke appeared rising from the floor. It rose higher and higher, spreading out as it did so, and from the very centre of the cloud they saw an animal face protruding. The vapour gradually thinned out, and as it did so the body of the mon ster appeared. The men rushe towards it, but before any of them could touch it the strange appari- tion had vanished. The committee of investigators

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THE GHOST OF LEADING ROAD. 251 thereupon adjourned sine die, nor did they pause to offer any opinions on what they thought of the horrifying manifestations. A number of neighbours who had determined to keep watch with Schill and his wife, together with other members of the family, lingered in the lower part of the house. To their intense surprise the manifestations continued, the upper windows shaking and rattli-g and the floors squeaking in a truly remarkable manner. The following day the entire family reached the conclusion that they would not spend another night in the haunted house. They accordingly departed to the homes of neighbours, leaving the furni- ture where it stood, and it seems that the ghost, having regained the freedom of the place, held high “From the very centre of the cloud they saw an animal face protruding. revelry on the Tuesday night, wandering about the unoccupied rooms, rattling windows, open- ing and shutting doors, and banging the furniture about at a great rate. Viola Lozynska, one of the last to lose her nerve by reason of the ghost’s capers in the attic and other parts of the house, finally admitted that she believed there was something supernatural about it. At first she had attributed the noises to the sighing of the wind, to draughts, and to her imagination. She changed this opinion, however, when a glass of water vanished before her eyes ! The attic, which appears to be the favourite haunt of the spectre, is a room measuring about twelve by thirty feet. The walls and ceiling are unplastered, and the rafters are bare. All about the apartment are hooks, on which articles of clothing are hung, while the floors are piled high with boxes and barrels. A careful scrutiny of the room failed to reveal any opening through which either a man or even a small animal could squeeze its way. No marks appear on the window-sills to show that the sashes have been pried up or that anyone has climbed in. On the floor, however, there are a number of bloodstains, some apparently old, others fresh. One investigator, going to the place in broad daylight, searched the upper part of the house carefully for hidden strings, cords, or any other trappings by means of which a practical joker could work. He found nothing. Even the boxes and barrels were searched, without result. The investigator had been smoking while he scrutinized the attic, and when ready to go below he thoughtlessly left his pipe on the window-sill. The window, it may be mentioned, was closed and fastened. Having assured himself that there was no one in the upper part of the house, the man went downstairs, closing and locking the door behind him. No sooner had he reached the lower floor than he heard the same peculiar sounds that had startled members of the family for six weeks. Hurrying upstairs, he unlocked the door leading into the attic and burst into the room. Everything was as he had left it, with the excep- tion that his pipe, which he distinctly remem- bered having left on the window-sill, was now on a little shelf at the opposite side of the room ! The happenings at the “ haunted house ” developed into the sole topic of conversation of the inhabitants of that section of the city where it is located. Men known for their courage and disbelief in ghosts and other things uncanny have sought to solve the mystery by personal observation and investigation, but the mystery persists in remaining unsolved.

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. Adventure and Discovery in Dutch New Guinea. By CAPTAIN C. G. RAWLING, C.LE. An account of the doings of the British expedition dispatched in 1909 to Dutch New Guinea for the purpose of exploring the vast unknown regions of that part of the great island. The expedition, besides making valuable collections of birds and beasts, destined for the British Museum, discovered a strange new race of men, the Tapiro pygmies, none of whom reach five feet in height. The hardships undergone by the explorers were terrible, only eleven men out of four hundred remaining fit for duty at the conclusion of operations. In these articles Captain Rawling, who was latterly in command of the expedition, describes some of the discoveries made and paints a vivid picture of the strenuous work and hardship entailed upon the explorer in the interior of New Guinea, where all the forces of man and Nature conspire against the intruder. Ill. ESTIVE seasons are few and far |} between’ among the Papuans. Poor creatures! They have little time to spare for amusement, their thoughts ~ being entirely directed towards the sini of sufficient food. This state- ment refers more particularly to the women, who are the workers and chief food - collec- tors, the men vary- ing their time between occasional hunting trips and lolling about in blissful idleness on the sands opposite the village. The Papuan male evi- dently has a rooted dislike for work and ideas of his ownas to the duties of wives. In the month of May the principal Some of the lady dancers — The . of the feet and undulation of the body. Py From a Photograph. ing the house festival of the year takes place —closely con- nected, as might be expected, with the all- important question of food. Pigs are not bred in the villages, but are run down in the jungle when very young and then brought up amongst the people, sub- sisting precariously on the miscel- laneous débris discarded by their human com- panions. The The Feast slaugh- of ter of the Pigs. these pigs is made the occasion for a dance and general jollifica- tion. On one occa- sion for several days friends from the neighbouring villages had been collecting at fakes the form of much shufling Parimay strain- p

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 253 The women lashing down the pig prior to the sacrifice. From a Photograph, accommodation to the utmost and causing intense excitement. On the night previous to the day of days a great dance took place, entirely on the part of the women, for the men—noble creatures !—never demean themselves by joining in such frivolities. The dancing takes the form of a curious shuffling of the feet and much undulation of the body. The greater the move- ment of the latter, combined with the least action of the legs, the nearer is the artiste to perfection, according to Papuan standard. Some of the lady dancers are seen in the first photograph. About nine o’clock the women were sent to bed, a curious kind of concert being then carried on by the men throughout the night. When morning broke we found that a platform had been erected in the centre of the village and that the men had collected with their drums at the far end of the beach, bedecked in all their finery of paradise-bird plumes and trade cloth obtained from us. Two great pigs were driven by the women into the forest, and then back again by a hidden path, and so into a hut, enter- ing by the rear door. A warlike display now took place, at the conclusion of which the warriors grouped themselves round the platform, whilst four or five of their number took up their position near the doorway of the hut where the pigs were confined, waiting there for the quarry to be driven forth. As soon as the wretched animals were allowed out they were caught, thrown to the ground, and firmly bound, powdered chalk being thrown into their eyes. They were then lifted high by many hands and, with a man seated astride, carried round the village to the platform and there lashed down by the women, as depicted in the snapshot reproduced on this page. The executioners, armed with heavy clubs, beat the poor beasts to death at a given signal ; but, so as to show out- ward sorrow for having taken their lives, and perhaps to propitiate the departed spirits, every man and woman wept copiously, shrieking at the top of their voices, and all the while going through the same performances as if they were wailing over the death of a departed friend. Some of the “ mourners” are shown in the photograph appearing on the next page. The carcasses were then loosened and laid in the village street, the men in turn jumping over and belabouring them with sticks. Having done this two or three times, the bodies were carried down to the river, where they were washed, the Papuans carrying out ablutions at the same time. The headman next made a speech, after which the ceremony

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254 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. terminated and the meat was divided amongst the audience. The afternoon show was even mo“e interesting, as this was the only opportunity afforded to the women of beating the men without chance of reprisal. If a man was popular he received little more than taps, but if the reverse he not only found it wiser to flee, but also not to return till the termination of the show. Of course much of the beating was make-belief, but there were many cases in which the blows were laid on in real earnest, the stronger sex fleeing into the river to escape the irate women. I doubt, however, whether the wives ventured to pay off many old scores on their husbands, or if they did it was sheer foolhardiness, for they would receive on another day all that they gave, with considerable Some of the “ mourners " interest. The women, made bold by the occa- sion, even invaded our camp and tried on the same game there, and for a time we entered into their humour, and then turned and drove them forth. Just about this time our second relay of coolies were beginning to sicken and die, for, curious to relate, though coming from the islands of the East Indies, they were quite unable to withstand the climate of New Guinea. Beri-beri and malaria weté the chief causes of sickness, the former as Often as not ending fatally, the latter rendering the victim incapable of carrying a load for many days, and, if the attack was prolonged, necessitating his removal from the country. The otigin of beri-beri is unknown, though attributed by some to the inferior quality of rice ; whilst malaria results from the bite of the anopholes mosquito. Sores on the body, due to leech-bite, also rendered many men useless, as in this enervating climate, and with the sufferers debilitated, no amount of doctoring appears to have any effect. The scarcity of labour put a stop to rapid progress, threw an undue strain on the remaining " wailing over the carcass of the unfortunate pig. From a Photograp men, and even threatened to bring about a total collapse of the transport. Speaking of leeches, I may The Land of mention that the country Leeches. swarms with these and other obnoxious creatures. The leeches, hanging pendent from the leaves of trees overarching every path, drop upon the

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 255 Excited natives of an up-river village wading out to meet the explorers’ canoes. From a Photograph. traveller as soon as his person or clothes come into contact, the more voracious even loosening their hold when the man is some distance be- neath, and falling upon him. One may be the unfortunate possessor of ten or more of these disgusting creatures without being aware of the fact till the leeches have gorged themselves with blood. When the bite is situated over a blood- vessel the bleeding may be severe, and only to be controlled by firm bandaging, whilst nasty sores are certain to ensue. In addition to these horrors, the forest teems with mosquitoes, fortunately but few being of the malaria-bearing type. Bluebottle flies swarm and follow a dish of food in a black cloud, settling thereon as soon as the cover is removed. They lay their eggs in all manner of woollen garments, the grubs hatching out in the night and rendering the blanket or clothes impossible for the time being. There are also other nasty creatures, such as numerous poisonous and non-poisonous snakes, all with an objectionable habit of curling them- selves up on the jungle pathways. Curiously enough, however, not a single man was bitten by one of these reptiles so long as we were in the country, in spite of the fact that they were fre- quently encountered. The natives show no fear of any kind of snake, and, with extraordinary quickness of hand, grasp them behind the head before they can strike or defend themselves.

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256 From a Photograph. When caught in this manner, the head is beaten against a stone or cut off, and the body popped into a bag to form a dinner for the fortu- nate captor. B 0 a- constric- tors were common, but from our ob- servations never attained a greater length than about fourteen feet— quite pygmies com- pared to those found in Borneo. It is quite possible, however, that larger reptiles are to be found in other districts, where game is more plentiful. Alligators were also fairly numerous, but of these likewise the natives showed no fear, pouncing on the smaller ones in an effort to cap- ture them for the pot, and, at the sight of the larger ones, heaving a sigh at the impos- sibility of securing so much good food. A coast canoe coming in to trade. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 2 A warrior with bis stone olub. From a Photograph. While we were at the coast an alarm of war disturbed the villlages at the mouth of the Mimika, and, usual amongst savages, it came with unexpected suddenness. We were occupied at the time with some survey work, when a deep-toned “Wah!” came booming down the river, two canoes at the same time entering the bay, across which they paddled furiously. In a moment a state of panic prevailed, the men struggling to launch their canoes, whilst the women collected their children and possessions, flinging everything into the boats. The matting was torn from the huts, food grasped, and the fires scattered in every direction, Everyone was shouting or weeping, and, to make the din worse, the dogs started to howl and the babies to cry, whilst terrified little pigs were chased round and refused to be caught. No time was to be lost, for the news brought by the two friendly canoes was of the most urgent description, Leaving half their possessions behind, the entire population embarked, the women and children making for the open sea, while the able-bodied fighting men set off up- Their first wash with soap—They enjoyed they rubbed it into their eyes. From a Photograph. immensely till stream to repel the invaders. We were left in undisputed possession of the village, wondering spectators of the proceedings, knowing little more than that some enemy was expected. No information could be obtained from the panic- stricken Papuans, who were able to do little more than scream. It was, as we expected, a false alarm, for the enemy would have been compelled to come past our base-camp, in full view of our men, a most unlikely procedure. Within an hour all the fugitives were hack, the huts being rebuilt and the fires relit, nid apparently the whole proceeding forgotten. It ae re good idea of the_perpetual dread of

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 257 attack which must have been in the minds of these people prior to our advent, and to which they have probably been subjected again since our departure. Except for this mild excitement, the days on the coast passed peacefully enough, the natives quietly collecting fish from the boundless store close at hand, none of which we could touch, repelled by their hideous appearance and flabby flesh, excepting the luscious grey mullet, which now and again entered the river to spawn. To earn a daily wage, the Papuans were set to work collecting reptiles, insects, and fish, all destined for the spirit bottle, a task that com- pletely suited their slothful natures. At Christmas the new coolies arrived, a poor lot indeed, but they had to be utilized to the best advantage, since there were no others to take their place, and no more were coming. Christmas was kept as a holiday, the dinner being graced by a Crown pigeon, a one-pound plum-pudding, and a bottle of gin presented by the Dutch officer. We tried our best to be jovial, but the supplies of good things were too :imited for any great hilarity to be shown. With the new A Papuan coolies therear- Washing-Day. rived, amongst other stores, a considerable supply of soap— so much so, in fact, that we were able to distribute some to the Papuans, who, curious to relate, though always in the water, never seem able to get their bodies clean. This gift from civilization was received with the utmost delight, and washing became the order of the day, the after-result being appreciated almost as much by us as by the natives. At the moment of application the effect of soap well rubbed into the eyes rather damped their ardour, but it was a lesson not forgotten by those who followed after. A photograph on the preceding page shows some of the natives soaping themselves prior to a much-needed dip. Hard times we-e now before us, and everyone threw himself heart and soul into the work. Within a fortnight fourteen canoe-loads of stores had been transferred to Parimau and From a} sufficient food collected to last the expedition six weeks, but at the cost of twenty-five per cent. of the new coolies, who broke down and entered the hospital. The Mimika River was in a worse condition than during any months of the preceding year, the spell of fine weather having lowered it so much that it now consisted of little more than a succession of pools united by shallow streams and mere trickles of water. Through the shoals and muddy stretches the heavily-laden canoes had to be hauled by the united efforts of the whole party, over and under great tree-trunks which encumbered the bed, turning, twisting, and rocking the boats till they Women chopping up firewood with stone axes—The steel axe-heads, with which the explorers paid for service, were eagerly songht after. One ot these axes was sofficient [Photograph. to buy a Papuan a wife! were once more launched on a pool, this wearisome process being repeated again and again. Every available native within reach was impressed into service, carrying the stores forward through the forest along the four marches which had already been prepared. This task they were quite pleased to undertake, as each man was promised a steel axe-head—a price sufficient to purchase a fresh wife, if required. Till our coming, no more efficient tool than axe-heads of stone had been available, so it is easy to understand how eager they were to gain possession of weapons of steel and iron. Before we left the country we had parted with over a hundred and fifty, and these, if not lasting for ever, will, at any rate, lighten the struggle for existence for many years to come. (To be concluded.)

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a (4m fall of 1906, my husband and myself, 7 ae eg «With our maid Marie, were living in EQueoe| the city of Boston, U.S.A. On the day after our arrival in Boston Mr. Harvey met his old friend Mr. Marlar. The two had been chums and _ schoolmates as boys, and had taken their college course together. Now, when they met again after several years, there was a vast difference in their positions. Francis Marlar, always a capable man, was now the manager of a large business firm, while my husband, though none the less capable, none the less worthy, was in search of employ- ment. “ Halloa, old fellow, I never expected to see you here!” cried my husband. ‘ How are things, anyhow ?” “Looking fine,” exclaimed Mr. Marlar, as he grasped Mr. Harvey’s hand in greeting. Marlar had control over the office staff, and Gold by ACRS. H. HARVEY and set down by ITRS. J. BATLENO. ILLUSTRATED BY H. BVISON. The story of a woman's trying ex- perience with two robbers, showing how the telephone — and her own pluck—saved a large sum of money and possibly her life. ‘I know the account to be strictly true in every detail,"’ writes Mrs. Batleno, “as I was a close personal friend of Mrs. Harvey at the time of the occurrence.” when he heard that my husband was looking for a billet he pro- mised him a good position. He kept his word, with the result that at the end of November, nearly a year after he first entered upon his new duties, Mr. Harvey found himself head clerk in the office, second in command to Marlar himself, and a friend and confidant as well as an employé. One Wednesday in November, 1906, Mr. Harvey was at work at his desk when he received a hurried call to the manager’s private office. Wondering if he had made some mistake, he hurried to Mr. Marlar’s room. In the presence of the other clerks Marlar always treated him as he did the rest, but in the private office his reception was far different. “ Sit down, Herbert,” said Marlar. “I have a little business to talk over between ourselves. Here, read this.” He tossed a telegram on the table, calling him to New York on important business at once. ‘“‘ It’s a nuisance,” he con- tinued, “ for I was expecting to close a big deal here to-day. Now I am going to make a pro- position to you. I am going to trust you to fix things up here while I am gone, for the matter can’t be delayed. Do you think you could handle it? I can’t risk delay, and you see what that telegram says.” Mr. Harvey did not exactly like the idea of taking the manager’s place in regard to the business deal, and yet there was nothing diffi- cult about it, while it would have been ungrateful to refuse after all Marl r’s kindness to him.

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ELEPHONE “ All right, Frank, I'll do it,’ he said, and soon after both of them left the room, Harvey to take his place in the office, and Marlar to catch the first train to New York, having left all necessary instruc- tions with my husband to close the deal that very afternoon. Two hours later, while Marl.r was speeding away on his journey to New York, Mr. Harvey was closeted alone with a Mr. Andrews in the manager’s office, arranging the business on hand. When Mr. Andrews departed he left with my husband a large sum of money. The deal was satisfactorily closed, and, glad that he had been able to be of assistance to Marlar, he set off to lodge the money in the bank. As he opened the office door, however, he met a gentleman coming in. “ Halloa, Harvey!” he said. ‘I’m looking for the manager. Is he in?” “No, he is not,” replied my husband. I am here in his place. “ But Is there anything I can ; it’s just a little matter of business,” said the old gentleman, and followed him into the office. When he left, however, my husband found, to his dismay, that it was now too late to bank the money. The bank had closed. Accordingly he kept the cash on his person till closing time, and then, not daring to leave it in the office over-night, he b ought it home for safe keeping. But, alas! I think it would have been safer in the office, for no one but himself and Marlar, speeding miles away, knew anything about it. I was in the kitchen preparing supper when my husband entered. Marie had gone to the hospital to be operated on for appendicitis. I liked Marie, who had been with us a long time, and, as she had promised to come back as soon as she was able, I was doing the work myself till she returned. In the kitchen with me was a young man whom we called “Pom,” concerning whom a little explanation is necessary. Pom had accosted my husband as he was walking down the street one night, and asked for alms. On being questioned, he said he was a stranger in Boston, out of work, and that he had eaten nothing since morning. My husband, always kind-hearted, brought him home, gave him some supper, and rigged him out in a fairly good suit of clothes. We told him he could stay in the house, doing odd jobs for us, until he found work. It was now nearly a week since his first arrival, and he still stayed on, doing the “‘ chores ” and laying fires. He always seemed willing and ready to do any- thing. Herbert watched him closely for a-while and pronounced him stupid, but honest enough, ard after Marie's departure I was rather glad he was with us to do the rough work about the house. As already stated, Pom and I were in the kitchen when Herbert came in, and I noticed a tired, slightly worried look on his face. I think now that Pom also noticed it, but at that time I thought ;he was too,stupid to notice

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260 fHE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. anything. My husband called me into the dining- room, and in a low tone, ntended for my ears alone, told me about the money and his intention to put it in the big safe in the sitting-room until the bank opened in the morning. Leaving him, I went back to the kitchen, where I found Pom seated on a chair by the window gazing stupidly out at a slight drizzling rain which was beginning to fall. I did not think much about the money, and no more was said about it until after supper, when Pom had gone out. He never went out in the daytime, but always at night. Where he went we never asked him, nor did we care, as he always came in before we closed up the house for the night, and was never the worse for these little outings. When we were alone I asked my husband all about the money, and he told me the par- ticulars of the case. I was not surprised, as I knew Mr. Marlar trusted him greatly. After I had finished my duties for the evening we repaired to the sitting-room, where the big safe in which my husband had locked up the money stood in one corner of the room. Herbert was tired, so I fetched his slippers, and lighting his pipe he leaned back in his easy-chair while I read the evening paper to him, as was my usual custom. To-night, however, he was tired, and before I had half finished the first page he was sound asleep in his chair. Not wanting to disturb his sleep, I read on to myself for a few minutes, when the telephone bell rang. I rose quietly and crossed the room to the instrument, which was in a corner opposite the one where the safe stood. The call was from the office for Herbert. He had made a small mistake in one of the forms he had drawn up that day, and was wanted there to rectify it at once. I did not like to disturb him, but I knew it had to be done, so I crossed the room softly and laid my hand lightly on his shoulder. At my first touch he started up quickly, exclaiming, ‘“‘ What is it ? What’s the matter? Is the money ——” “Oh, the money’s all right,” I said, with a laugh, “ only you’re wanted at the office.” “ At the office ?” he repeated. “It’s only some slight mistake,” I told him. “You can rectify it by going at once. I hope you won’t stay long, though.” “T won't,” he said. ‘ I'll be back by half- past nine or ten o'clock. Don’t be worried ; everything's all right.” “ Oh, I won’t worry,” I replied, with indiffer- ence. ‘‘ Of course, everything's all right.” After he had gone out I finished reading the paper, but the big room seemed lonesome, and 1 left it and went out into the kitchen to prepare a few things for the morning. These were soon finishéd, however, and wheeling the big chair into the dining-room, a smaller and more cosy room, I picked up a new novel that had come in and was soon deeply engrossed in the story. I don’t know how long I had been reading. I remember once hearing a clock strike, though what hour it struck I cannot tell. I was entirely lost to my surroundings, threading the maze of fiction, when suddenly something—I know not what—caused me to look up quickly, though I had neither heard nor seen anything. I listened intently, but everything was silent in the great house. Getting up, I went into the sitting-room to see if everything was all right. I did not expect to find anything unusual, nor didI, Everything was just as I had left it. The fire was burning brightly, the room was warm and comfortable. Outside a cold drizzling rain was falling. I was about to laugh at my foolish fancies and return to my book, when I heard a slight sound that seemed to come from the dining-room. Instantly all my fears returned fourfold. “It’s only Pom,” I tried to tell myself, and I called softly, ‘“‘ Pom!” There was no answer. I was beginning to feel very nervous, and again I felt that sensation of something near me that I could not see. “It’s Pom in the kitchen,” I whispered to myself again, and started to investigate. I had half crossed the room when the telephone rang, and glad of something that would divert my mind from what I thought was a nervous fancy, I turned towards it. One step I made in that direction; then a stifled scream broke from my lips. From behind a hand fell on my arm in a grip of iron. I was whirled round, and my shoulder struck violently against the wall. A tall, rough-looking man stood before me as I leaned against the wall for support, and the cold muzzle of a huge revolver was thrust against my cheek. “ You keep still,” he growled, and glancing up I caught the evil leer in his little, wicked eyes. T heard a sound, and looking round I saw another man cross the room and drop on his knees before the safe, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the combination. Then in a flash it all came back to me. I had been so taken by surprise that I was temporarily dazed, but at the sight of the safe my brain cleared. These ruffians were after the money. If Herbert came in, unprepared as he was, they would kill him. If I could only warn him and save the money. I thought of the tele- phone. If I could only reach it—if—— “ Hurry up there, you,” growled the man in . front of me, and he turned round to the fellow who was trying to open the safe.

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WHEN THE TELEPHONE RANG. 261 Both men wore black masks of some kind, concealing the upper part of their faces, and the one at the safe also had a dirty old slouch hat, pulled down over his face. I looked at them both again; then I reconnoitred the room. Just in front of the telephone stood a-small table. If I could get behind that, I thought, I could perhaps call up my husband before they could reach me. Despite the revolver before my face and the watchful eyes of my guard, I made one bound for the telephone. I reached it, 1 had my hand on the receiver, and the table was between me and my pursuer. I tried to ring, but before I could speak one word of warning the ruffian was upon me. With a savage curse he flung me from him towards a chair. As I fell my ankle struck against the pointed rocker of the chair, and I uttered a low cry of pain, for I thought it was broken. “Shut up!” he hissed in my ear, ‘ or it'll be the worse for you.” comrade, “‘ Hurry up; we can’t wait here all night.” As I lay there helpless I heard the fellow working steadily at the combination, wondering dully how long it would be before Herbert came in, and if they would kill him, or whether they would get away with the money before he arrived. But the pain in my ankle was so acute that I could hardly control my thoughts. For a moment that seemed like an hour I sat there. I heard the ruffians talking, but I could not make out what they said, there was such a ringing in my ears. ‘The man with the revolver was close to the safe now, standin: sideways to me and giving directions to the other man. I was still trying to think what I could do to warn Herbert, and I saw no way except by the telephone, but that seemed altogether out of my reach. I was still cogitating the matter whe» the telephone rang. As soon as he heard it, the man turned and looked at me, but I made no movement. The bell rang again, but I sat still, knowing full well that if I tried to answer it I should only be stopped and perhaps knocked down again. I knew by the evil, determined look on the ruffian’s face that he would stop at nothing. As the telephone ceased ringing he turned towards the safe again and concentrated all his attention on his companions efforts. Evidently they found the safe a difficult proposition. Just then the pain in my ankle eased a little, and I was better able to think. Now, if ever, my chance had come. Throwing my weight on my uninjured right foot, I rose silently to my feet. I glanced at the safe ; both men had their backs tome. With my heart in my mouth, Then he growled at his - I crept softly, inch by inch, to the table, and every time I put my foot to the floor I thought I must fall, so great was the pain that shot through my ankle. Without maki: ¢ a sound I edged my way to the side of the table. As I glanced back to see if the ruffians had noticed my move the telephone rang again loudly, and both men turned round. Too excited and nervous now to give up, I made arush for it. The receiver was down, and with one spring I reached the telephone. I pressed my mouth close to the mouthpiece and cried with all my might, “ Help! help! for Heaven’s sake, help!” I could get no farther. I had taken my last chance and lost. The ruffian was at my side now, his fingers on my throat. With strength born of despair, I struggled furiously. 1 struck at his face until my head grew dizzy, but I could not shake off that awful grip on my throat. Finally my weakened ankle gave way, and I fell. There was a crash, an awful crash, and it seemed as though the house was falling about my ears. I heard the sound of voices that seemed to come from miles away. I caught one glimpse of a brutal, angry face; then everything became a blank. When I regained consciousness I lifted my head from the couch and met the anxious eyes of my husband. Behind him a strange face looked at me. I heard voices in the next room and outside. “Where are they?” I asked him. they get the money ?” “No, they only made their escape,” he told me. ‘ Where is Pom ?” I thought Pom had not come back yet, but glancing at the clock I was surprised to see it was half-past one. I tried to rise, but my ankle pained me so much that the stranger—Dr. Webster—told me not to use it for two or three days. It was a week before I was able to walk across the room, The robbers made good their escape, and I owe my rescue and possibly my life to the telephone. As it happened, Mr. Andrews had forgotten a certain paper, and proposed to Herbert, when he met him at Mr. Marlar’s office, that they should return to his own office and fix the matter up there. My husband had then called me up on the telephone to tell me he would be back inside of an hour. Unable to get a reply the first time, however, and thinking I might be in the kitchen, he waited a few minutes and rang again, and it was then he was startled to hear my frantic call for help. He started for home at once, while Mr. Andrews went for assistance. They were met at the corner by two policemen, and hurried to the-house. But the burglars “ Did

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262 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Thad taken my Inst chance and lost. had no doubt realized the game was up, for they had fled, leaving no traces behind them. As for Pom, I cannot say for certain whether he heard Herbert tell me about the money and its place of concealment, but I think it was he who tried to open the safe, while a confederate whom he had obtained kept guard over me. However, the precious scheme failed, and whether Pom was innocent or guilty, we have never seen him since.

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The Pilgrims of Guadalupe By D. HENDERSON. RAVELLING patiently on foot, on mules, in two- wheeled wagons, and a few by train ; coming fourteen hundred miles from the north-western corner of the Sonoran Desert, and nearly six hundred miles from the villages which dot the Guatemala line; flocking from the quiet sea on the west, and from the great gulf on the east ; drift- ing in from all the little towns between, more than a hundred thousand bronze- skinned children of the sun make a_ pilgrimage every autumn to the most sacred shrine in the New World, the temple of the Virgin of Guadalupe, near the City of Mexico. Never since the days of the Crusades had such a religious movement been seen until it began in Mexico, nearly a hundred years ago. Year by year the numbers of the faithful who go on this pilgrimage have increased, until to-day whole vil- lages are depopu- lated for weeks at a From a) time, and the mountain trails become moving towns, filled with men, women, and children, all on their way to Guadalupe Hidalgo. Revo- lutions, storms, impassable rivers, or the lack The most sacred shrine in the New World is the chapel of the Holy Virgin of Guadalupe, near Mexico City. Here, every year, there takes place a wonderful festival, to which come Indians from all parts of the country to the number of over a hundred thousand. Many of them occupy six months on the journey, and during the pilgrimage whole villages are depopulated and the farms left to look after themselves. In this article Mr. Henderson gives a most interesting account of the shrine and the pilgrims who visit it. of money alike fail to deter them, and their faith is one of the most magnificent demonstrations of the power of religion that it has ever been my lot to witness. The chapel of La Santisima Virgin de Guadalupe Hidalgo stands on a hill, the hill on which she first appeared to a humble Mexican shep- herd, six miles from the heart of Mexico City, overlooking the ordinarily small village of Guadalupe Hidalgo, where was signed, more than half a century ago, the treaty which ended the war between Mex‘co and the United States. The pilgrimage of these Indians— for this s purely an Indian fiesta — culminates on December 12th of each year, the day which has been dedicated to the special worship of the Mexican Virgin. Owing to the long distances over which many of the pil- grims are compelled to make their way on foot, the start from remote sec- tions of Mexico is made about the middle of August, and as these most distant pilgrims pass through the villages towns on their way to Guadalupe, they gather the faithful from the settlements

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264 The cathedral (on left), the hill, the chap: From a Photo, ey) come over a ' Lest any of these should miss the ceremonies, the celebration lasts a full week, terminating on December r5th, and commencing, in a small way, about December 8th or gth. ‘Then the first of the horde of worshippers straggles in; incessant but happy ringing of the bells in the chapel and the cathedral at Guadalupe begins, while candles are burned incessantly and prayers offered every hour, day and night, for the ensuing week. Picture to your- self a little village of fifteen hundred inhabitants, built in a crescent for- mation around half the base of a hill two hundred feet in height, the dead crater of an enormous hot- spring that once fed the lake of Texcoco, which one can still see, much _ shrunken but shimmering in the hazy distance. Picture on the summit of this hill a snow-white chapel, flanked on one side by the see i er y Well at Guadalupe. jin stood on one of he: From a Photograph. The kiosk covering the the spot where the and one of the indred thousand irways that lead up to the sacred shrine. 5 jérims from all parts of Mexico. Waite. The well is supposed to occupy pearances to the shepherd. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Hither, every al historic graveyard of Tepeyac, where lie buried a host of famous dead, and on the other by the precipitous side of the hill, covered with little houses, seemingly creeping as near as possible to the pro- tection of the holy shrine. Below, in the centre of the village, backed up against the hill, place the cathedral, rambling, yet dignified and beautiful, grey reminder of centuries that are no more. Then listen to the story of the tradition- haunted spot to which come the pilgrims of all Mezico. The cathedral marks the spot where, nearly a century ago, the Virgin Mary appeared to Juan Diego, a humble Indian shepherd, and bade him order the bishop of the Valley of Mexico to build for her a chapel on the hill above. The bishop, being incredulous, and } ~knowing the ready ij imagination of the Mexican Indian, refused to believe

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THE PILGRIMS OF GUADALUPE. 265 u ; 1 & i } 8 4 the shepherd, who returned to the hill— then unten- anted by the villagers— only to be met once more by the Virgin,who repeated her request to him. Where she been unable to solve the mystery of the stood during printing. I in S d From a Photo. by Waite. this secon vision a spring shed from the level plain, and there to-day is the Holy Well of Guadalupe, surrounded by an iron railing, and covered over by a kiosk, of Moorish type, with a beautiful blue dome, made of glazed tiles. From this spring every pilgrim drinks. It is always full of water, yet never overflows, and the chapel which surmounts it is filled with the relics of those who have been cured by its waters. Diego returned to the bishop, who refused again to believe the tale of the vision. ‘“ Go,” said he to the shepherd, “ and bring me some tangible token of the vision, else I shall not believe you.” Juan Diego, discouraged, and half believing that he had dreamed rather than seen the Virgin, went back to the hill. Vol. xxxi.- 18. ‘The main altar of the cathedral at Guadalupe, showing the kneeling pilgrims, In the middle of the altar is the “tilma” of Juan Diego, framed in gold, From a Photo, by Waite. There,stand- ing on the summit of the hill, which was then called Tepeyac, was the Virgin, waiting for him. A bush filled with blossoming showing the shepherd Toses Sprang exhibiting ket, bearing the miracu- from the lous imag he Bishop of Mexico. rocks at her From a Photo, by Waite, feet even as she burst on the sight of the shepherd. Frightened, he knelt, and heard a soft voice’say, “ Be not afraid. Roll up thy ¢ilma (blanket) and come nearer.” Diego obeyed, and, approaching the feet of the V rgin, was commanded to unrolt h’s blarket. Once more he obeyed, and there fell from the grey folds of his worn tilma an armful of roses identical with those blooming on the bush at the Mother’s feet. More than this, in the centre of the tilma was imprinted a picture of the Virgin. ‘ Take these,” said She, “ to the bishop, as a proof of what you have seen and what I have commanded.” The shepherd bore his third message and the proof of it to the bishop, and, though the flowers were carried in his hand

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266 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. more than two hours in the hot sun, they were as fresh when he entered the bishop's hall as when he left the hill of Tepeyac. This time the prelate believed the shepherd, and the chapel covering the spot where the Virgin stood was built immediately. Later came the cathedral and the kiosk to cover the holy well. It is to this most holy shrine in all Mexico—indeed, in all the New World—that the population of many a town journeys each year to pay tribute to the miracle worked through the agency of the humble shepherd. The blanket which Diego wore, framed in gold, hangs above the altar in the cathedral below. Men of science of Mexico and other nations have examined it ; it has been subjected to the closest scrutiny by experts in painting, dyeing, and embroidery ; reports have been made on it by representatives of many learned societies, and, while all have agreed that the picture is neither painted on the cloth nor woven if athe atone stairway leading to the chapel on the hil red with blood, but this into the body of the blanket, no one has been able to give any sort of an explanation of its presence. The colours of the picture—red, yellow, white, and blue—are as brilliant as if dyed yesterday, yet the remainder of the blanket is dirty, just as it came from the back of the Indian, Juan Diego. The tilma, for such it is called in Spanish, was removed from the chapel above to the altar of the larger church below because there was not room in the smaller building on the hilltop for the crowds who come each year to see and vener- ate it; but the chapel still remains the Ultima Thule of all the pilgrims. Leading from the level of the village to the crest of the hill are two sets of stone steps, four hundred and thirty-six steps to each stairway. These are walled in on either side by high flanks of concrete, on which have been marked thousands on thousands of names of those who have made the rilgrimage. And these names are not inscribed in idle effort to secure self-advertisement ; they are written in as reverent a spirit as that in which a thank- offering is made. Many of those who make this journey cannot afford any other gift than their names, and these they give to show that they have visited the shrine. Up these steps it was the custom at one time for the pilgrims to go on hands and knees, until, by the time half the travellers had passed to the chapel and down again, the stones were stained a deep crimson from worn knees and Formerly they climbed on hands and knees, till the steire were now been prohibited. (Waite. torn palms. A few years ago, however, Porfirio Diaz, then President of Mexico, issued a mandate, superseding all orders of the Church, forbidding this practice under penalty of the law. Since then the pilgrims walk up one stairway and down the other, in a constant ever-changing, pic- turesque stream of humanity from dawn until darkness of each day of Guadalupe week. Stand with me for an instant, as I have stood many mornings, on the wide marble steps which form the entrance to the chapel. Day is just

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THE PILGRIMS OF GUADALUPE. . 267 breaking over the blue mountains which wall in the ancient Vale of Anahuac—the dawn of the first day of “La Fiesta de Nuestra Sefiora la Virgen de Guadalupe.” Away to the south the snow-capped tops of Popocatepetl and Ixtacci- huatl are turning from ashen to purple ; soon they The altar in the Cathedrai, showing the soii From a) will be golden with the full-blown light of day. The sheen of the sleeping Lake Texcoco is coming back from where it went when the curtain of darkness fell last night, and across the fading shadows a single hawk, stooping with the speed of the lightning, winnows its way to the lakeside for a morning meal. Below, the flat roofs of the sleeping town recall Bethlehem or Jerusalem, while in the narrow streets and across the flat floor of the plaza appear red and yellow blotches, inter- mingled with darker heaps. As the sun climbs higher, these resolve themselves into men and women, curled up asleep, protected only by the multi-coloured blankets of native manufacture which are at once shirt, coat, skirt, and bed to the Indians, male and female, of Mexico. - These are the first comers, the dwellers in Xochimilco, Texcoco, Atzcapotzalco, Tlalne- pantla, Contreras, and Tlalpam, near-by towns, who have come in during the night, each eager to be the first to drink of the waters of the Holy Well, or to kiss the feet of the image of the Virgin in the chapel on Tepeyac. Gradually they unroll themselves, the mass becomes individualized, and a rush for the Holy Well begins. Each drinks from the long copper pails er railings and the forty thousand pounds, and were the gift of the Catholics of Mexico to the patron saint of the Republic. (Photograph. which the attendants draw filled with the waters of the spring. As they return from the kiosk, little fires begin to spring up in the street where before there had only been shadows of many blanketed forms. Then through the crowd move the venders of beans, corn and meal, and the merbie figure of the kneeiing monk. These railings cost flat cakes known as fortillas, and breakfast is made and eaten with remarkable haste for a people who devote three-fourths of their lives to rest. A priest, bearing in one hand a cross and in the other a bell, steps out of the main door of the cathedral below. The hour is perhaps seven, possibly earlier, accordingly as the sun has risen, but never later. He strikes the bell, and as its musical voice rolls out across the little town, the motley throng before him fall on their knees, with faces towards the priest, all praying aloud. It is an eerie sound which rises, a guttural, mumbled prayer, half in the Nahuatl tongue of the tribesmen and half in Spanish. It is a rem- nant of the sound which rolled across the pools of Texcoco and Chalco and Xochimilco, when the Aztecs held human sacrifices on the crown of the great pyramid where stands to-day the cathedral of Mexico City. Only for an instant do they remain thus. Then the good father moves forward, the people fall in behind him—possibly ten thousand of them on this first day—and the procession up the stairway begins. Swarthy men and women are there from the northern deserts; black Indians from the distant Isthmus of Tehuantepec

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Pilgrims on the way to Guadalupe. Similar scenes are to be witnessed in every part of Mexico as ‘ Guedalupe Day ™ approaches. | From a Photograph. and the swamps of Campeche ; yellow children of the West Coast, where still lingers a trace of the ancient Chinese adventurers who left ruined temples in Sonora and Sinaloa; amber wan- derers from the lofty mountain ranges that wall in the Vale of Anahuac, and here and there a pure blonde from far Yucatan. All the peoples of America’s Egypt are represented here, even on this first day, for the pilgrimage has united them, and from all parts of the Republic Indians flock to the environs of the national capital where work is more plenty and the daily wage greater than in the outlying districts. Five abreast, led by the faithful padre, they climb, crossing themselves as they pass the iron-barred gates which guard the cemetery. They come to the portal of the chapel, and the priest leads them in to where a choir of Indian children of the pure Nahuatl blood, who have been training for a year for this occasion, burst forth into a hymn of praise to the Virgin. They

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THE PILGRIMS OF GUADALUPE. am b ds de From a Photo. by) sing in their native dialect, which the priest speaks as he does Spanish, and their shrill voices rise through the vaulted, star-strewn arches of the chapel like the cries of birds along the seashore, and are drowned in the shuffling of many sandalled feet. Before them stands the image of the V'rgin, a life-sized wooden figure, her arms empty of the Infant Jesus, but in other respects exactly like many reproductions which exist in churches throughout the Republic. To her all those who can enter the little chapel kneel and pray, while the priest intones a mass. All told, each pilgrim spends about ten minutes in the shrine, to worship in which many of them have trudged half-way across Mexico. Then those who have heard one mass, jostle their way through the others to the door, and more enter to take their places, while the padre begins the words of another mass. The outgoing throng takes the stairway opposite the one up which they came, and thus confusion and crowding and possible injury to the weaker ones on the stairway are avoided. Going down, they pass the stone sails of Guadalupe, those strange square sheets of brick and mortar representing one mast of a square-rigged ship. Five grateful sailors, storm- tossed on the Gulf of Mexico, vowed this offering to the Virgin of Guadalupe if she would save them. They were rescued, and they kept their vow, the great stone sails, which are a landmark for many miles, being the result. Food venders in front of the Cathedral preparing their booths for the hundred thousand pilgrims who, on the morrow, will arrive in the town. (Wait ‘atte, No one who comes on the first day goes away until the last, and so on through the week, with the result that every available foot of space has a sleeping figure by night, and it is impossible to pass through the streets after the early bedtime of the tribesmen and women. Booths of large size, where nothing is sold but candles, are erected along the front of the cathedral, and thousands of dollars’ worth of these tallow cylinders change hands during the fiesta. Other booths sell little chaplets and amulets con- taining reproductions of the noted filma. Still - other booths provide food, some selling meat, some beans, some cornmeal, and so on, no two kinds of food being sold from one booth. Almost every rebel soldier in the Madero revolution in Mexico wore an amulet which came from the cathedral at Guadalupe, and thousands attri- buted their success in the war to these little pictures of the Virgin Mary, which had been blessed by the kind-hearted priest. But the twelfth of December is the day of days on which to attend the pilgrimage to Guadalupe Hidalgo. This is the anniversary of the day on which the Virgin appeared to Juan Diego, and the crowd is thickest and hap- piest, and the ceremonies most impressive on that day. Then, also, are brought forth the wonderful jewels of the Virgin—possibly the most valuable set of gems ever given to the patron saint of any shrine of any country in the world. They consist of a crown, shaped like a mitre, and a jewelled-wand or staff, the former

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BRE BAN GRR kB Ti ot X SO AACE t tL 270 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. put on the head and the latter placed in the hand of the image of the Virgin on Guadalupe Day. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, pearls, and sapphires glisten on the solid gold of the crown, while in the staff are fully ten thousand dollars’ worth more of the finest jewels of the Republic. The setting of these gems alone, after the gold and the stones had been provided, cost thirty thousand dollars in Paris. The jewels and the gold alike came from the private trinket-boxes of the wealthiest women of Mexican society, led by Senora Carmen Romero Rubio de Diaz, wife of the deposed ruler. The contribution was made several years ago, merely as an act of devotion to the patron saint of Mexico, and not, as has been stated, in fulfilment of a vow made in time of plague in Mexico City. The priest in charge of the chapel, who has been there so long that he seems to have grown old with the historic buildings and the stone sails, brings forth the jewelled crown and staff from their steel and concrete resting-place at nine o’clock on this morning of the day of days. Reverently, and with many prayers, he deposits the crown on the head of the image of the Virgin, and places the staff in her hand. The ceremony is solemn, the reverent upturned faces of the Indians crowded into the chapel,and the dignified, slow-moving father forming a fitting background for the mag- nificent jewels. The Virgin and her treasures are on exhibition all day, guarded only by a solitary priest, yet no one has ever tried to steal them. At the close of the day, just as the sun dies over the western mountain wall, the priest, repeating prayers as he | touches the sacred relics, removes them to the vault, there to lie until the twelfth of the follow- ing December. Their exhibition forms the climax of the pilgrimage, and some few of the Indians, mostly those of the higher classes moderately wealthy farmers, small storekeepers and the like—leave Guadalupe Hidalgo immedi- ately following a sight of the jewels. The vast majority, however, remain for three or four days longer, worshipping at the shrine, and listening to fatherly talks on how they should live their lives, delivered by the fathers in the plaza, from the steps of the cathedral, or from the chapel door. All in all, the pilgrimage is a good thing for the Indians, and by it the good fathers reach thousands of Indians with their teachings. Then, about December 16th or 17th, they start back to their homes, many with more than a thousand-mile journey ahead of them, most of them penniless, but with their mule or cart, or, if especially fortunate, with a second-class railway ticket, and a bundle of food in their blankets, there to await the coming of the next Guadalupe Day. It is a curious fact, but one attested to-by many Government officials with whom I have talked during my six years in Mexico, that whole villages are temporarily depopulated by this pilgrimage. From the more distant sections the people are on the journey to and from Guadalupe sometimes as much as six months, devoting the other half of the year to labour on some ;actenda, or to raising food on their own little farms. On the other hand, the town of Guadalupe is alive only during the pilgrimage, being practically without business during the remainder of the year. But the shopmen tell me that their busi- ness during that short period is sufficient tokeep them in comfort with the small balance of trade they get during the remainder | of the year. The wonderful jewelled crown of the Virgin of Guadalupe, part of the regalia presented by the women o! Mexico, and worth nearly forty thousand pounds. From a Photo. by Waite.

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THE WONDERFUL ISLAND. By LEWIS R. FREEMAN. “« ILLUSTRATED BY H. FOLKARD. A romance of the South Seas, showing how Captain Pat O'Keefe, an Irish- American copra trader, went in for King- * making and colonization, and finally left behind him, as a perpetual monument of his energy and far-sightedness, a prosperous community whose like it would be difficult to find elsewhere in the world. Sy |} ik IN the course of a cruise round New Guinea a year ago, under f the farthest-flung corner of | the Dutch flag in Insulinde, ~ I chanced upon a little island kingdom that would have been hailed as the climax of discovery by Stevenson in his long search for the pic- turesque corners of Polynesia, and the record of a charac- ter whose exploits in some manner escaped the eye of that indefatigable narrator of South Sea romance, Louis Becke, Thad been picking up frag- ments of the story from this or that Dutch captain or resident for several weeks, and the gaps in it were sup- plied as I sat on the beach of Mapia with Ellis, Lottie Terry’s assistant manager, <¥ | and helped him check copra bags for the waiting steamer. Perhaps the most forceful, and cer- tainly the best known, character in South Sea history was that notorious ““black-birder”’ and pirate, “ Bully ” Hayes, a native of Cleveland, Ohio, and until I began hearing accounts of the doings of Captain Pat O’Keefe I had supposed Hayes to stand without a rival. Yet quite as remarkable in its way as the record of Hayes is that of this roystering Irish-Ameri- can, one time of Savannah, Georgia, who founded Mapia and several other small island “kingdoms” in those almost uncharted latitudes to the north of New Guinea. But O’Keefe, though a fighter from “truck to keel- son,” was nothing of the blackguard and outlaw, and his activities, unlike those of Hayes, were constructive rather than destructive. This little island of Mapia, as it exists to-day, is a finer monument to this stout- hearted trader and sailor than many-a nation has erected in

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272 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. bronze or marble to its most idolized warrior or statesman. O'Keefe, who sailed out of Savannah in the "eighties, was the typical Irish-American skip- per of the time, with an insatiable thirst, a hard fist, a shrewd head, and a heart which, when it came to the matter of women, might be de- scribed as of the “ omnibus” variety, in that it seemed always to have room for one more. This was in the days before Spain sold the Carolines to Germany, and festooned along the Equator in the rarely-sailed triangle between the Dutch and Spanish possessions were a num- ber of tiny coral islands, most of them only a square mile or two in extent. None of them was accurately located upon the chart, and not over even the largest of them was Dutch or Spanish sovereignty established. On one of his voyages from Savannah to Hong-Kong, O'Keefe, after several months of buffeting by the storms of the Horn and the Equatorial Pacific, found his ship off a little strip of coral, about forty miles north of the Line, and sent his boats ashore for the badly- needed water and fresh fruit or vegetables As luck had it, they landed on the south-east corner of the islet, and the mate was kindly received by the natives, who filled the water- butts and told him to come ashore on the after- noon tide for bananas and cocoa-nuts, The reef about the islet was “ steep-to,” and, as anchoring was out of the question, the ship stocd “ off-and-on,” just as the steamers do to- day, in the interval of waiting. In the after- ncon the position of the ship was such that it was most convenient for the boats to touch a mile or more to the northward of where the first landing was made, and no sooner had they grounded on the coral than they were fired en from the bush by concealed natives. No one was hurt, but the mate thought best to put off to the ship and try in a new place. The clipper accordingly beat round the north end of the island, and the boats were sent ashore at a point where their landing eould be covered by the little ten-pounder which pivoted upon her forward deck. The men landed without opposition, but had hardly got out of sight of the ship when they walked into an ambush, and were met with a flight of spears and arrows at close range. Retreating in good order to the boats, they again put off to the ship, where a consultation was held to endeavour to unravel the mystery of friendly natives, gun-armed natives, and bow and spear-armed natives, all being found on a strip of coral three miles long and three hun- dred yards wide. The problem proved too much for them, and the captain himself decided to go ashore and seek the solution. Leaving the ship in charge of the mate, he took all the men that could be spared, armed them with Winchesters and revolvers, and landed at the point where the first party had threaded the reef. Prepared to let drive at the first lurking black head that was poked from behind the bole of a cocoa-nut, he was treated to still another surprise when the whole population of the village came rollicking down en masse to bid him welcome. The captain spoke the Caroline lingo, and to him the natives were able to explain what they had not been able to make the mate understand in the morning—that the little island, which was a most desirable possession because of its countless thousands of cocoa-nut trees, was occupied by no fewer than three rajahs and their followers, among whom incessant war had been waged for five years. The rajah who welcomed O'Keefe claimed to be the original and rightful owner of the island, and the cocoa-nuts, he said, had been planted by his ancestors. They had had no difficulty in holding their coveted little possession until within the last half-century. About fifty years back the Papuans, from the vicinity of Manok- weri, had discovered the rich little island, and every year or two since then they had swarmed down upon it in their great war proas and endeavoured to make a lodgment. But New Guinea was a hundred miles away, and with no nearer base to operate from the Papuans had been at a great disadvantage, and their raids had never met with any success. The perennial fights had so reduced the rajah’s warriors, however, that they had been unable to prevent the landing, first of an expedition of Malays from Halmaheira, and not long afterwards a war party from the Carolines. The first party, armed with ancient bird guns, held the centre of the island, while the northern part was occupied by the fierce Carolines with their bows and spears, and it was principally due to the fact that the fight had been more or less of a “triangular” one that one or more of the factions had not been completely wiped out. Now, however, the rajah said, he had definite word that his enemies were about to form a coalition against him, awaiting the moment of the next Papuan raid for their combined attack. O’Keefe’s action was characteristic. “It's meself that hates to spoil a good fight, me hearty,” he is said to have told the friendly rajah, as he clapped him on the back. “Put shure an’ you're the only white mon on this pretty reef, and so, begorra, by)to-night you're goin’ to be the only rajah. Three kings might

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THE WONDERFUL ISLAND. 273 be good fer to stand pat with in poker, but I’m thinkin’ that a pair of ’em ain’t enough to stand against Pat O’Keefe.”” He sent word to the mate to stand in as close as possils!e and pepper the villages of the superfluous rajahs with canister, while he and his sailors marched up the beach on the opposite side and took care of the overflow. Twenty American tars with Colts and Win- chesters found scant opposition, after their first volley or two, from the bird-gun and bow-armed enemy, and by sun- down O’Keefe had made good his promise. There was only one king on the island. The other two had been rounded up and bundled into proas containing just enough food and water to last them and their yg small crews of paddlers to their #3 respective islands. The rest of “@ their followers—a couple of hun- dred in all—he took aboard ship, under guard, and afterwards landed them in Manila, where they were bought at fancy prices by the Philippine planters. Whether or not O’Keefe re- turned to America with his ship I have not learned. At any rate, his ‘‘ Great Idea” dated from the Mapia episode. The grateful rajah had said that at, any time the captain would agree to maintain him in his position against all comers and pay an annuity suf- ficient to allow him to live in proper state, he would make over the cocoa-nut trees on the island as the absolute property of his deliverer. This looked good to O’Keefe, and he did not take long to ponder it. With the money he received for his captives he had a two-hundred-ton schooner built in Hong-Kong, stocked her with “trade,” took over the trees from the rajah, and set himself up as a copra dealer. Then the problem of labour confronted him. The rajah’s people had been reduced to a dozen or two, and at the outset O'Keefe swore that he would never have a Malay, Papuan, or China- man—incidentally missionaries were included under the ban—on the island. There remained nothing but Polynesians to choose from, and in the selection of just the men he wanted O’Keefe cruised for months among the Carolines and Pellews, picking and rejecting until he had three score of the finest specimens of manhood and womanhood that those islands, famous for their strong men and beautiful women, could produce. No “They found scant opposition after their first volley man who was not of unusual stature and strength was taken, and as for the women — well, O’Keefe’s eye for a “fine broth of a girl’? was _prover- bial from Hong- Kong to Manok- weri. Men and women were taken in almost equal numbers. The cute Irishman knew the trouble that inevitably resulted from too few women or too many men, for he had seen the long knives flashing in countless labour camps for no other Teason. There was no contract, as in ordinary recruit- ing. He merely offered the ‘people he wanted larger pay and shorter hours than was the ruling practice, and asked them to come to Mapia and make their homes. They were to come and go as they pleased, be paid extra for overtime, and have free medicine supplied them whenever it was needed. Nothing like it was ever heard of before in that part of the world, and the “beach” through half a hundred degrees of longitude and latitude waxed facetious—though always behind his back—about O’Keefe’s ‘“ Utopia.” But the keen-headed Irishman was not yet at the end of his startling innovations. The next thing to be provided was a resident overseer and trader, it being necessary that most of his or two.

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Pa 274 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. own time should be spent in the schooner plying backwards and forwards with the copra between the island and Hong-Kong. The success or failure of the whole venture hinged on the selection of this important functionary, as O’Keefe well knew from having seen a careless, drunken, or dishonest representative upset the fortunes of many a good trader. “In this part of the world,” philosophized O’Keefe, ‘‘ men, the divils, will knife you behind your back nine times out of ten. But the girls, the darlints, they’re the ones to stick by you.” There never lived a man with greater faith in “the sex” than this same Pat O’Keefe, and never was faith in them better justified “The defenders repeatedly repulsed the attacks of the hordes ofzPapuans. « than by the “ girl” whom he chose to run the Mapia end of his venture and “ make copra,” as they put it in the vernacular of the “beach.” Lottie Terry was the half-caste daughter of a German planter at Yap, and O’Keefe established her at Mapia, gave the natives to understand that in his absence she was “ the boss,” and started running to and fro, with bulging holds each way, between there and Hong-Kong as fast as the whistling north-east and south-west monsoons would drive his speedy schooner. The latter, which he had designed himself along good old Yankee lines, was the swiftest thing that parted those seas until the coming of the

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THE WONDERFUL ISLAND. 275 steamers, and even after that time, every now and then, when he was sure of the south - west monsoon all the way, he would slip out of Yap a few hours after the Australian liner, and after a week of from two to three hundred miles a day would raise the wrath of the astonished Teutonic skipper of the steamer by hailing him, as his ship puffed noisily up to its Hong Kong buoy, and asking the latest news from “ down south’ard.” If some of the runs that are credited to the Lottie were actually made, the Flying Dutchman was nothing to the “ Flying Irishman,” Pat O’Keefe. Copra was high in the ‘eighties, almost as high as at the present time, when it is figured that every mature tree on a_properly-cared-for plantation will net its owner a dollar a year. The trees on Mapia and the other small islands appertaining to it have never been counted, but they are estimated to exceed a million in number. The comparatively small number of men that were up to the “ O’Keefe standard ” made it impossible for him to gather a working force able to do more than pick up the nuts as they fell in the uncleared jungle, but, worked even in this manner, the island poured in money in a golden stream from the first. Lottie Terry had the methodical business faculties of her German father, while the Caroline blood of her mother made it easy for her to under- stand and get on with the natives. She was devoted heart and soul to O’Keefe and his interests, and scarcely less so to the splendid little colony of Polynesians he had gathered for her to look after. She treated them, as she still does, as brothers and sisters. They were worked but eight hours a day, provisions were given them almost at ost, and the contents of a liberally-stocked medicine chest were always at their disposal free of charge.

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276 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Affairs were going on thus felicitously, O'Keefe fattening his bank account and Lottie Terry laying the founda- tion of the fairest, happiest little colony in the world, when the last and greatest Papuan raid An islander armed with « huge war-club. From a Photograph. occurred. O’Keefe had just sailed on his regular voyage to Hong-Kong when twenty or thirty big war proas appeared on the southern horizon and rapidly bore down upon the island. The village was thrown into a panic, for not only had the dreaded black men never appeared in such numbers before, but they had also come at a time when the ammunition was nearly exhausted. Lottie Terry and the doughty old rajah, however, rallied their small forces, and although it was impossible to prevent the landing of the savages, they were held for a while at the farther end of the island. Bamboo barricades were thrown up around the village, and behind these, carefully husbanding their ammunition, the defenders repeatedly repulsed the attacks of the hordes of Papuans. The schooner was longer than usual in coming. and things were pretty nearly in the last ditch for the exhausted villagers before its cloud of white sail was sighted to north’ard. The big war proas on the beach revealed the situation to O'Keefe while he was still some miles away. and his action was characterized by no less nerve and promptness than that which won him the island in the first place. The savages, rightly surmising that the swiftly approaching schooner carried a cannon and a fresh supply of small-arm ammunition, were hurriedly preparing to embark before the turn of the tide made it impossible to get their huge war proas over the reef, when the intrepid Irishman defeated the move by doing what no other skipper had dared to do before, and which none has ventured to do since—took the desperate chance of anchoring his schooner on the shelving slope of Mapia reef. Even the modernly-equipped Dutch steamers of to-day, which come bi-monthly for Mapia’s huge copra output, prefer to keep under steam, taking their cargo from small boats as they move slowly up and down the coast, to risking the chance of anchoring on the precarious holding offered by the reef, For a sailing vessel, of course, it is a hundred times more hazardous. O’ Keefe knew the risk he was taking, chanced it without a second thought, and brought off his coup. From a distance of three hundred yards his sailors poured in such a hail of bullets on the half-launched proas that the savages were forced to scamper into the jungle for shelter. Ina few minutes all chance of escape for six hours was cut off by the falling tide. O’Keefe said afterwards that it was the busiest six hours of his life. Slipping off the reef with the current, he dropped down opposite the village and landed. Ten minutes sufficed to muster his well-dis- ciplined men and deal out ammunition ; the rest, for the most part, was a repetition of his whirl- wind campaign against the “‘ two kings,” and the Papuans proved no better able to stand Pat O’Keefe than had those unlucky rajahs. The Irishman’s blood was up on this occasion, however, for the very existence of his little “ kingdom ” depended on teaching the Papuans a lesson they would not forget. Survivors were no object this time, for O’Keefe was beyond the point where he needed to make money by selling labourers. One chief and a dozen strong paddlers were put off to “ break the news to Papua.” A large grave, containing

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THE WONDERFUL ISLAND. 277 all that was earthly of the rest, and the weather- beaten fragments of the great carved war proas serving as a fence for a taro patch, I was shown when I was ashore at Mapia. And the raiders came no more. The business went on swimmingly during the years that followed, and the colony grew and prospered accordingly. The systematic gather- ing of the nuts from the other small islands of the group was undertaken, and the consequent increase of copra soon made it impossible for the schooner to make the voyage to Hong- Kong and back fast enough to handle it all. It -was accordingly carried to Yap and tran- shipped to the Australian steamers. Soon after the rights for making copra on several other small coral islands were secured, and each, following the Mapia plan, was put under the supervision of some carefully-picked female “boss.” Towards the end of the ‘nineties plans were under way for the construction of a couple of thousand-ton steamers to handle the rapidly increasing business. But Mapia still remained the pet idea of O’Keefe ; for no other place did he pick his labourers so carefully. Six children were born to him and the faithful Lottie, now his wife— three sons and three daughters. The eldest daughter was taken to a convent in Hong- Kong while she was but a few years old, and under the careful teaching of the sisters grew up to be a young lady of real charm and refine- ment. The other five ran more or less wild upon the island. The boys sailed with their father, and the girls swam and paddled and, when it pleased them, worked with the native women. They were beautiful to look at, but wild and uncontrolled—quite the typical half- caste heroines of South Sea romance. Why O’Keefe did not take the two younger girls to the Hong-Kong convent I have not been able to learn, but I surmise it was because the “fine lady ” whom the sisters had made of the eldest daughter showed depths some- what beyond the reach of the sound- ing-lead of the tempestuous old salt. Atany rate, he determined to school the others on the island, and early in 1899 he went to Hong-Kong in his schooner to make the necessary arrangements. He secured a young Catholic priest as teacher, laid in a big supply of books, and started back for Mapia. It was recalled that he had a strong, fair wind out of the harbour—an ominous local sign—and that the schooner, sailing like a witch, beat the swift P. and 0. mail boat a mile an hour down “The girls swam and paddied when it pleased them.” the bay. She was doing even better than that in the open sea when the chagrined skipper of the latter swung off on his Singapore course. The typhoon signals were not hoisted until that evening, but somewhere down to the north of Luzon O’Keefe must have met the great storm whirling in towards the coast. Down in Mapia they waited long for the schooner and O’Keefe and the schoolmaster. Weeks lengthened into months, and months into years, and Lottie still held firm to the belief that some day she would sight the familiar topsails, as she had sighted them so often before, standing clear against the lowering nimbus of the northern horizon. It was only last year that the exigencies of the business were respon- sible for turning the until then swept and gar- nished schoolhouse into a copra shed. Two of O’Keefe’s sons and the priest perished with him. Under the skilful management of Madame Lottie, things went on with the business a good deal.as before. When the Dutch Government discovered that Mapia fell within the boundaries of Insulinde, she was successful in having her concession confirmed in Batavia, and not long afterwards was able to induce the Royal Packet Company, by a thousand guilder guarantee for each call, to send its big steamers a hundred miles off their regular New Guinea run, taking the risk of wreck on the treacherous Mapia reef, to handle her freight. In 1907 the daughter in Hong-Kong mar- ried a young coastal steamer engineer by the

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278 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Mrs. Brown, one of Captain O'Keefe's daughters, with her husband, who is manager of the island, and Mr. Bilis, the From a) assistant manager. (Photograph. name of Brown. They remained in China until last year, when Lottie induced Brown to come to Mapiaas her manager: The second daughter, as might have been expected from her bringing up, made a sad mess of things by running away with a half-caste Dutch-Malayan tax-collector, who was fifty years of age, and already had a wife and grown-up daughters in the Moluccas. yas pointed out to me quite recently in the streets of Ternate, sarong-clad, sullen of face and bearing, and with little but the unusual whiteness of her skin to differentiate her from one of the natives. The third daughter, who is still under twenty, was sent tardily to the Hong-Kong convent, and is now in school in England. The surviving son is in Yap. I am sorry indeed that I have not the space for even a short description of Mapia as I found it on my visit. Madame Lottie was suffering from a headache, the result of being up all night with her correspondence, and I did not have the honour of meeting her. I spent the day with Mr. and Mrs. Brown and Mr. Ellis, the latter a one-time mate of O’Keefe’s, and now Brown’s assistant manager. The top photograph shows the three of them. Mrs. Brown is sitting on the butt of a cocoa-nut tree which was killed twenty - five years ago by being shattered with a shot from the old ten-pounder of the ship in which her father first came to Mapia. Owing to the fact that most of the living cocoa-nut trees on Mapia are self-sown, and that much of the island is primeval jungle, copra-making is still carried on after the old native methods, The clearing of the jungle, however, and the thinning or re- planting of the trees, is going on rapidly under Brown’s vigorous management. When the whole magnificent property is handled in an up-to-date manner, Lottie and the Browns will be able to make their contemplated round-the-world trip on a private yacht and pay expenses with ten per cent. of their income. The old O’Keefe régime has beenaltered no whit. It is still eighthours’ work for the natives, with double pay for extra time, pro- visions at cost, and free medi- cine. And it is these same natives that are the real feature of Mapia. Half of the total population of the island is made up of sons and daughters of O’Keefe’s origi- nal importa- tions, and his unique scheme of selection has resulted in what surely must be the highest average of phy- sical perfection ever attained by a whole community of people. Not among the handsome, high-headed cannibals of the Marquesas, not among the statuesque siva-siva dancers of Samoa, have I recollection of a dozen men.and women that would equal the Mapia standard. And the best of it is that they are healthy, happy, contented, and simply bubbling over with the vitality and joie de vivre that is their birthright. As I write this I can still hear in fancy the thythmic cadence of their ringing chants as they carry the copra out across the reef. Another of Captain O’Keefe's daughters. From a Photograph.

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WITH PENELOPE IN CYPRUS. By F. E. HARDEMAN. A chatty and amusing description of a holiday in little-known Cyprus, which, though full of interest and charm, is rarely visited by travellers or tourists. IN my opinion— Mand I think every public- school boy will bear me out— one has quite enough of Greek in one’s schooldays. So I turned a deaf ear when Penelope urged me to share her studies in “ Marl- borough’s Greek Self- Taught,” which she had purchased because she was haunted by the dread that we might go short of food in Cyprus, whither we were hound. We were always led to believe that ancient Greek was a noble and sonorous language, but a nation that can say “Etse Ketse” in reply to the query “ How is your health to-day ? ” and that refers to “‘ this evening ” as ‘‘ 4popse” seems to me only fit to converse with infants. Besides, not a word is the same as our Greek ; either they must be wrong or the old Johnnies that taught us had got it all upside down. In any case, I declined on principle to annoy myself with the language. It is the business of natives to learn English. I have always been told, if they don’t understand, one should merely repeat it louder, and then shout. You will think, gentle reader, that we are some time in getting started, but it is quite all right. “Penelope rode astride like all other ladies.” A book I was reading on Cyprus by the great Mr. Mallock—“ The Enchanted Isle ”—took half the volume to get to Brindisi in the P. and O. express. I cautioned Penelope that she had better allow her literary gifts to remain in abeyance during our stay in the island. The last three authors who have recorded their impressions would, I understand, have an unpleasantly warm welcome if they renewed their visit. The one for whose blood they are chiefly thirsting is a young man employed for a few weeks on the railway, who stated in a book that ‘‘ Cyprus is known to be the most unhealthy spot in the Mediterranean,” whereas the exact contrary is the case—the climate is simply magical. The good lady of the classics who undertook to

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280 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Wine-barrels coming alongside, floating in strings—The barrels are previously tarred inside, which somewhat spoils the flavour of the wine! Front a Photograph. make peopie young again by boiling them could really have carried out her contracts if she had known about Cyprus air and its properties. But I don’t suppose she did know. The place has a habit of getting lost; the Vanishing Island in Derwentwater is nothing to it. “When we had discovered Cyprus,” they say in the Acts, but it never stays discovered. If anyone does pretend to know anything about it, you may be certain they have got it mixed up with Crete or Corfu. Politically, it crops up from time to time to worry the Colonial Secretary, and people write to the papers and say that something ought to be done, and there the matter ends. But let me get on with our journey. Having boarded the steamer at Alexandria, we touched first at Limasol, twenty hours from Port Said, and stayed far out in the bay. There are no harbours in Cyprus except a small one, which might be made better, at Famagusta; and a hand-basin, which becomes a whirlpool in bad weather, at Kyrenia. A small fleet of sailing and rowing boats soon gathered round us. The sea was mountains high, but of a fine Reckitt’s Blue shade. Penelope called to me that some other boats between us and the shore were anchored to a reef, which I thought very unsafe. The “ reef,” however, suddenly began to move, and proved to be a string of about thirty large wine-casks intended for cargo, which came swimming out to join us. The barrels are previously tarred inside, which makes the flavour of the wine less subtle than some connoisseurs might like. Concerning that s:me wine, Penelope observed that it took me along time to make up my mind about it. I pointed out to her that women are admittedly lacking in the scientific spirit and that all great discoverers have been men. The wine is generally described as “ serviceable” — faint praise, but it proves, I am told, a good basis for French claret, and of late they under- stand their business better ; up to now, as a recent wine circular puts it, ‘this much - inflicted people, growing under unkind oppression,” have remained rather non- progressive. In agriculture nothing fresh was introduced from the time of the Flood to the British occupation. I heard there was wine in Limasol a hundred and fifty years old, but I am glad to say I did not meet it. The price of port is one shilling a bottle, brandy only eightpence. Cigarettes you can get for almost nothing. Our steamer, the Lejkosia (Lefkosia is the old name for Nikosia, and why they changed it no one knows), went on to Larnaca, but we made for the shore in an unpleasantly wobbly boat, together with several natives and a sea-sick baby. After Penelope had assured the Customs authorities that she carried no firearms, and after we had inspected a gloomy hole under- ground, which to Richard the Lion-Heart appeared, in the absence of Westminster Abbey, a suitable place for a royal wedding—his own— we took the postal automobile to Larnaca, about three hours through very pretty country, crossing the spurs of Troodos, the snow-capped and pine- clad mountain range, where ‘every one who can manage it spends a happy time camping out during the hot months. There were fields of young corn and sheets of wild flowers (it was early March) and plenty of fine olive and caroub trees, which look equally well all the year round. We stayed the night in Larnaca at the Royal Hotel, which advertises “‘ Delicious Nourishment and Healthy. Full Service without Neglect. Can be made other Agreements.” It was not at all bad. Lar aca is one of the places—Marseilles is another—where Lazarus is buried. We went to (

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WITH PENELOPE IN CYPRUS. 281 becomes a whirlpool in bad weather.” Photograph. see his tomb and also a salt - lake which, thanks to a monopoly, brings in five thousand pounds a year. On the far shore of the lake is a tomb-shrine where a venturesome old tourist, aunt or grandmother or nurse to the Prophet—no one seems to care which—ended her travels suddenly by falling off adonkey. I expect it was the movable stirrups that did it ; till you get used to them, one knee or the other is always hitting you under the chin. Also, the rolled-up blankets and _ eider - quilt which cover the saddle are always slipping about, but even so a ride on a Cyprus mule is quite a pleasure. Penelope rode astride, like all the other ladies, but I did not copy the men in riding sideways. From Larnaca we took another postal omnibus to Nikosia, twenty-five miles. The chauffeur was an obliging man and hadn’t much on his mind beyond delivering a few letters, which he heaved out into the road without slackening speed. I suppose the owner, or someone else, found them later. We stopped once to cool the engines, and he vanished into a field, returning with an infant donkey under each arm for my wife to play with, She was delighted, but one of the donkeys was distinctly put out. The natives are all much gratified by a little notice. If Penelope stopped to admire a baby or examine a hand-loom or distaff, they would have her mto the house and put Vol. xxxi.—20. Between Limasol and Larnaca, showing the olive and caroub trees. A Torkish woman at Limesol. From a Photograph. From a Photograph. her on one chair with her feet on another and hand her a tray with a pot of jam and a fork and a glass of water. She liked preserved caishas best, a fruit between a nectarine and an apricot, but as they had to be eaten whole the conversation languished for some time after. They used to finger her clothes and jewellery respectfully ; if I wasn’t there they would ask her if she was eleuthera, which means free ; not a nice way of putting it. They would have been deeply hurt if she had offered money, but once she gave a girl a trumpery charm off her chain and the girl kissed her in rapture and broke down completely. They make pleasant ser- vants, and wages are not high, but you are supposed to find husbands for them and portion them off, which is rather a large order. The Greek women tie a coloured handkerchief over their hair, which is braided in two long pigtails, and they wear a jaunty short coat of black velvet for “best.” The Turkish women dress in a sort of skirt and cape in one, all cut alike, but in a great variety of materials, from brown satin and sage-green silk to cotton-duster stuff checked like a draught- board. They will allow you to photograph them if they have their veils close up; they draw them across very deftly, but they must want an

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282 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. extra hand badly sometimes. We saw a woman hand out a fowl and a knife to the first passer- by in order that he might kill it for her. She managed to keep her veil up to her eyes and open the door as well; we did not wait to see the end of the tragedy. In a Cypriote marriage the bride’s father The road to Nikosia is very bare, with curious. artificial-shaped sand hills ; Adonis came to his lamented end among some of them. The town itself, with palms and minarets, looks rather nice when you have got over the depressing approach formed by the prison, the lunatic asylum, anp the leper farm. Of these latter unfortunate “They will allow you to photograph them if they have their veils close up.” provides and furnishes the house; the swain also keeps an eye on the dowry. At a fashion- able wedding in Larnaca not long ago the church was full of expectant guests, but the bridegroom was walking on the pier and refusing to come in unless another one hundred pounds was added to the sum agreed upon. people there are about a hundred and fifty. Until they were collected into this comfortable settlement they found shelter where they could, in caves and ruins. After receiving this information Penelope's zeal for inspecting ancient architecture became somewhat damped, and she turned her attention

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WITH PENELOPE IN CYPRUS. 283 to scenery and Gothic cathedrals, though it vexed her to see the best of these used as mosques ; and even the call of the muezzin did not reconcile her to seeing Turks walk over the old Crusaders on the floor. In what was Salamis there are the remains of an Aphrodite temple, not so important as the one in Paphos, but you can examine it in peace, as there is no village near to supply ferocious dogs. It is on the seashore in the midst of deep The tempie of Aphrodite at Saiamis—ic is a reguiar fom Tiddier's ground jor relics. . From a Photograph. The island is kept beautifully clean nowadays, and epidemics are almost unknown, but the ple still have quaint ideas about sanitation, if they are left alone. The place where St. Barnabas—Agio Varnava as they call him—is buried is a tomb and well combined, which seems foolish, as the saint can have no use for the water, nor the water-drinkers for the saint. yellow sand and dark pines, just like North Norfolk, save for a blaze of Australian wattle in flower. You can wander as you please among the columns; in Italy there would be a turnstile and custodi. It is a regular Tom Tiddler’s ground for bits of marble pavement, iridescent glass. and so on. There is a law now against From a\ The spring is covered over now, and a frog sat appealingly on the stone, but the place is still very holy. On the door, a new one made of planks, they nail rags taken from the persons of the sick ; if it were smallpox it would be all the same. We came out rather quickly. A Venetian lion on the old fortifications. (Photograph, taking antiquities out of the island, but a German savant, until he was caught, did a large business by exporting boxes labelled ‘“ Turkish delight.” Famagusta, five miles away, used to have a church for every day in the year. There are

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284 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. still a dozen or two, all in ruins except one used as a mosque and another as a granary. The wonderful old Venetian fortifications right round the town, however. are as strong as ever, and the lion of St. Mark is much in evidence. skinned in the public square; this really did happen. The hotel at Famagusta, to judge by our experience, would be all the better for a clean table-cloth and some up-to-date butter. The pot Tarkish women with locust nets—The Government offers a bounty for all the insects caught. From a Photograph. There is one with a peculiarly sweet expression sitting at the foot of the tower where poor Desdemona paid the price of her tactlessness, and a second scowls at you from over the door- way. Another merry Famagusta tale is about a Venetian general Bragadino, whom the Turks hotel balcony at Nikosis. From a Photograph. From a) on the table is examined hopefully by every new-comer and then hastily covered up again. It is what the Germans would call uralt. We liked the Armenian hotel at Nikosia ; Penelope was specially addi ted to a balcony on the top stofey, from which she could see her favourite mountain in the Kyrenia range, called Pentedactulon (which means “ five fingers ”’), from its five peaks. The landlord talked a language of his own, but it gave him great satisfaction. “ What time Governum’ um plant, plenty trees,” was his tribute to the Forest Department ; he couldn’t get on at all without “what time ” and “ plenty. The son had been The Friday bazear in Nikosia.

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WITH PENELOPE IN CYPRUS. at the English school where they take Turks and Christians and all kinds of nationalities and turn them into very useful men. The hotel here is the second best in the island. For six shillings a day inclusive they lay at From a) your feet everything they have. There is also a nice little hotel in Kyrenia and an excellent one (the best of all) in Paphos, where they only charge five shillings. More civilized than we are at home, they include baths. Of course, Penelope was always off to the bazaar at Nikosia, chiefly visiting the silver and copper-smiths. The Friday morning bazaar, when all the country people come in, is really worth seeing, for the men are dressed out like peacocks. The women sit on the kerbstone with their bundles of embroidery and hand- woven silk. While Penelope negotiated with one of them about fifty more would gather round, calling out, “Kyria! Kyria!” and screaming to assist deliberation. She used to try to involve me in the business, Peasants at work with a hand loom. The tomb-shrine of Mahomet's aunt. (Photograph. 285 and would want me to say off-hand how many pics she would want for three and three-quarter yards and how much it would come to at six and a half piastres a pic. There were some ordinary shops as well as the \Photograp'. native bazaar; these had all the charm of unexpectedness. The best grocer had nothing but straw hats and valentines in his window, and the draper was indicated by walking-sticks and exercise-books. Cyprus (Kupros) is where copper came from originally, and -cypress trees are called after the island, or the other way about—I forget which. ACypriote peasant ¢irl—They make good servants, bat the employer is supposed to find husbands and dowriee From a) for them! (Photograph,

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286 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. They don’t grow many cypress trees now; there is more money in olive oil and caroub beans, out of which cattle- food is made. The smell of the orange blossoms is enough to knock you down. In March, as soon as the sun gets hot, you may see people tearing over the hillsides with butterfly nets; they are catching the locusts to sell to “ Gover- num,” which takes this means of keeping down the pest. One pair of locusts can produce two thousand million in ten years, if only half hatch out, so it is as well there is =| no Society for the Kindly Treatment of ae re Locusts. A landscape in Cyprus, showing two of the oxen used for ploughing The native Press is unfortunately very Reem ¢ Photograph: seditious, and goes on saying the same thing, like a dog turning round after his tail. They go on the principle that if they say it ten times it is true; in fact, it is only the student of Lewis Carroll and the “ Bab Ballads ” who can appreciate many things in Cyprus. The people are not grateful, and instead of reflecting on the state in which we found them in ’78 they are always nagying away because we don’t pay the whole instead of only half the tribute to the ground landlord, Turkey. They have a mania, copied from Crete, for being united to Greece, but Greece has n t the least intention of being bothered with them; she has enough to do to raise the wind for her present undertakings. They hold seditious meetings, with the police to assist them in every way, just as if they were in London, and the, wave Greek fags at the Governor like naughty children. The Cypriotes have plenty of superstitions. On New Year's Eve, for instance, everyone gambles, because, if he wins, it brings him luck all through the year. I don’t know what the losers gain by it. When there is an eclipse of the moon the Turks bring out their guns to shoot the devil, who they think has got hold of it. re. On Good Friday and Easter Sunday the street boys Eee E “shoot Judas,” with anything from a squib to a cannon, till you are nearly deaf. I was afraid Penelope would be rather vexed when she found I had been writ- ing after telling her not to. However, it seems she has a series of letters ready for immediate dispatch to a prominent newspaper. She says she wants to set the island on its feet, and make people go there in crowds, as they are bound to do when they know of its manifold charms. I am bound to say that in conversation with some of the English residents—whose hospitality made our stay still more pleasant—I gathered the . < 5} impression that personally they much Ring at Famagusta, which used to have ‘a church for every day in the prefer to go on having the place to —There are only two now, one used as a mosque and the other as a veer only poe! ated {Pistoceaps. themselves. The entrance to Othello’s tower, whe: From a) ied.

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The Uninvited Guest. From a) The leopard after it had been shot by Harm seen holding the gun. By CYRIL ST. JOHN HOWE, of the Provincial Civil Service, Bihar, India. A very amusing narrative, showing how little things lead to great events. If Harma had not forgotten his wedding-ring he would never have seen Mr. Spots, the leopard would not have gone to church, and this story would never have been written. ‘ The facts are exactly as stated,’ writes Mr. Howe. T was on a Monday in February, 1912, that the Mission Station of Benagaria, in the Sonthal Parganas, was agog with excitement. The Sonthal Parganas are very little known, except perhaps by name, even in India, so that it is but reasonable to suppose that few people outside its limits know where this district 1s really situated. For the benefit of the un- initiated, therefore, I will explain that these “ Parganas” are situated in the new province of Bihar, and lie between the districts of Hazari- bagh on the west and Birbhum on the east, and are inhabited for the most part by aboriginal tribes, such as the Sonthals, from whom the district derives its name, Paharias or hill-men, and Mahulies, or outcast Sonthals. The head- quarters of the district are situated at Dumka, which is about five hundred feet above sea level and some forty miles from the nearest railway station. To these two facts, its altitude and seclusion, Dumka owes its charm, for it is undoubtedly one of the prettiest and most healthy of “plains stations” in all Bihar. Benagaria, which is thirty miles from Dumka, is the largest station of the Sonthal Mission of the Northern Churches. (The staff of this Mission is mainly composed of Norwegians and Danes of the Lutheran Church, hence its name.) The country round about Ben :garia is undulating for the most part, and far from thickly wooded, except where there are hills. The Sonthal is, moreover, a born Nimrod, so that big game— in fact, game of any kind—is very scarce. The incident which I am about to narrate was, for these reasons, all the more unexpected. On the day alluded to in the opening lines of this narrative, the entire Mission Station, especially the indigenous part of the population, was deeply stirred owing to an_ interesting event fixed to take place on that day. This was no less than a marriage between one of the Christian maidens in the Mission school and a Christian youth of the vicinity. They had

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288 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. been duly betrothed, and the banns published in the Mission church, and matters had gone so far without a hitch, when the unexpected— which so frequently happens—took place. For, obviously, mo marriage can be solemnized without a “ padre sahib” (minister), and it was this very calamity that nearly occurred on this eventful day. What happened was this: The bridegroom-elect had been round that morning to the Rev. P——, who was in charge of the Station, to see if by any chance he had forgotten anything essential to the approaching ceremony. During his examination it transpired that there was a most important item which he had over- looked—nothing less than the wedding-ring! Now in this respect Harma—for that was the name of the happy man—was no worse than many a prospective Western bridegroom, and history was but repeating itself in his case. Harma realized now that his fault lay in trust- ing too implicitly in the word of the notoriously procrastinating sonar (or goldsmith), who had promised delivery of the ring ordered at least a week before. For a second or two, Harma wished that he was still a “bonga hor,” or heathen, for then he would have been free to give that lying, unreliable artisan a bit of Sonthal Billingsgate that would have made his hair curl. As it was, he could but control his injured feelings, though he promised himself to pay the man back in some other way. Harma,. feeling very annoyed, went off to interview the presuming craftsman in question. But ‘further ill-fortune awaited the distressed man. He had not gone very far when, on passing by the big tank used to store water in for irrigation purposes in a dry season, he happened to glance into the tunnel-like aqueduct leading into the tank, where, in the shadow, he saw a figure lying. What lazy heathen Mission employé was this, thought Harma, who was having an unauthorized rest in the cool and seclusion of the aqueduct? “Hah!” grunted the young man. “I will soon unearth him from there and set him about his business.” On approaching a little closer, Harma ob- served two glowing pin-points of fire shining out of the gloom. It could not be that the culprit was smoking a “ chilam” (country pipe), for that would account for but one glimmering object, whereas he saw two, and these set so close together that they must be eyes—the eyes of some large animal. It is some stray sheep worried by the village dogs, thought Harma, and he accordingly went nearer to investigate. Suddenly a_ hissing, spitting sound proceeded from the owner of the eyes, and the startled Harma retreated so hastily that he turned a complete somersault in his trepidation. On collecting his scattered senses, he con- cluded that the sound could proceed from no other animal than a leopard, and he accordingly flew from the spot for dear life in the direction of the pastor’s bungalow. Arrived there, Harma managed to articulate, “ Sahib, maran bandre tarup menaea,” meaning “ Sir, a leopard is near the big tank,” and sank down exhausted with his flight. He soon recovered himself, however, lest the padre should afterwards chaff him— for if there is anything that the Sonthal dreads it is chaff. The padre looked steadfastly for a moment at Harma, wondering whether he might have partaken of a drink of grog on his way to the Mission that morning in order to keep up his courage. But the look on Harma’s face dispelled all suspicions and corroborated his words. The man had evidently seen something to frighten him, and the missionary accordingly hastened to his room to hunt for an old double- barrelled shot gun which he knew was there. Seizing hold of it and dropping a few cartridges into his pockets, he hastened out to Harma, and together the two proceeded to where the suspected leopard was in hiding. Now the gun with which the missionary had armed himself had at one time been a very accurate weapon, but at the period of this history one barrel admitted daylight through several holes, while the other was so rusted that it was positively dangerous to discharge ball ammuni- tion through it. All this was realized thoroughly by Mr. P—— as he hurried along with Harma, but as no better weapon was forthcoming he had perforce to be content. Approaching the tunnel-like aqueduct with the skilled practice of hunters, they peered into the darkness, and presently the missionary descried two gleaming orbs fixed on him, and for a few seconds hunt- ers and hunted glared at one another. The missionary, after his inspection, decided that the animal must be a leopard, as it was not big enough for a tiger, and too big for a tiger-cat or hyena. Having come to this conclusion, Mr. P—— loaded his gun, and was about to dispatch Harma to collect the Mission workers and servants, when he espied the guests invited to the wedding coming leisurely along towards him, They were in no hurry, as the wedding was fixed for noon and there was still plenty of time. The missionary promptly hailed them, and the men came up at a run, when a brief consultation was held. Mr. P—— explained the condition of his gun to them, and asked their advice as to whether the beast should be driven out and clubbed to death,(or whether the two

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THE UNINVITED GUEST. 289 a ‘. Sec entrances to the aqueduct should be blocked up simultaneously and the prute prevented from emerging alive from inside it. Neither plan met with the approval of the new-comers, however, and finally Mt: P = determined to risk his life by discharging his ancient weapon at the animal. ‘Accordingly he ordered the onlookers to seek a place of safety, “They dropped the net and rushed off hélter-skelter.”

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299 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at such times than even a lion or tiger. The men were hastening to obey his orders, when suddenly the plucky missionary’s eyes alighted on a fishing-net lying by the side of the tank, its owner being among the crowd. A bright idea instantly struck him. How would it do to have the net held on the tank side of the aqueduct while he drove the leopard out in that direction? Then, while it was struggling to free itself, it could be easily clubbed to death. No sooner thought of than acted on, and in a moment the net was spread across the tank side of Mr. Spots’s lair, whilst the missionary and a portion of his flock made the welkin ring again with lusty shouts and savage yells. ‘The poor brute, puzzled to account for the pandemonium now let loose on him, proceeded to stalk out of his retreat. As soon as the “ leopard-fishers ” realized that he was coming towards them, however, they dropped the net and rushed off helter-skelter in the opposite direction. ‘The beast meanwhile picked his way over the net in a most dignified and unconcerned manner. Going to the top of the embankment round the tank, he paused for a moment to view the scenery from his coign of vantage, and then made off in the direction of the Mission church. Mr. P——, needless to say, was furious, for he was now met with a fresh problem. He had to solemnize the marriage between Harma and his *‘ intended” that day or it would have to be put off for another week, as he had to attend a conference in Dumka, and was compelled to start that same night for his destination. Harma was also very anxious to have the ceremony performed with as little delay as possible, as he considered he had lost enough time already over the preliminaries, yet here was a leopard calmly making for the church where the wedding was to take place. The religious air of the locality seemed to have an effect on Mr. Spots, for he made direct for the church and proceeded to loll full length on one of the verandas that run right round the building. His whole air was one of confidence and indifference to the world in general. It looked as though he knew the sacredness of his retreat, and was sure his pursuers would understand that he had claimed sanctuary. Alas! his hopes were doomed to disappointment, for the building was urgently needed for a different purpose than providing rest-houses for leopards, and it was decided to dislodge him with as little delay as possible. It is the custom in India during the hot weather to shut all the doors of a house as soon as the sun begins to make itself felt, in order to keep out the glare and strong, dust-laden west winds that blow at this time of the year. ‘The effect is to keep the building as cool as possible in the circumstances. Mr. P. noticed that the church doors were all closed with the exception of one, which made the plan he had conceived all the more feasible. ‘This plan was nothing short of trapping the brute in the church, where he would be prevented from harming anybody, and where he could be kept safely until a reliable weapon could be sent for with which to terminate his career; the solitary door being open the missionary attributed to the carelessness of the mission boy who acted as ‘‘verger”’ of the church. Mr. P——- decided to station himself in front of the leopard, with his superannuated gun, whilst he got his flock to form a cordon round the building to prevent the animal moving away from its present quarters. ‘The hunters were in no hurry to disturb the brute, as they knew very well he would soon go in search of a cooler spot. He was bound to notice the open door, and would in all probability be tempted by the coolness to explore the interior of the building. Once inside, the door through which he passed could be fastened on him, and he could be left there to ruminate on the uncertainties of life. The whole plan gave promise of working out successfully, with a minimum of risk and trouble, and the missionary was highly elated accordingly. His elation, however, soon changed to consternation when he saw his only daughter Elsie coming up the church path in the direction of the leopard’s retreat. In ordinary cir- cumstances the chances would be against the leopard attacking the girl, but in its present excited state it was more than probable the beast would fly at her. The unhappy padre’s mind was torn by conflicting emotions. Should he fire at the animal and thereby endanger his life, or should he trust to Providence to protect his child? For a moment human nature got the better of the clergyman, and he raised his dangerous weapon to his shoulder and took steady aim at the leopard. For a moment only, however ; the next instant he had lowered his gun, and breathed a prayer of thankfulness, for the shouts and gesticulations of the Sonthals who were forming a rough cordon around the church convinced his daughter that something untoward was taking place. She accordingly turned off the path at right angles and by making a long détour at length reached her father, who was anxiously awaiting her reappearance. Hastily Mr. P—— explained to her the narrow escape she had had from a cruel death, but Elsie was in no way awed by this narration. On the contrary, she demanded that her father should help her up on to the nearest tree, whence she could view the proceedings with advantage and yet to be out of reach of the

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THE UNINVITED GUEST. 291 leopard. The padre promptly complied with the request, and took up his stand at the foot of the tree on which he had perched her. He then shouted to Harma to shut the door of the church immediately Mr. Spots had walked inside. ‘There remained nothing to be done now but to wait on the animal’s pleasure, and the curious game of “ patience” interrupted by Elsie’s advent was forthwith resumed. The next act was not long in taking place, and what followed occurred in a few seconds. The veranda on which Mr. Spots had taken up his temporary quarters began to get uncom- fortably warm, and accordingly that gentleman arose in leisurely fashion and went in search of the anxious pastor of the success of his mission, and whilst the latter was engaged in helping his daughter down from her perch, Harma took the opportunity of seizing the despised weapon which the missionary had been obliged to lay aside, and hurried away with it. The next second a deafening report was heard, and when the padre and his daughter peered through the venetian blinds of the nearest door, their chagrin can better be imagined than described to see their latest parishioner gnawing great chunks of wood out of the new American organ, the joy and pride of the station. For Harma’s shot with the old gun had taken effect, and the leopard was in his death agonies. In a few The church at the Mission Station inside which the leopard took refuge. From a Photograph. acooler retreat. With one or two longing glances in the direction of his native wilds, between which and him the forms of his natural enemies obtrusively presented themselves, he stalked away to the shadier side of the house, in which direction, fortunately, the open door happened to be. Tempted by the coolness and solitude, Mr. Spots paused a moment on the threshold of the door to ascertain the advantages or otherwise of the new retreat he had discovered. The survey proving satisfactory, he finally stalked majestically inside. Meanwhile Harma had been closely watching him, and no sooner had the leopard crossed the threshold than he sprang on to the veranda and securely fastened the door on his unsuspect- ing victim. This done, he hastened to inform minutes the struggling ceased, and the beast lay dead. He was carried outside, slung on a bamboo by some of Harma’s admirers, and the sporting padre took a photograph of the leopard with the successful and hugely delighted “ shikaree. ’ The picture taken, Harma devoted his atten- tion to procuring a ring for his approaching nuptials, and after a diligent search he succeeded in persuading an ancient but kind-hearted widow to take pity on him, and lend him hers for the purpose. The ceremony having been duly performed by the missionary, the guests hastened out to partake of the banquet provided. The most appetizing dainty in the entire spread was unanimously voted to be the flesh of the “ un- invited guest.”

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A REMARKABLE LONDON MARKET. Written and IIlustrated by CHARLES J. L. CLARKE. A man of means—A silver and plate dealer setting out enough valuables to stock an average-sized jewellers shop. From a Photograph. Quite unknown to the majority of Londoners, there is held every Friday at Islington what is, perhaps, one of the most extraordinary pavement-markets in the world. The dealers are of all classes and kinds; the customers range from Peers of the realm and Society dames down to the poorest of the poor. At this strange place you can buy anything from a diamond ring to a donkey, a piece of antique furniture or a broken-down perambulator. Bvery article one can think of is to be found somewhere in this odd market, and many remarkable bargains have been picked up there by sharp-eyed buyers. but London, amongst its many other | unique features, is the proud pos- sessor of what is, perhaps, the strangest and most extraordinary of them all. And—as is usual with London institutions— not one Londoner in twenty has ever heard of it. At the Caledonian Market, Islington, whence the great Metropolis draws a large proportion of its meat supply, the cobbled pavements, with their countless rows of white-fenced pens, are usually given up to the display of fat stock, but on Fridays “‘a change comes o'er the spirit of the dream.” The cobbled pavements are there, the white pens still break up the wide expanse, but no cattle or sheep are to be seen. On that day the great market is given over to a throng of miscellaneous traders, whose wares provide the most amazing contrasts imaginable. There is nothing in the whole gamut of human devices and needs which one may not come across displayed in some odd collection set forth on the cobble-stones. The traders use few counters or stalls; each of them, whether he has a stock worth three or four hundred pounds or a few rusty old bolts and spindles which one might reasonably expect to purchase for a shilling or two, dumps his wares on the pavement of the market. Moreover, at this remarkable place there are markets within markets, each taking its regular turn and place during the day and then packing up and vanishing. Ever since the market was opened by Prince Albert—now nearly sixty years ago—this quaint collection of pavement-traders has occupied the ground on one day a week. They started as a congregation of London costermongers, and the first twenty years saw little change except in numbers, but to-day the marvellous range of traders includes practically every business under the sun. The heterogeneous mass of wares displayed by these men attracts a vast crowd, which is not less cosmopolitan than the traders them- selves. There is an odd attraction about the place, and rich and poor, as soon as they get to know of this veritable bargain-hunter’s paradise, flock within the iron gates to satisfy their desire for cheap purchases, or, in the case of more

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A REMARKABLE humble patrons, to secure some household requisite which shall not make too deep inroads into the limited family exchequer. No Eastern bazaar is half so diverse in its medley of trades and traders or in its incongruous admixture of fashionable and poverty-stricken customers. Weather makes little difference to the market, although the finer summer months are naturally more attractive, but the place has its regular visitors, who would brave a torrential downpour or an Arctic blizzard rather than miss a chance of picking up some rare bargain from the flag- stones. One gets more varied sensations at the Cale- donian Market in a day than any place of amuse- ment can provide in a week. I say in a day advisedly, because to see all its wonders one must be content to linger throughout the long light hours, for as one class of trader packs up and departs, their places are taken by another group of dealers, so totally different in station and wares that the onlooker might reason- ably think that he had been transported to an entirely different quarter of the city. The uninitiated student of fashion might be excused for promenading the streets of the West to view the latest and smartest productions of human attire or of lurking in the precincts of Westminster in search of fleeting M.P.’s; but fashionable devotees in all their glory and law- makers without number are to be found on Friday mornings at the Caledonian Market. Neither visitors nor traders are native to the soil of England alone. Londoners mingle with folks from the provinces, while Colonials, Ameri- cans, Dutchmen, Germans, Austrians, French- men, and every other nationality, including the dignified Turk, are plentiful. The traders, if not quite so varied in nation- ality, are still varied enough, and you can buy some little trinket for a few shillings from many a seedy-looking trader who can converse fluently in three or four Continental languages. The “ pitch ”-holders come from all parts, and an observant Londoner can see heavily- loaded carts making their way northwards through the great city that have been all night on the road, journeying from such distant centres as Dorking, Reading, or Maidstone. Motor-cars of wealthy bargain-hunters wait- ing outside the market. From a Photograph. LONDON MARKET. 293 There is a “ king” of the market, a man of substance, with a reputation which might well be envied by many a West-end shopkeeper. His deals are in guineas, and he thinks no more of selling a twenty - guinea piece of antique furniture than he does of partaking of his early breakfast at six-thirty a.m. on market mornings. He takes payment in cheques, or debits the accounts of his wealthy customers as regularly as any great City trader. Shortly after midday the stall of Mr. Dudley Goldsmid, the “ king ” of the market, is cleared of its valuable collection to make way for some trader in a later market, and then his carts deliver the purchased goods to Park Lane, Kensington, or any other fashionable quarters where his aristocratic customers live. eo graeme Mr. Dudley Goldsmid, the ‘* King” of the market—He deals in valuable antique furniture, and has many Society people among From a) his patrons. (Photograph. Possibly the very next “pitch” to that of this wealthy trader may be the last hope of some poor soul who has staked his solitary remaining shilling for a stand in the hope of finding a buyer for five or six articles which would be dear at a shilling a-piece. Some of the weird little collections of broken

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294 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Where East meets West—Looking over some of the odd “ pitches” in the market From a Photograph. perambulators, discarded - footballs, worn-out stroke of good fortune, and look down on a stock ovens, and such like items one sees about would of valuable goods which will bring him in good be almost laughable yellow gold, as many another big trader in the were it not that the market has done before. It was only a few years obvious poverty of the ago that the cheery “king” of the market him- trader and his anxiety self made his first to dispose of his venture on the odd “ stock” bring hard cobbles, and a sympathetic from small begin observer nearer nings ultimately tears. But the glamour of luck is over the whole place. Pounds are made like pence when trade is good and—who_ knov — the ‘miserable dealer in rubbish ma y soon have A connoisseur searching for bargains—Some time ago a lady bought « piece of china which later fetched three hundred pounds. From a Photograph.

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A general view of part of the market. From a Photograph. arrived at his present proud posi- tion, 3y eleven o'clock on Friday mornings the roads around the Caledonian Market resemble the side streets near the Royal ‘Academy in May, for long rows of smart motor-cars and liveried servants W ait while their fashionable and wealthy owners wend their way amongst the motley bargains. The instances of prizes found and lost in this curious place are numerous, Nor are the returns from a lucky purchase matters of small moment. One lady, who is now, of course, a regular pilgrim to the happy hunting-ground, gave fifteen shillings for a piece of china which caught her fancy. A big surprise awaited her, for her purchase was afterwards declared to be a rarity and valued at some three hundred pounds. This lucky speculation, if rare, is by no means unique in the history of this mar- vellous market. ‘As much as three hundred pounds’ worth of fine plate and silverware can be seen displayed on several of From a) The “boot king,” who will sell you footwear at a sb A REMARKABLE LONDON MARKET. 295 the “ pitches,” and miniatures, bronzes, and ancient works of art such as the collector loves are there in abundance. One lucky visitor with a keen eye for business actually bought thirty-five ounces of platinum, worth about nine pounds an ounce, from a stall where it lay in a dirty condition, unheeded and unrecognized by the dealer who had included it in his stock. ‘The purchase price was the familiar “ dollar,” which shows a decidedly handsome return to the purchaser for a morn- ing spent in this amazing mart. "The instances quoted are by no means isolated. A bargain-hunter in this kerbstone-market has bought a green-painted ivory figure for five shillings and sold it for seventy pounds ; a few shillings have secured a magnificent George I11.candelabra; hilling a pair and upwaras. | Photograph.

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296 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and a clock which was first bought for two pounds was sold again and again, eventually realizing forty pounds before it left the market. Numbers of Society collectors bring camp- stools and seat themselves in front of some miscellaneous collection of small art objects and survey and re-survey the stock for an hour or more. repeatedly asking the prices from the dealer. One well-to-do lady visitor has even dispensed with the stool and takes her seat on the cobble-stones cross-legged, in Turkish fashion, the better to carry out a scrutiny of the small objects and gems which litter the space in front of her. One might go on for a long time with a cata- logue of the bargains which have been secured among this strange collection of trades, who, besides their outside customers, are visited by leading dealers in their own trade to buy such things as will in turn suit their customers. But there are other interest- ing features besides the col- lectors’ happy hunting- ground. There is a rug and carpet = mer- chant who has traded in first- rate goods at cheap prices for over forty years, and who will sell you a rug made up from remnants of the very finest carpet for a few shil- lings. Near him is an aged trader who in the space of a few feet dis- plays quite a lot of curios andengravings and who trea- suresmemories of the time when the late King Edward . visited his stall, and when Lord Rothschild was amongst the crowd of seekers after the rare and beautiful. There is no need to go badly shod if you go to the Caledonian Market, for the enthroned “boot king ”’ will hop off his perch and fit you up for anything from a shilling. You can try anything in the market. From a} If you doubt the soundness of a secondhand harmonium which you may see, you can play on it yourself, or, if your knowledge does not run to producing music from these instruments, the pitch-holder will play you the ‘“ Wedding March” or the Dead March in “ Saul,’’ just to show that there is “no deception.” You not only see weird sights, but you hear weird sounds, for the dealers use every kind of instrument and noisy device toattract customers, and each week there are new sounds imported by pitch-holders to vary themonotony. Every thing you see is extraordi- nary. On a cold day it is quite likely that you will fry before you buy,” is one of the axioms of the market—Here we see a dealer demonstrating that there is no deception ” about # second-hand harmonium. (Photograph. spy some waiting horse snugly covered by a fine damask table-cloth which at one time cost a long price, and even now has no damage which would make one begrudge the few shillings for which it may be purchased. After two o’clock; when the Society crowd has gone, and the curio dealers and traders in more

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A REMAR SABLE LONDON MARKET. 297 One sees donkeys of all kinds ready to pull a coster’s barrow or become the pet of well-to-do children. It is another of the queer little markets within this vast conglomeration of queer things. Yet another surprise greets one during the afternoon. The traders in an export market make their way UP and down the walks, crying in strident tones, “ Bring out your clobber, bring out your clobber !” These gentry have @ use for everything wearable, from 4 top-hat to a pair of cord trousers. Tons of odds and ends and thousands of gar- ments they buy, all to be exported abroad. ‘This old = —— clothes emporium is eet 9, veloabe damask table-clotd he just another little eddy within the costly goods have left, the mer- human whirlpool that chants are joined by other oF ath has so many self- classes of traders, and a throng contained centres of of humble working people come interest. in search of cheap nec saries for the home. Ifa little stranger has come along, the youns couple who have enough to do in the ordinary way to keep the wolf from the door will find here @ cradle or @ perambulator, in full working order, for a tenth of the sum it was sold for before the leather split and the var- nish lost its pris- tine gloss. Pots and pans, fireirons and tea caddies, there isnothing one cannot get fromthe avement pitches of this marvellous emporium. One specialcorner of the market, fi) <a : curiously enough, . v3 \ ~ \ is devoted to don- keys. Itis said that : . . mo one ever saw % one dead, but here there are dozens very much alive. ” rol. xxxi.—21 2 of the ‘odd sights of the market —A horse covere! ‘From a) everything else, A dealer éalling attention to his miscellaneous wares by means of a cornet From a Photograph.

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ODDS anp ENDS. An Odd Visitor—The Chinese Theatre—Two Queer Little Italians, etc. JHE quaint little | snapshot here | shown depicts an incident that befell an Indian reader. Waking very early, after a long, hot, restless night just before the tains, and feeling thirsty, he went for a drink of water to the low teapoy (table) in the veranda, on which a water- bottle and glass always stood ready. Great was his disgust to find that a big frog had likewise been refreshing him- self, and was on the point of scrambling up the neck of the bottle to get out again. De- termined to have some satis- faction out of the affair, our correspondent hurried for his camera and took the accom- panying picture. How the frog climbed on to the table and ‘What an Indian reader saw when he got out of bed one for a drink of water. Bl vierat> Fh iq BAS hae 7 managed to get down the mouth of the bottle it is difi- cult to say, but the camera shows the way he got out again. Evidently India is no country for bibulous gentle- men with a tendency to ‘see things.” Outside the Flowery King- dom the Chinese theatre best known to Europeans is pro- bably that in the Chinese quarter at Singapore. Here tourists may witness a Chinese play performed just as it would in Peking or in any other Chinese city. Probably the piece has been running for a week and has not yet finished, as these plays often take a fortnight or even three weeks before the story is completed. At this theatre the plays are presented on a bare platform practically without scenery. The for a fortnight or three weeks, and practically no scenery is used. From a Photograph.

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ODDS AND orchestra occupy seats at the back of the stage, immediately behind the actors, who, to the Western onlooker, appear to come on and walk off as they choose. There is no drop-curtain, and it is difficult to tell where one act ends and another begins. If a man is lies down for a little whi jumps up and walks off. The setting, however, is to some extent indi- cated by the properties. An altar, for instance, represents a temple ; a crude bamboo rod, with a sign at its apex, a city ; and a pileof chairs and tables, a mountain. An in- teresting fact about these theatres is that all female parts are played From a Photograph. A big catch of sardines on the Portuguese coast—N: the excited throng of seagulls overhead. by the men, no women being allowed on the stage. The above photograph shows a busy scene on the Portuguese coast. A net full of sar- dines has just been landed and is about to be emptied—an operation which is evidently of considerable interest to the crowds of sea- gulls circling excitedly overhead, The net used is of enormous size, the part visible in the photograph, surrounded by the fisher- men, being merely the sack. It took forty- eight oxen, aided by many willing hands, to bring in this net and its finny load! ‘The striking photograph reproduced below was taken by a Wipe Wor Dp reader while on a visit to Italy some time ago. ‘The height of the young man in the centre is five feet eleven inches ; the two odd little dwarfs Two queer little Itafians—They stand two feet six and two feet eight respectively, and are aged forty-eight and fifty-two. From a Photograph.

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Kise) THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. stood two feet six inches and two feet eight inches respec- tively, and their ages were forty-eight and fifty-two. The rest of their family—of whom there were eight — were of ordinary size, and came from a village called Ransi, near San Remo. The women of many of the Indian nations of North Ame- rica carry their babies on their backs, ina sort of bag made of buckskin, laced with thongs of the same material down the front, and fastened to a board dramework, which is often ornamented with brass-headed nails. Though the position seems a very cramped one for the baby and to offer little outlet for its energies, the tiny The septa of Cuernavaca, Mexico— roma creatures seem contented and jolly enough. The accompanying photo- graph, which was taken in Okla- homa, shows a Comanche mother carrying her baby in the manner described. There seems to be nothing the matter with the baby in this picture, to juc by its expression. The weird - looking creature shown in the top photograph is known to scientists as the mysterious stone lizard of Cuernavaca, Mexico. This reptile, carved on a huge boul- der lying on an over- grown hillside, is situated about eight miles from Cuernavaca and seventy miles south-west of Mexico city. It was there, centuries old, when Cor- tez first saw Cuernavaca, and is supposed to have been carved to comme- morate some events in the wanderings of the prehistoric civilized race which built the great palace at Xochicalco, few miles aw If this curious relic could speak, what tales it could tell of the long-dead past ! The travelling acro- bats who wander from village to village in India are often surprisingly clever. Ina remarkably short time they will erect their primitive apparatus, consisting of Though tightly laced into a leather bag and first landed in the country, fastened to a backboard, this Comanche Indian baby is apparently quite happy. From a Photograph, a few bamboo poles and ropes, and will then go through a most wonder- This mysterious carving was many centuries old when Cortez [Photograph. ful performance, the daring and skill of which would greatly astonish people used to Western acrobatic feats. The poles and ropes are fixed up in the most haphazard fashion, and the performers risk their lives over and over again, well satisfied if, at the end, the audience rewards them with a few annas. Indian acrobats giving an exhibition — These men are often astonishii From a) ingly clever. (Photograph.

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Special Features in This Number. SEE— THE HUMAN BOMB. One of the most remarkable episodes on record. CURIOSITIES OF KOREA. An absorbing article, illustrated with wonderful photographs.

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“IN A TWINKLING FITZGERALD SEIZED THE MACHINE.” SEE PAGE 310.

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TAE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. XXXI. AUGUST, 1913. No. 18% THE | HUMAN BOMB. BY JOHN L. VON BLON, OF LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA. The sto: of what is probably the most amazing affair that ever happened in the annals of the lice of any country in the world. Mr. Von Blon describes how a half-crazed Anarchist, with is fingers gripping the triggers!of an infernal machine containing enough dynamite to blow up the entire city, walked quietly into the office of the Los Angeles Chief of Police and announced his intention of annihilating the community unless his fantastic demands were forthwith complied with! A touch would have set the deadly contrivance off, and the “human bomb” was keenly on the alert for any attempt to disarm him. What happened, and how this hideous menace to thousands of lives was finally removed, is well told in the following pages. ROTESQUELY masked and garbed, with one hand on the triggers, ready to set off an infernal machine capable of destroying a whole city, and the other holding a loaded revolver in his pocket, Carl Warr, an Anarchist, slipped silently into the chief of police’s recep- tion-room in the Los Angeles Central Station on November 19th last, calmly seated himself, with the engine of annihilation upon his knees, and announced his determination to blow up the place unless all his requests were speedily com- plied with. For an hour and a half this fantastic figure, hideous yet laughable in appearance, terrorized the whole centre of the “ City of the Angels” and figuratively made its heart stop beating. The green-goggled,yellow-hooded menace literally held the lives of thousands in his hand and threatened momentarily to sacrifice them. Surely no police department anywhere ever faced so extraordinary, dramatic, and perilous a situation. How that situation was met and mastered without loss, the terrible risks it involved, the heroes it developed, and all the remarkable circumstances surrounding it Vol. xxxi—22 constitute a chapter without parallel in police annals. Warr’s diabolical contrivance contained eighty sticks, few of them broken, of eighty per cent. nitro-glycerine. A quarter of a stick of this high-powered explosive is sufficient to shatter a good-sized building. Such an instrument, manipulated by a man whose mind runs in destructive channels, is an appalling thing to contemplate. When Sergeant Richard L. Hilf, on duty in the reception-room, turned from a telephone and saw the weird character waiting there, he mistook him for a practical joker trying to have a bit of fun at the department’s expense— an irregular proceeding which would have been overlooked with pleasure in this instance. Thomas Graham, an investigator for the Board of Police Commissioners, was sitting at his desk in that body’s room. Looking up, he saw what he thought to be some fellow enjoy- ing a masquerade—probably a walking adver- tisement. “Take a shot at it,” he suggested to Hilf. “You’d better not,” came from under the mask, and there was no humour in the icy note.

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304 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. as irenisrkable hotograph of the “human Loa wes — at the is lite by Mr. B, Miller, of the Evening Eapreta The Gfomaton’ inet, the expla ‘machi once if any more pictures were taken. From a Photograph, ine at Hilf and Graham still took the stranger to be a harmless crank, however, and did not give him close attention until he lifted the cloth which had up to this time covered what he was carrying. “How do you like the looks of that ?” he asked. “It’s full of dynamite. The minute my hand comes out of this it goes off, and there won’t be enough of any of us left to set on the point of a pin.” The sticks of explosive could be clearly seen, and the amazed officials realized that this was no joke, but grim, deadly earnest. Then Warr demanded that Paul Shoup, president of the Pacific Electric Railway Company, should be brought before him that he might exact from the head of the great system a promise, on pain of sudden death, existed only in the fancy of the dynamiter’s seeth- ing brain. Chief of Police Charles E. Sebastian, who had been busy in the inner office, came out just at this moment, and saw at once that he had to deal with an extraordinary desperado. He had heard the story of an infernal machine, but did not at first believe it, or even consider it worthy of per- sonal investigation until now. He had frequently encountered cranks who ostensibly carried devices of destruction. Here, how- ever, was the real thing. Sebastian immediately took direct command and prepared for action. ““Get me the railroad president— get him quick,” said Warr again, roughly, to the Chief’s secretary, Claire E. Snively, and he empha- sized his sharp order with an oath. It was explained to him that Shoup was out of the city, and he then called for the highest officer of the to increase the wages of thousands of em- Worci incl machine It was Jodded. with qhty ticks of st Syste ployés and right various wrongs, all of which From a Photograph.

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THE HUMAN BOMB. 35 Mr. Paul Shoup, President of the Pacific Electric Railway Company—It was this gentleman whom Warr wanted brought From a) to the police-station. (Photograp'. Southern Pacific, which owns the other corporation. As a hint of his intentions in case of refusal, he drew an extra dyna- mite cartridge from an inner pocket and asked the officers to examine it and satisfy themselves that it was genuine. The machine, he said, contained the same brand—the highest grade manufactured. One of the powder experts promptly tested the explosive by taste, smell, and with fire, and was convinced. While others talked to Warr, the Chief and some of his prin- cipal officers discussed plans for disarming him. But the Anarchist quickly divined their intentions, and warned them that the first step in his direc- tion would result in bringing swift destruction upon that part of the city, with everybody and everything in it. Meanwhile the news that a desperate character was in the Central Station, and would pro- bably blow it up, spread like supreme. Outside it passed up and down the packed business thoroughfares from mouth to mouth and by telephone, and curious and excited crowds began to gather. The Chief's first thought was for the safety of his two hundred and twenty-three prisoners, over a score of them women, and the other occupants of the Central Station. The several police-courts in session were at once adjourned. It was about eleven o'clock in the morning. Messengers were dispatched upstairs and down to warn everybody to leave, and the streets were roped off at either end of the block to hold back the surging throngs. More than ten thou- sand persons gathered before the lines could be stretched. They did not realize by what a slender thread their lives were hanging— that by moving his hand a fraction of an inch Warr could blow them all to atoms, wildfire throughout the build- Mr ©. & Sebastian, Hees Chief of Police, of Los Angeles, who handled the extraordinary ing, and consternation reigned human bomb” with’commendable presence of mind. From a Photograph.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ‘The crowd gathering outside the police-station before the streets were cleared—The X in top right-hand corner indicates the hoarding behind From a While efforts to induce Warr to give up his infernal machine were continued, and _hastily- concocted schemes to overpower him discussed, arrangements were made to remove the prisoners. Several special trolly-cars offered by the railway corporation were run up the hill in front of the station, and under heavy guard the inmates of the cells were marched to these coaches and which Warr donned his mask and got his machine ready. (Photograph. swiftly whisked away to a safe distance. In these novel jails on wheels they were kept for over an hour. Half-a-dozen escaped during the rush and excitement incident to their removal, but out of gratitude to the Chief for his con- sideration of their welfare. all returned volun tarily the same day, and the entire body later tendered him a resolution of thanks.

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THE HUMAN BOMB. 307 With the building and locality cleared, the officers’ attitude towards Warr changed, though for a while longer they fought a battle of wits with him, at the same time cudgelling their brains for a way to subdue him without sacrifice of life and property. Grimly the fiend remained seated in his strategic position, his back to the wall, alert as a cat watching a mouse, leaving no loophole for attack, and apparently enjoying the commotion he knew he was causing. In his immediate vicinity there was no visible excitement, Cool men stared death in the face unflinchingly, seeking a way out of a dilemma such. as confronts but few persons in a life- time. Police-officers, newspaper reporters and photo- graphers, and other brave spirits were constantly passing in and out of the room. One of the photographers took a chance and “ snapped” Warr. The action angered him. “No more pictures,’ he called out, savagely. ‘The next one that is taken will mean the end of every- thing, for I'll turn this thing loose. I have a notion to do it anyway.. Better get busy and bring that railroad president, or up you go!” And it was only too obvious that he meant it. Deputy District Attorney Ralph T. Graham remained near the dynamiter for nearly an hour, arguing with him, teasing him, shaming him— anything to make him leave the place or allow himself to be dis- armed. He even proposed to Warr that they should adjourn to a vacant piece of ground and fight to a finish with bare fists, the winner to take the machine. Finally, he chal- lenged him to a duel to the death with revolvers, but the Anarchist would not budge. Every resource of the prose- cuting Officer’s ingenious mind failed. All this time the many pro- positions placed before Chief Sebastian for ringing down the curtain on this strange drama were receiving consideration. One of his captains suggested that every- body should be ordered from the station and the Anarchist locked in until starvation compelled his voluntary sur- render. This plan was rejected because of its obvious drawbacks, the principal one being that the maddened man would in all probability release the triggers when he saw the trick. Me R. T. Graham’ Deputy Petit At, At 1 Be dl wih

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308 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Detective John Fitzgerald, who risked his life to prevent the From a) explosion of the bomb. [Photogragh. Removing the prisoners from the city jail—They were placed Froma Asphyxiation with gas, ammonia, or other poisonous fumes was thought of, but decided to be impracticable. It was pointed out that the man’s convulsions, or his fall to the floor, would explode the machine before anyone could get at it through the vitiated atmosphere. Finally, the measure being fully justified, persuasive methods having failed, Chief tian decided that the masked man should be shot; the danger of a catastrophe from a bullet hitting the infernal machine would have to be risked. He ascertained that from the roof of a building nearly opposite, and perhaps two hundred feet away, the Anarchist’s head could be seen against the lighter wall through a front

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in special street cars and hurried away to safety. Photograph. window of the station—the window near which Sergeant Hilf sat throughout the ordeal, conducting the usual business of the office as though nothing out of the ordinary was trans- piring. Sergeants George Willett and Willard E. Smith, crack shots of the departmient, and the writer were picked by the Chief to put an end to the desperado from this roof. It was hoped that the moment the bullets took effect the infernal machine could be snatched and an explosion averted. Five minutes more, and the dynamiter’s fate would have been sealed in the interest of humanity; indeed, it is said that heavy weapons in the hands of men who do not miss their mark were already trained upon the Sergeant RL. Hilf, who sat near the dyna carried oa the From a) miter throughout and calmly office routine. (Photograph.

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gro THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A--Where Warr sat, infernal machine in his lap. During the mélée machine was set in operation. and broke it into pieces. D—Door from which Hosick entered. This clever diagram, pub- lished by one of the Los Angeles newspapers, shows at a glance the whole of the strange drama described in this article. B—Where Detective Hosick stood when he struck Warr, knocking him unconscious, C—Position of Fitzgerald and Browne, who grabbed bomb from Warr, then carried it to street E—Door from which Fitzgerald entered ‘to attract Warr's attention. F—The destruction of the sputtering infernal machine in the street. mask when Detectives James Hosick and John C. Fitzgerald, with the aid of County Detective Samuel L. Browne, evolved a less drastic way to subdue the man behind it. To this the Chief consented. Fitzgerald and Browne approached Warr and discussed with him the clever mechanism of his demoniacal invention. Of this he was inordi- nately proud, and the officers held his close attention while Hosick, with a “ blackjack ” concealed in his right hand, entered by a side door. Watching for the slightest opportunity to take the “human bomb” unawares, Hosick finally caught him with his head turned aside for the fraction of a second. Quick as a flash he dealt him a terrific blow, but it did not go where intended, for the Anarchist moved slightly. The detective struck again, and then once more with all his might. The thought flashed through his brain, he says, that it would probably be the last whack he would give anybody in this world. At the last blow Warr’s figure crumpled and he pitched out of the chair. There was the snap of a hammer, a flash of blue flame, a sizzling and sputtering, and springs whirred like the tail of an angry rattlesnake. The deadly thing was in action ! In a twinkling Fitzgerald seized the machine, luckily getting his hand in where Warr’s had been, his object being to get hold of the hammer, but in this he was too late. He pulled out some of the mechanism, however, including burning dynamite. Then Browne, taking the still- smoking contraption in his arms, rushed out, and threw it almost across the street, scattering the many sticks of explosive broadcast. Again he picked it up and tried to batter it to pieces by standing on the curb and bringing it down with all the force he could muster. Experts in explosives declare it nothing short of miraculous

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THE HUMAN BOMB. gir that the nitro-glycerine did not go off wher hurled upon the stone pavement. Hundreds of persons must have been killed or maimed had this occurred, and Browne would have disap- peared in pieces too small to be visible. Fate was paradoxical, even as Nature may be. Warr had prepared to destroy with dynamite, .and it was the dynamite that prevented destruc- tion, as afterwards transpired. In making the bomb, or rather in loading it, he had inserted a bit of “dynamite dough ”—raw dynamite—in the train of powder that connected a blank cartridge with the fuse and fulminating cap. The purpose of this was to hold the powder in place until actually ready for use. It burned rather slowly, and Fitzgerald pulled it away before the fire touched the powder. Otherwise there would have been no staying the fury confined within, and the eighty sticks would undoubtedly have blown up a great part of the centre of the city—including a dozen office blocks, theatres, newspaper plants, and many large business buildings within five hundred yards—and destroyed thousands of lives. Chief Sebastian estimates that the property loss would have been ten million dollars and that from fifteen hundred to two thousand persons would have been killed outright. On the morning of October 1, 1910, the Los Angeles Times Building, but a few hundred feet from the Central Station, was destroyed and twenty employés killed by sixteen sticks of a similar explosive. Warr stated he had planned this catastrophe, but that others were too quick and beat him at doing the “job.” It appeared at first that Hosick’s last blow had fractured the Anarchist’s skull, but the Receiving Hospital surgeons patched him up and he recovered consciousness in a few hours. The next day he volunteered to go out with the police and show them where he had hundreds of pounds of dynamite buried. In a vacant lot near Eastlake Park, where hundreds of persons must have walked over it, he had concealed a large quantity of the explosive, lightly covered with leaves. In the river-bed another lot was found. It appeared that he stole the nitro- glycerine at a great quarry sixty miles away, Detective Browne tryi demolish the it ine in the 1—Note the sticks of it the f he: Detectize Browne tering te dematish the infernal machine fo coe te oe any hove beem thes SP (ee Donessne hea eee, From al P but it miraculously failed to do so. [Photograph, Digitized by Google

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giz ‘ THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. is eee ]} bending them so naturally about the triggers z : that the deception was complete. These fingers were supplied with natural nail. and painted a lifelike flesh colour. On the morning he entered the Central Station Warr first stole by a roundabout way to a hoard- ing half a block distant, and behind its cover adjusted his hood, put a strap holding the heavy box about his shoulders, and made all the final preparations. Providentially, however, he forgot to remove the thimbleful of raw dynamite from the powder-tube in his machine—an oversight Carl Warr, the “human bomb,” as he appeared after recovering from is injuries From a Pho: ograph where tons are used daily, making frequent night trips on a_ stolen bicycle. In a little shack standing in a respectable neighbourhood he had a complete machine shop, practically every item in which was stolen, and here he had toiled and experimented for two years to perfect his deadly apparatus, in which he displayed the handiwork of a genius. The machine was in a box eighteen inches square, and the mechanical parts were fitted with absolute exactness in a hardwood and steel setting, all glued firmly together, and perforated in every possible place to lighten it. The cart- ridge to set it off was placed as if it had been in a gun-barrel, a celluloid tube acting as a conductor for the powder and fuse to the detonating cap. A hammer from an old army rifle occupied the same relative posi- tion to the cartridge as in a gun, and the lock had been so arranged that the releasing—not the pulling— of three triggers would cause the hammer to fall upon the cartridge. It will be seen, therefore, that it was the grip of Warr’s fingers, main- tained all through that trying ninety minutes, that prevented the machine from starting into action, Directly he was interfered with he intended to release his hold and so set the mechanism at work, and this is what happened when he was clubbed. On all sides the dynamite sticks were closely packed. Warr’s left hand is minus three fingers, and he had made artificial ones to replace them, fitting 4 senseless, Detective Browne, them so nicely to the hand and Defecive,Howck Gn shit sleeves), who knosked Wart se ee Oe ietarank

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THE HUMAN BOMB. 313 The little hut where From a Photograph. for which he afterwards declared he would never forgive himself. Warr is a Russian, thirty-four years old, and has had a hard life. He has gone under various names and has figured in a number of minor crimes, as the police records disclose. The physicians, after many thorough examinations, declared him to be sane. He was tried a few lived and worked for two years, perfecting his machine. weeks after the sensa- tional episode. He was convicted within a few minutes, and is now serving a twenty - year term in San Quentin Peni- tentiary. His last words when taken away were a threat to blow up Los Angeles when he is re- leased from prison, where he was sent for “ carry- ing, depositing, and plac- ing dynamite in the Central Police Station with intent to terrify.” In recognition of their heroism, the Los Angeles County Board of Super- visors awarded Detectives Fitzgerald, Hosick, and Browne gold medals stud- ded with diamonds, and adopted resolutions of thanks and commendation to the other brave men who remained at their posts of duty during the tense ninety minutes of the dynamiter’s reign. The department, number- ing approximately five hundred men, feels itself highly complimented by the fact that only two men—a detective officer and one of his subordi- nates—proved cowards at the time of this crucial test of courage and ran away. The cross indicates the place where Warr had a large “cach From al ms and showed them where to find it. of stolen dynamite, lightly covered with leaves—He wes taken out by the [Photog ap.

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The bull meas whioh Mrs. Roby had an exciting adventure at From @ Kikwit. { Photograph. I—THE START. PeSaN the 6th of January, rgr2, I went WY) aboard the Leopoldville at Antwerp | en route for Boma, which lies on the ey west coast of the Belgian Congo, my intention being tostrike out from there in a south-easterly direction until I eventu- ally reached Elizabethville. Although I managed to accomplish my object, it was only after a series of exciting adventures, from many of which I had some difficulty in extricating myself, as _these articles will show. Most of my fellow-passengers were Belgian officials, bound for the Congo, and I was very much surprised to notice how they gave way to their feelings as they bade farewell to their friends before coming on board. The men wept like children, but one tall young man, with blue ACROSS THE CONGO. A LADY’S JOURNEY IN CENTRAL AFRICA. By MARGUERJTE ROBY. The story of a very remarkable expedition—a ten- month journey right across the Belgian Congo, from Boma to Elizabethville, a distance of about three thousand five hundred miles. Alone, save for black porters, Mrs. Roby penetrated into remote districts where a white woman had never been seen before, braving cannibals, fighting fever, and meeting with numberless adventures. The follow- ing articles have been specially written for “The Wide World Magazine,” and will be found particularly interesting. eyes and golden hair, outdid all the others, nor even after we had started was he to be com- forted, for in the middle of dinner he broke down once more and retired to his cabin, weeping copiously. However, Time came to his rescue, and a few days later he was doing his share in amusing his fellow-travellers. He was rather a “ green ” young man, and one day, as I was coming up the companion way, I heard yells of laughter issuing from the smoking-room. I looked in through the window, and beheld our young friend standing on a table, with a paper cylinder held to his lips, blowing till he was purple in the face at the electric fan. He was trying for a wager to stop that fan; but although he nearly broke all the blood-vessels in his body he quite failed to make the slightest impression upon the fan, which continued buzzing away as though nothing unusual was happening.

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ACROSS THE CONGO. . 315 This completely mystified the blower, because everyone else in the room had succeeded in . stopping the fan, and as he alone could not do so, he had to stand drinks all round, in accord- ance with the terms of the wager. The truth was that the other men had arranged with a steward below deck to turn off the current at a signal from them, and in this way they were able to accomplish the apparently impossible and get a round of drinks into the bargain ! Our voyage was uneventful, except for one storm which made us a day late in reaching Boma, but we weathered this all right, and in due course entered the fine river on which the capital of the Upper Congo stands. Here the forests come down on either bank to the water’s edge, and the journey up-stream between these vast woods made a picturesque and impressive entry into the country which I had come so far to see. On entering Boma one of the first sights is a big cattle-ranch, divided off into kraals, where the animals are fed, watered, and washed, special precautions being necessary in order to keep off the dreaded tsetse fly, which would ‘attack them if they were allowed to go down to the river. I sent a note to the Governor when we arrived, asking for a permit to shoot, and he sent some- one to show me over the town, which is rather a miserable place, the dis- trict being swampy and infested by mosquitoes. I visited the Catholic Charity School, which had then been in existence about a year, and found the children had learned to speak French quite well in that time. The Governor asked me to dinner the next evening, but I said it was impossible, since the boat was leaving next morning. He replied that this matter was easily arranged—and so it was, for he sent to the captain, told him to remain a day longer, and invited him also to dinner. A tram-line runs down to the landing-place, and next evening a special tram-car called for us, and into this the captain and I climbed. Scarcely had we started, however, when I felt something crawling over my shoulder, and, flinging off my evening cloak, I discovered a big blackbeetle running down my neck. Having The Authoress and the Governor on the steps of Government House at Boma. From a Photograph. dispatched this monster, we accomplished the remainder of our ride in peace. The British Consul and his wife were at the dinner ; she had not been out very long, and was suffering greatly from the mosquitoes. Next morning we set out for Matadi, where the Leopoldville was to discharge her cargo. Matadi is a dreadful place, all white stone, which throws up a fright‘ul glare from the burning sun, and the Government has not even erected a shed where people can shelter while their luggage goes through the Customs. Deaths from sun- stroke are frequent. I went round to look for accommodation, but all the hotels I visited were infested by vermin, and so I got per- mission to remain on the boat until Monday morning, when the train was due to leave for Thysville. Never shall I forget that railway journey ! The train went crawling along the sides of steep mountains, and, looking back, one could sometimes see the line in five p!aces which we had already passed. The engine-driver was a Sierra Leone native, and on a little iron seat outside my carriage sat a Congo negro, his duty being to attend to the brakes. I was the only passenger, unless I in- clude my bulldog, Jock, who, I regret to say, had already taken a strong dis- like to all coloured people. When the driver wanted the brakes applied he sounded his whistle with great energy, but at such moments the “‘ engineer” was generally asleep, so I had to shake him back into wakefulness ; and thus we progressed for some distance. Unluckily, I at last dozed off myself, and was awakened suddenly by a most furious whistling from our trusty driver. “ The brakes!” I thought. “ Bless that nigger!” Leaning out, I pushed him with all my might. Alas! I did it too violently, and off his iron seat he rolled, down beside the permanent way. Leaping to my feet, I tugged at the brakes, and had the satis- faction of feeling them answer to my pull. Once more, however, I had blundered, for the train came to a sudden standstill. I had put them on too hard. However, it really did not matter much, for you see we had to pick up our brakesman, so we

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316 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The sleeping sickness camp at Leopoldville, where the sufferers trom this dread discese are kept under treatment. From a Photograph. should have had to stop in any case, After that the journey was resumed along the most sociable lines imaginable. Whenever the driver wanted a drink he stopped the train and took a pull out of a bottle which he carried ; whenever we came up with any natives on the track he stopped once more to have a chat with them. The only . thing I objected to was that whenever I took advantage of these stoppages to get out for a walk the driver at once started his engine again. At one spot where some natives were mending the line we stopped half an hour, and as there was a small telegraph-box close by I thought I would send a wire to Thysville. I went up to the native in the box and told him to send my message, to which he replied: ‘ People who want telegrams sent generally say ‘ Please.’” So, taking this lesson to heart, I bowed courteously and replied : “ Will you kindly send this telegram for me?” Jock looked on as though he understood ex- actly what was being said, and as we were leaving the box the intelligent animal turned back and made one great leap at the telegraphist. This move upset the gentleman so much that he jumped on to his telegraphic apparatus in a panic. Then the train started. During the course of this eventful journey I bought twenty-four pineapples from a native for half a franc. As the boy was handing them to me Jock made a snap at his hands, which made him take to his heels. I therefore had to throw the money after him as we steamed off. We reached Thysville at six p.m., having left Matadi at six-thirty that morning. The manager of the hotel at Thysville, to whom I had wired, met me and conducted me to his hotel, which was perched up on a hill. I asked for a bath, but he only looked at me feproachfully, and in the end I had to wash ina cup. After dinner I went to bed, first of all tying Jock up near the veranda. I was not disturbed during the night, but in the morning, when I went to untie my faithful companion, I was astonished to find him plastered all over with some blue substance. As he showed a great eagerness to get loose, I unfastened him, when he at once took to his heels and, with me after him, rushed up a road near the hotel. When I at last overtook him he had got a native down on the road, and was standing over his captive with an air of triumph. One glance at the man told me enough, for the fellow’s clothes were daubed with the very same substance which plastered Jock, so I gave him as good a thrashing as I was capable of, and then returned to the hotel with Jock. According to the law of the Congo, if the native had gone to a magistrate I should have been fined twenty-five francs or have got ten days’ im- prisonment. I had not been in my room long when a black boy presented himself, saying: “ Bibi wants servant to go with her?” “ Yes,” I said, and asked him if he were a good cook, to which he replied in the affirmative, adding that he wanted twenty-five francs a month wages. In the end I told him to be ready to start next morning, and away he went. Two hours later he came back to say that he must buy some things, and would I give him a few francs ?—a proposition to which I gave an emphatic “No.” Once more he went away, looking very sad and disappointed. An hour later he was back again, however, in the best of spirits. ‘‘ Can my wife come with me?” he asked, and I said “ Yes.” For the third time he withdrew. Shortly afterwards he returned. “ Will the Bibi give me the money for my ticket and my

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ACROSS THE CONGO. 317 wife’s ticket ?” was his request this time, and my suspicions now became certainties. “Are you a Mission boy?” I demanded, sternly. “Yes. I from Catholic Mission. I know eblything,” he responded, glibly. ‘I can cook, I wash, I put up tent. I put up eblything. | am Bibi’s brother.” (A Mission term.) It struck me pretty forcibly that he knew a good deal too much, and I turned to another boy who happened to be standing by and asked him: “ Do you know this boy ? ” “Oh, yes, Bibi. He the hotel cook,’’ returned this individual, imperturbably. At these words my would-be servant made his final retreat from my presence, and I saw him no more. The second boy, speaking in French, now offered his services, and I ended by engaging him. Next morning we took train for Kinshasa, from which place I was to travel by boat up to Dima. Thad heard there was a good hotel at Kinshasa, with its teeth almost down to the hem. I caught at its throat to defend myself, but before I had time even to call out the faithful Jock had buried his teeth in the brute’s neck, and in a xo few seconds he had worried the life out of it. A young Belgian officer now appeared on the scene, followed by a black boy, who had evidently let the dog loose by mistake, for the officer gesticulated in fury. Then, turning on his boy, he shouted, “ Dirty nigger !”” Upon this, to my utter amazement, the black boy turned round and struck his master across the face. I ex- pected to see the boy half killed, but the Belgian made no attempt to touch him, and when I inquired why he replied :— “ What is the use, madame? If I struck him back he would go to the magistrate, and I should have to pay a hundred francs or do six months in prison.” I could scarcely believe my senses ; but such is indeed the state of things in the Congo. This is the reaction after the campaign which has been but this proved a delusion. A cup of tea, made of hot water only, cost me two and a half francs, and lunch and dinner six and a half francs, and then I had to go out and buy some tinned food, as I wanted something to eat! Jock accom- panied me on the expedition, and while we were walking quietly along a big dog suddenly jumped out at me without the slightest warning. It struck me on the should d ri dress nee me on | e shoulder and ripped my The native gaard at Leopoldville. (Photograph. conducted against the Congo administration, and its end is not yet. From what I saw in this district I came to the conclusion that, unless some change be made before long, there will be a massacre of whites by the natives, From Kinshasa I travelled to Leopoldville to visit the British Consul, Captain Lyons, and on arriving at my destination I found a very curious vehicle, a ‘‘ push-push,” awaiting, oe

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318 Mrs. Roby in a “ push-push.” From a Photograph. It is shown in the accom- panying photograph, and is one of several others that have been brought out from Europe by white people. I got in, and was surprised to find how comfortable it was ; with one boy to push and another to pull we covered the ground at a fine pace. At lunch I asked the Consul about a personal boy (the one I had already en- gaged was a cook), and he told me he had a boy named Mokassa, from Brazzaville, who wanted to travel. I therefore interviewed and engaged the boy, who accompanied me for the rest of my journey. After dinner that night I started back for Kinshasa in the push-push, the Consul accompanying me in an- other. But I was lighter than my host, so my boys could take me over country which the Consul’s boys could not negotiate. For this reason he and I became separated on the journey, and I eventually reached my destination minus Cap- tain Lyons. Mokassa, who had started with us, also failed to put in an appear- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) ance at the other end ; but he did eventu- ally turn up, some time after midnight, when he was thoughtful enough to wake me up in order to say that he had arrived —an attention for which I did not thank him at all! The steamer on which I was to resume my journey was due to leave on the following evening, and while I was putting some of my things together after breakfast next day J received an invitation to dinner from the manager of the Company Kasai, who informed me that the boat would not sail until midnight. Sleeping-sickness patients. (Photograph.

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ACROSS THE CONGO. 319 Dima, whence the Authoress started on her long journey. From a Photograph. I sent my luggage down to the landing-place and spent the rest of the day trying to get my bill from the hotel manager, who could not be found, apparently. Finally I went over to dinner without having paid, but before the meal was finshed the account was brought in by a boy, and none of the items had been forgotten. The Fumu Tanga was a small steamer, belong- ing to the Company Kasai. They supplied a cabin and I supplied the fittings. The boat was for the use of the company’s officials, but I was allowed on board as a favour. We sailed at midnight, and after an uneventful voyage we arrived at Dima a few days later. Here I intended to lay in stores for my long trek, as I had heard that it would be impossible to buy food anywhere else on the route. My guns, ammunition, tents, chairs, tables, bedding, wines, and medicines I had bought in England, and now I proceeded to lay in a stock of tinned stores for my march. or four days thus at Dima. Near here there is a big farm, on which are cattle, sheep, goats, chickens, ducks, and rabbits. Although there was no grass, the sheep and goats looked healthy enough, but the rabbits were not doing well. Maize and salt formed the staple food for the cattle. I was now in need of sixty or seventy porters, but as there were none to be had at Dima I had to set out by steamer down the Kasai River for Kikwit. Forests bounded the river on either bank, and upon the sandbanks along the river margin numerous crocodiles basked. Seeing a young man-eater lying out on one of these banks, I took up my twelve-bore and had a shot athim. He rolled over, and the captain stopped the boat and sent a boy to go and pick it up; but the crocodile was not dead, and when the boy put out his hand it turned on him. This I spent three Bice nll Yh, © eet ME Ns a Sas cl A farm near Dima, where Mrs. Roby laid in « stock of provisions for her expedition, From a Photograph,

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"320 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. frightened the native so much that he fell back- wards off the sandbank into the water, but, remembering that there were bigger crocodiles in the water, he soon recovered himself, climbed back, and dispatched the monster with a stick. I had visions of a beautiful crocodile-skin purse, and asked that the skin should be brought to me; but the natives were evidently hungry that day, for they cut the creature into bits and sent the skin up in little pieces. During this trip I found great difficulty in making my boy, Mokassa, answer my summons when I wanted him ; and at last I went to search for him myself. I found him under the influence of palm wine, and when he saw me he at once began to finger a little piece of cloth that hung on a chain round his neck. This, I discovered, contained some religious emblem which he believed would bring him luck and keep him out of trouble, and I noticed from this time onwards that whenever he got into a row he invariably hung on to the chain very earnestly. and her captain had taken all the wood there was, so there was nothing for it but to cut our own. One of the places at which we stopped was Leversville, where the enterprising soap manu- facturers of that name have established a factory, the soap being made from palm oil. The day after I reached Kikwit there was great excite- ment amongst the natives over the arrest of a Portuguese, who had lashed a black boy almost to death and then crucified him, leaving him fixed thus in a swamp to die. The culprit was sent to Leopoldville to be tried. On the second day numbers of native women came in to see me, as they had heard I was skilful as a ‘‘ medicine man.” One of them was carrying a baby suffering from bronchitis, and I persuaded her to leave the child with me so that I might try to cure it. I did what I could, and in the course of a day or two had the satisfaction of winning it back to convalescence. When the mother called she took it away without a word Frou a) I had not guessed that he was a Mission boy before, but now, in reply to my question, he told me. “I am a Catholic, and my name is Joseph,” he said. Then my heart sank within me ; for too often the Mission boy turns out to be a very much bigger scamp than his unre- generate brother. This river trip resembled my recent train journey to a certain extent, for we were con- tinually stopping in order to get wood from the forests. True, there were wood posts at intervals along the river banks ; but unfortunately some other steamer had passed that way before us, A scene on the Kasai River. (Photograph, of thanks, and then, some days later, back she came to demand a present! I asked why, and she replied because she had left her child with me. I told her that I was the person who ought to have a present, whereupon she tried to smash my camera ; but Jock, who was handy, showed his teeth suggestively, and she and her friends promptly took to flight. The officers and civilians here were not at all fond of each other, and I witnessed rather an amusing instance of this during my short stay. A Kasai Company official was brought in, accused by an officer of molesting a chief. The

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ACROSS THE CONGO. accused man came in riding a bull, and accom- panied by the brother of the man whom he was supposed to have ill-treated. When the matter was investigated, the brother of the chief ex- plained that it was the officer, not the civilian, wHo _ had been the delinquent ! I was very anxious to see if I could ride the 321 once more stood stock still, and as soon as his master came up down went his head. The natives now moved over to the other side and started a most unearthly yell. On this the bull took to his heels and went pounding down the hill at a cracking pace. It was a fine race, but I won it, for, just as he got to the bottom, his bull, and, although its master warned me not to do so, I insisted, and, placing one foot in the stirrup, jumped up—only to find myself promptly deposited on the grass. I tried a second time, and this time, through some manceuvre of the intelligent animal, I landed on the shoulders of some natives. A third shot was more successful, and I actually “ got there,” with both feet in the stirrups; but my triumph was rather dashed when the bull absolutely refused to move an inch. His master tried to assist him with a stick, but the bull at once turned round, with horns lowered. Then a new whim seized him, and he started off at full gallop up a hill. I stuck on, and the rest of the party followed us at the top of their speed. Arrived at the top, my steed Mrs. Roby on board the Kasai River steamer. (Photograph. head went down and over it I sailed, a good first by about three lengths. I was to start my march next morning, and the manager of the Kasai Company informed me that my porters would arrive at eight a.m. ; but nine.and ten o’clock came and still there was no sight of them. At eleven o’clock they began to drop.in by twos and threes, and this went on until two in the afternoon, by which hour they had actually all arrived, much to my surprise and gratification. My next task was to get them over the Kasai River, on the other side of which lay a native village. From there I was to commence my march into the wilds, and there, too, my adven- tures began in earnest. (To be continued.)

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Krom a! The “ Criccieth Castle” [Painting. THE WREC K OF TH “CRICCIETH CASTLE.” BY CAPTAIN ROBERT THOMAS. ILLUSTRATED BY W. B. WIGFULL, AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. The “Criccieth Castle” was lost last year in the Southern Atlantic during a terrific storm. In the following narrative Captain Thomas, her commander, describes how the crew were forced to abandon the vessel and take to the boats. It was mid-winter, and in what is perhaps the stormiest region in the world, and for the next eight days the ship’s company endured the most terrible sufferings. Seven men were drowned, and one by one the others died of hunger, thirst, and the fearful cold, while day after day the captain sat at the steering-oar and watched his wife and four-year-old boy lying helpless in the water at the bottom of the leaking boat. Finally, when the survivors were too weak to pull on the oars or to hoist the sail, deliverance came in the nick of time. In these days of steam and wireless telegraphy, such stories of long-continued hardship and dogged endurance are growing rare. iT was a happy crew and master that sailed on the good ship Criccieth Castle from Ballistas, an outlying island off the coast of Peru, on June roth of last year. We were loaded with a valuable cargo of guano,and were bound for Antwerp direct. Little did I dream then that in a few short weeks we should have to abandon the vessel in mid-ocean, after battling against the severest storms it has been my lot to encounter, should lose fifteen of our number, and undergo some of the most terrible sufferings and priva- tions that have ever befallen a shipwrecked crew. For eight days we were drifting about on the high seas, in a leaky open boat, in one of the stormiest regions in the world, suffering from hunger and thirst. To add to the horrors of the situation it was mid-winter, when the cold in this region—between Cape Horn and the Falkland Islands—is of Antarctic severity. In addition to the crew I had my wife and little son, aged four, with me. Like most shipmasters, I was very proud of my vessel. I had served thirteen years in her

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THE WRECK OF THE “CRICCIETH CASTLE.” 323 and knew every plank and rivet in her hull. She was an iron-built, full-rigged sailing-ship, of 1,920 tons gross and classed Ar at Lloyd’s. She belonged to Messrs. R: Thomas and Co., of Liver- pool, with whom I have had the pleasure of serving for the last eighteen years. Our crew numbered twenty-two hands all told, while, in addition, I had two passengers, my wife and child. They had been to sea with me before, so were well acquainted with life on a sailing ship ; in fact, they had been on the Criccieth Castle since June, 1909, and during those three years had circumnavigated the globe twice. Our vessel was thoroughly seaworthy in every sense of the word, and I looked forward to a good run home after our long sojourn in foreiga climes. We took on board at Ballistas about two thousand eight hundred tons of guano, so we were by no means overloaded, and then set sail for Antwerp. Nothing unusual happened until we were abreast of Valparaiso, when we encoun- tered a very heavy south-west gale which lasted for forty-eight hours, during which we lost several new sails—literally torn to ribbons by the force of the wind. Hardly had the storm abated before the weather again turned black and another gale beat down upon us. Then, for a period of three weeks on end, we had a succession of fearful storms, with hardly a break between them, accompanied by heavy gales of wind of cyclonic character, which necessitated the free use of oil to prevent the tremendous seas breaking on board. Despite these storms we safely weathered the Horn, when everyone breathed more freely, looking forward to better weather, as the strain upon us had been very severe, The sky, however, was still overcast and the seas were running high, and on Sunday, July 14th, at about 11 p.m., in latitude 54°23 south and longitude 61°12 west, a tremendous gale sprang up from the north-west. The upper topsails were at once got in, and at midnight all hands furled the foresail and the ship was hove- to under lower topsails and storm staysails. The gale steadily increased in violence, and there were mountainous seas running. I knew we were in for a rough time of it—and, sure enough, it was not long in coming. About two o’clock on the Monday morning, while I was at the standard compass and the chief officer on the poop aft, a tremendous sea struck the ship under the quarter, breaking th> rudder-stock in the immediate vicinity of the horseshoe plate. At first I thought we had struck a submerged wreck or an iceberg, the noise being terrific, and I was fearful as to what had actually happened. When I discovered that we had not run into any- thing I imagined the steering-gear must have been broken or carried away. Accordingly I gave orders for extra tackles to be put on the tiller, and it was not until these had been placed in position that I found out that it was the rudder itself that had gone. All attempts to repair it proved futile, on account of the heavy seas. Left to the fury of the waves, it was not long before the shell plating left the stern-post, and water began to rush into the vessel. I sent the chief officer down the after-hold to see if all was in order. He came up a little later and reported that the ship was leaking badly all the way down the stern-post. There was nothing to be done but to man the pumps, but this proved impossible on account of the decks being continually flooded by the heavy seas. Accordingly I ordered all hands on deck and commenced to jettison the cargo through the poop ventilators, as it was impossible to remove the hatches in such a high sea. My idea was to lighten the vessel so as to give her ae freeboard, when the pumps could be used. After working our hardest for some hours, however, during which time we threw several tons overboard, we discovered to our dismay that the weight of water which had come in was in excess of the weight of cargo’ which had been thrown overboard, so that the ship had actually less freeboard than when we commenced to jettison the cargo. This was most dishearten- ing, but at four o'clock the weather began to improve, and by six o’clock the sea moderated sufficiently to allow the pumps to be manned. To our horror we then discovered them to be perfectly useless, having become choked with the guano. We persevered with them for an hour, but all in vain ; they refused to work. I was now faced with the alternative of either remaining on the ship and going down with her, as it was impossible to keep her afloat much longer, or taking to the boats. Naturally I chose the latter course. But how were we to get the boats out without damaging them ? Our gig had already been smashed in, so we only had two boats left. Although the weather had moderated a lot since the time of the accident, at nine a.m., when we decided to leave the ship, the sea was still running high and the vessel was rolling fearfully. I accordingly gave orders for the side to be padded with a view to making a soft bed for the boats in case they were dashed against the hull by the heavy seas. Sails were taken from the sail-locker and lashed to the side of the ship, and we got our provisions and stores out and made ready for launching the boats. Despite all our precautions we had a bad

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324 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “A tremendous sea struck the ship under the quarter.” mishap in lowering our largest boat, the life- boat. The ropes which we used as guys were unfortunately new. Just as the davit tackles were being pulled upon, and while the boat was swinging, the ship gave a tremendous roll. This caused the new guys to stretch so much that the boat crashed against the davits with terrific force, straining the little craft in every plank from keel to gunwale. I had placed my wife and little son in the boat, with the sailmaker, steward, and carpenter, before it left the chocks, and the sudden and unexpected crash nearly threw them all into the sea. I was considerably relieved when I found that the damage was iot more serious, as I feared that the boat might have been rendered utterly unseaworthy. It was a very anxious time, but after further efforts we managed to get the boat into the water. Here it was repeatedly dashed against the padded side of the ship, and it was fortunate that the pre- caution of providing a soft bed for it had been taken, as otherwise it would speedily have been pounded to pieces. The violent motion of the little craft on the high sea that was running caused Mrs. Thomas—who was in a

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THE WRECK OF THE delicate condition—to become very seasick, and she and our little son lay helpless the bottom of the boat, submerged in icy-co!. water up to their waists. One minute the hfeboat would be level with the rail of the ship. and the next ten or fifteen feet below, tosse’ up and down on the great waves like a cork. I must leave the reader to ima ine my feelings and the mental and physical strai_° was enduring as I shouted to them to be |e, and then turned to superintend the la -nching of our other boat and getting the cr-w safely trans- ferred. This was no easy task, and could only be carried out as opportunity occurred. Night was fast coming on, and there was every appear- ance of the weather again turning bad. The wind and sea were gradually rising, the sky was overcast, and a cold drizzling rain was falling. I placed the mate, Mr. W. A. Gale, in charge of the longboat, wth six of the c-ew, taking charge myse f of the lifeboat, in which were Mrs. Thomas and our son, the second mate, carpenter, sailmaker, steward, and ten seamen—seventeen souls in all. When I stepped into the lifeboat the water was up to my knees, for the boat was leaking as a result of her planks having been strained. We pushed off and pulled away, and when we last saw our gallant ship through the darkness she appeared like a “CRICCIETH CASTLE.” 325 boat. My idea was to make for the Falkland Islands, about a hundred and eighty miles away, the nearest point of land. Although I was fully alive to the dangers of our position, for we were in open boats, and leaky at that, in one of the stormiest regions in the world, where it is also bitterly cold in mid-winter, I expected to pull through all right. It soon dawned upon us, however, that another gale was springing up. By nine o'clock that night it was blowing a hurricane and the sea was running literally mountains high. It was im- possible to make any progress, and so I ordered the boats to heave to with sea-anchors to which were attached bags full of oil. In the darkness we lost sight of the longboat, but expected to see it next morning, as I had given orders that the boats were to keep together. When morning dawned, however, after a most miserable and anxious night, the mate’s boat was nowhere to be seen. We scanned the horizon in every direction and speculated as to what had become of our companions, surmising all sorts of things. First of all we thought that they had been picked up by some passing ship, but finally came reluc- tantly to the conclusion that their frail craft had been capsized in the storm and all of them drowned. Probably their boat drifted some distance away from us before the catastrophe happened, and any huge living thing struggling for life, rolling and pitching violently, with her decks aft nearly awash. One of my last acts before leav- ing her was to shoot a live pig which we had on board, and also kill a number of fowls we carried. As a matter of fact, we only got away in the * nick of time; if we had left it a little later, I am convinced we should all have gone down with the vessel. In the lifeboat I had placed two kegs of water and enough bread for ten or twelve days, as well as a case of tinned meat. Similar pro- visions had been placed in the long- Mr. W. A. Gale, the mate, who was drowned, together with six other members of the crew, owing to the foundering of the longboat. From a Photograph. cries for help would have been inaudible amid the roar of the storm. Needless to say, this tragedy saddened and dispirited us beyond description. We were now left to fight for our lives alone, and a grim fight it was destined to be—against hunger and _ thirst, mountainous __ seas, and the freezing, numbing cold. Snow was now falling, ac- companied by sting- ing showers of hail, and we were all wet through to the skin, despite heavy cloth- ing, oilskins, and top- boots. Indeed, it is nothing short of miraculous that we did not all perish the first night, huddled

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326 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. S Cae, - a Nee WRG A “A blanket was quickly hoisted as = distress signal.” up as we were in the icy flood rushing hither and thither in the bottom of the labouring boat. The sun had hardly risen, however, before our troubles were tem- porarily forgotten, for we caught sight of a big four-masted barque running before the wind under topsails and foresail. A blanket was quickly hoisted as a distress signal, and all hands raised a shout. The men got very excited, seeing help so close, and worked themselves up into such a frenzied state that I was compelled to remonstrate with them, pointing out that if they acted so foolishly the disappointment, if we should not happen to be seen, would-o ly tell upon them. The barque drew steadily nearer, till she was only about a mile distant, and we could plainly see her men aloft getting in the upper topsails. We shouted our loudest, waved our garments, and generally acted like madmen, but the big vessel passed on unheeding. It is only charitable to suppose that we were not seen ; anyway, the barque gradually drew away and was lost to view. Bitterly disappointed at this blow to our hopes, worn out with toil, and suffering keenly from the cold, most of the men sank into a semi-conscious state, from which three of them never rallied. The horrors of the next few days can Le better imagined than described. At dusk, while it was still blowing a whole gale of wind, with a terrible sea running, we all began to suffer from delusions, apparently caused by the intense cold. I was at the steering-oar at the time, where I had been since we left the ship on the previous day ; I stuck to this post for a whole week, with the exception of a few hours’ respite. A remarkable fact about these delusions is that one and all of us imaginei we saw the same things at the same time. At first we thought

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THE WRECK OF THE we were all safe on our ship. The sail- maker remarked, gravely : “T am going to the galley for my coffee ” ; another man said he was going for a ‘walk on deck to take the stiff- ness out of his legs. Then we thought we saw a long white building close to the starboard side of the boat. One of the articles which we had been using to bale out the water was a white enamel basin, about twelve inches in diameter. Presently the second officer called out to me: ‘“ Look at this basin, captain,” he said. “‘ What a monster, isn’t it?” As a matter of fact, I had noticed it before he spoke, and it seemed to me to be some three feet in diameter instead of one; it appeared to my disordered imagination like an immense white tub. A little later the second officer touched me and said, ‘“ Look at that Captain Thomas, with his wife and little son, who were with him on the “ Criccieth Castle,” and who shared with him the terrible experiences and privations of an_ eight days’ voyage in From a Photo, by) an open boat in mid-winter. (Duryea's Studio, Port Pirie. “CRICCIETH CASTLE.” 327 man’s face!” pointing to one of the members of the crew. I looked, and it appeared to me to be three or four times its normal size. I drew my wife’s attention to it, and when she glanced up at me her face appeared the same, while she informed me that my own had grown to four or five times its usual size. In the same way we imagined we saw a lot of other strange things—houses, streets, roads, and so on. I have since thought it very strange that we should have experienced these delusions after having undergone only some twenty-four hours’ exposure in an open boat, bitter though the exposure was. Stranger still, we experienced the hallucinations during part of one night only. I was now barely conscious, but tried hard to pull myself together, for I realized the serious- ness of our position, Fortunately, I managed to retain my reasoning powers, and was able to manceuvre the boat with the steering-oar. If I had once let it go for a moment our little craft would have got broadside on to the tremendous seas_ which were running, which would have meant an instanta- neous capsize. At seven o'clock that night came the first tragedy—it was reported to me that A.B, Anfors was dead. Ten minutes later someone reported P. J. Subra, the steward, as dead, and soon after came the tidings that Makarate, the cabin steward, had passed away. ‘It is the beginning of the end,” I thought. One of the seamen sug- gested throwing the bodies into the sea, but I said: “No; give the poor fellows a chance to cool.” “They cannot cool any more, captain,” he replied ; “they are absolutely frozen. It is the cold that has killed them.” I kept the bodies in the boat for another five hours, till about mid- night, when, as reverently as the circumstances would permit, we com- mitted them to the

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328 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. deep, after removing their oilskins, which were wrapped around Mrs. Thomas and our little son, who lay, more dead than alive, in the bottom of the boat, half buried in water, which washed this way and that with the move- ment of the boat. A native of Holyhead, who assisted in heaving the bodies of our unfortunate comrades overboard, remarked: ‘“ My word! what an easy way of dying—being frozen to death! I hope we shall all go like that, if we aretodie.” Little did the poor fellow think, when he uttered those words, that he was doomed to suffer for six days longer and then die miserably in the bottom of the boat, with the icy-cold water washing over him ! When Wednesday morning dawned we were, indeed, in a sad and sorry plight. Our bread had become soaked with sea water, and was like so much pulp. Our stomachs turned against the horrible stuff, as it only made us sick to eat it. Our stock of water also was getting very low. Unfortunately, one keg had been consumed during the first night—a fact I only discovered next day. It must be remembered that all the time 1 was steering the men were busy baling out the water with any receptacle they could get hold of, and during these opera- tions they drank the water, unknown to me. When I discovered this I took the remaining keg and placed it at my feet, doling it out after- wards a cupful at a time twice a day. As a final piece of ill-luck, we had been compelled to throw our case of tinned meat overboard to lighten our over-burdened craft in the heavy seas. The spare oars were also got rid of in the same way, and several other articles as well. I am convinced that if the three men who had died had lived, our boat would have sunk under our weight. At eight o'clock on the Wednesday I was washed clean overboard from my post at the steering - oar. A tremendous gale was still raging, and there was a particularly heavy sea. Fortunately the boat had no headway at the time, as it had been hove-to, and was merely kept head-on to the sea with the oar in question. The sailmaker made a rush toward the oar immediately he saw what had happened, for it was very important that the boat should be kept bows-on to the great waves that were running, or else it would have capsized. As for me, the next sea that came along nearly threw the boat on top of me, but fortunately I managed to get my arm over the gunwale and the other arm through the life- line. My hands were too badly frost-bitten for me to hang on by them, and at this critical moment they proved absolutely useless to me. All the crew, too, were in the same cruel predicament—their hands frost-bitten, swollen out like puddings, black as ink, and so numbed and devoid of feeling that they could make no use of them. When they baled out the water they had to use their wrists. None of them stirred to help me into the boat ; they were so numbed and exhausted that they could hardly move. My wife and the second officer, however, appealed to them to make the effort, saying that unless I was saved we should never get ashore. I knew I could not hold on much longer, and was fast losing consciousness. I had my heavy top-boots on, my wet clothes were literally frozen to my limbs, and I felt as if I were being dragged down. But my men, after my wife’s appeal, gallantly came to my rescue, and by superhuman efforts managed to get me into the boat by clutching hold of me with their teeth and arms. Once inboard, they placed me, face downwards, on the oars until I recovered from the shock. The second officer was delighted when he saw that I was safe, and remarked that it was a good omen, and that he was now sure we should reach land in safety. As soon as I had recovered from my immersion I resumed duty at the steering-oar. About noon misfortune again befell us, for A.B. Kanie- gisser died, and just before dusk we managed, with great difficulty, to slide his body over the side of the boat into the water. At about midnight of the same day A.B. Joseph Smith died, and at daylight on Thursday this, the filth body, was consigned to the deep. The weather had now moderated considerably, fortunately for us, and it kept fairly fine until that night, when once again it began to blow a tremendous gale from the north-west, with a terrific sea, which continued until some time in the afternoon of the following day, when the wind veered round suddenly to the south-west in a heavy squall. The wind blew much harder after shifting to the south-west, rising at times to a hurricane force, and the sudden shift of wind was also responsible for a fearful cross sea, making it difficult for our little boat to live. Some time during Friday night the gale moderated a lot, and by four o’clock on Saturday morning the wind had dropped to such an extent that we were enabled for the first time to set a small jib on our craft. At dawn on Saturday we sighted land right ahead of us, my wife being the first to see it. This gave us fresh courage, and we thought our sufferings—we had now spent six days in the boat, practically without food—would soon be at an end. I thought it was the Falklands, and in consequence took in the jib, and waited until daylight before attempting a landing.

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THE WRECK OF THE “CRICCIETH CASTLE.” 329 “1 was washed clean overboard from my post at the steering-oar.” Then, to my sorrow, I discovered that it was the uninhabited Beauchenes Islands, about thirty miles south of the Falklands. We were bitterly disappointed, needless to say, but set sail at once and made for the Falklands, and no one can _ imagine our jubilation when, about noon, we sighted our goal. At four o'clock in the afternoon we landed on a part of the East Falklands, in a beautiful creek. Surely now, we thought, we should find succour, and our trials would be over. We were all suffering terribly for want of water, our last keg being now exhausted, despite the fact that we had reduced the ration to less than half a cupaday. Some of the seamen were in a fearful condition, their swollen tongues hanging out nearly to the chin. : The ground where we landed was covered with snow, and we fell upon our knees and commenced sucking it, but unfortunately it turned every one of us sick. Then we discovered a pool of brackish water, which we greedily drank. Finally we fell down, on the snow, utterly exhausted, and remained there all night. At daylight on Sunday, accompanied by the carpenter, the strongest man in the party,

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“330 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. T went inland to look for help, as I knew we could not hold out much longer, and none of the others were fit to travel. It was an exceedingly trying journey over the rocky ground, and more often than not we had to crawl over the rough boulders on our hands and knees, our feet being so numbed that we could not walk properly. After great physical sufferings we covered about five miles, when it was made plain to us that misfortune was still dogging us. We were on an uninhabited part of the Falklands, where no succour could be hoped for. We returned to our companions about noon and reported the non-success of our mission. Their disappointment was intense. I had left my wife and child in a very perilous condition, and I should not have been at all surprised to have found them dead when I returned. Thank Heaven ! they were still alive, but so badly frost- bitten and ill that they were absolutely helpless. The sight of them wrung my heart, but I could do nothing to alleviate their sufferings. About two o’clock that afternoon we detected a small coaster in the offing, hull down, and I decided to try to catch her. We at once made preparations to embark, but unfortunately we were very much hampered on account of our weak condition. One poor fellow, who was nearly dead, we had to lift bodily into the boat, using our teeth and arms to do so. He appealed to me to let him lie and die where he was. “If your heart is not frozen and you have one spark of sympathy in you, you will let me die where I am, captain,” he moaned. Removing him, in his terrible plight, was simply torture, but I could not let him remain behind. This man was the poor fellow who had remarked that being frozen to death was an easy way of dying. Over an hour elapsed between the time we first saw the vessel and when we were ready to put off. Night was fast coming on, and in addi- tion the sky presented a wild and terrifying appearance, heralding the approach of another storm. The wind was now blowing off the land and we made good progress towards the distant sail. But fate was against us once more: after sailing right out to sea for about an hour we found it impossible to overtake the vessel, and had to abandon the, effort. Worn out with toil, hunger, and thirst, we now began to feel the effects of the brackish water we had drunk and the snow we had eaten. Some of the men pre- sented a terrifying appearance, foaming at the mouth like mad dogs. The wind was now fast increasing and the sea rapidly rising. We were from six to eight miles from the shore, and it was desirable to get back to land again. As already stated, the wind was blowing off the shore, necessitating the use of the oars instead of the sail for the return journey. When I ordered, “Out oars and pull forthe shore,” the men, with the little energy they had left, put out the oars, but failed to pull, having no feeling whatever in their hands, which had by this time swollen to three and four times their normal size. However, they gallantly and pluckily did their best with their arms, being fully alive to the danger we were in, for the fast- increasing wind threatened to drive us right out to sea again. After some time it became clear we were mak- ing no headway—were not even holding our own. Very soon the men became utterly exhausted ; they could do no more. Dropping their oars, they fell back one by one, completely played out. Our little craft was now leaking badly as the result of having been buffeted about for so many days. All Sunday night we were shipping water, and every moment I thought the boat would sink under us. We were kept busy baling all through the night, my poor lads holding the balers as best they could with their wrists and teeth. When morning dawned things did not improve ; if anything they became worse, and I felt certain this must be our last day. We had now been battling against fearful odds for eight days, and I felt the end must be near—and the sooner it came the better, I thought. I had reached the limit of human resistance. Then, as I glanced at my men, haggard and worn, their eyes pro- truding from their sockets and their tongues hanging out of their mouths, and at my poor wife and child lying helpless in the water in the bottom of our craft, a revulsion of feeling swept over me. I realized that all of them were looking to me to pull them through, and I made up my mind to fight to the last. At about two o'clock that morning the sail- maker reported to me at the steering-oar that Roberts, the native of Holyhead, was dead. This was the poor fellow who had appealed to me to let him die on the beach. It was now blowing a whole gale, with squalls of hurricane force. I did not know from what direction it was blowing at the time, as the glass of the compass had been broken to pieces through being washed about in the boat when she shipped a huge sea. I was under the impression that the gale was still blowing from the land, and I think none of us ever expected to see the shore again. The wind, however, had providentially changed round during the night, and shortly after day- light we found, to our intense delight, that, instead of being out of sight of land, we were only three or four miles from it. We were, never- theless, in a very critical situation, lying helpless

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THE WRECK OF THE “CRICCIETH CASTLE.” 331 in a httle open boat on a lee-shore—the coast of one of the rockiest regions in the world. Every seaman who is acquainted with this locality knows full well how it can blow from the south there, and what the sea is like at such times. We were now faced witha terrible alternative: either to drift ashore before the raging gale on to the cruel rocks, or set sail and try to weather a point of land about fifteen miles away, where we ‘hould get a little shelter from the wind and raging sea. I chose the latter course. The question now was how to put up the mast and set the sail. There was no time to lose, as the little boat was fast drifting towards the rocky shore. We were all so weak that we could not even move the mast, let alone set it up. Then a happy thought occurred to me—to use the sprit of the sail as a mast, and this saved the situation. The boat’s bow was turned towards the headland, and she began to edge away from the danger. When we were well under way I decided to consign the body of the dead seaman in the bottom of the boat to the deep. It took us nearly an hour to slide the corpse over the side, we were so weak. This poor fellow, like myself, had not partaken of a morsel of food since we left the ship, over a week previously. After sailing for some three or four hours we sighted the wireless poles of Port Stanley, and about noon came into view of the lighthouse o‘ Cape Pembroke. The gale was still raging, and our difficulty was to find a spot where we From a Photograph. Nurse Whieldos by the Governor at Port Stanley to Mrs. Thomas and the shipwrecked From a Photograph. - Sully, the lighthouse-keeper at Cape Pembroke. who was sent to the lighthouse could land safely, It almost looked as if, at the last moment, after spending so many ter- rible days and enduring such hardships, we should be lost just as a haven of refuge came in sight. The coast here is very treacherous, studded with dangerous rocks. It is bad enough to manceuvre a small boat among them in a calm sea with a fresh crew, but we had no strength left, and were absolutely at the mercy of the wind and waves. Presently we were driven close in shore, and I ordered out the oars, though I knew the men had little strength left to manipu- late them. By this time we had luckily been seen by Mr. Sully, the light- house-keeper at Cape Pem- broke. I detected a small creek, known as the Gulch, at the base of the cliffs on which the lighthouse stood, and steered for it. I afterwards learned that this is the spot where provisions for the light- house-men are landed. There was a big sea running and a particularly heavy swell. A big wave caught us and landed us upon a shoal, where we were nearly swamped, but a second wave carried us over this reef and deposited the boat right against the rock where the lighthouse-men land. At that moment one of the keepers jumped into our craft and quickly made it fast, and then he and his assistant dragged us out of the boat, one at a time, as opportunity occurred. The brave lighthouse- keepers worked hard and took many risks before they deposi- ted us safely on the shore. Then they carried us bodily— we could not stand, let alone

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332 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. walk—over the rocks up to their tower, and we breathed a fervent prayer of thankfulness. They took Mrs. Thomas first, and then our little son. They put us in a big room, lit a blazing fire, and gave us hot coffee to drink and bread and butter to eat. Oh, the delights of the warmth and the good food ! Meanwhile Mr. Sully had telephoned to Port Stanley, advising the authorities there of the rescue and of our sad plight. The governor at once dispatched Dr. Browne, formerly medical officer to the Derry Workhouse, with a guide to the lighthouse, some four and a half miles away — not an easy journey over the rough boulders, with the tremendous wind that was blowing at the time. Meanwhile the governor ordered the Government launch Penguin to proceed to the lighthouse, bringing Nurse Whieldon and a plentiful supply of warm clothing and blankets, to take us back to Port Stanley. The doctor cut our clothes off with a knife, for they had literally frozen to our | poor bodies. My little son’s feet had swollen carried down to the launch, and at half-past eleven that night were put to bed in the Victoria Cottage Home at Port Stanley. Unfortunately, despite the care and attention that was given them, two men died in the hospital. We all remained in the hospital several weeks, and our sufferings were terrible. Two poor fellows, William Summers and G. Ostertram, had to have all their toes amputated, and others had to have fingers and toes removed to prevent blood-poisoning as a result of the frost-bites. Everyone was very kind to us at Port Stanley, and did their best for us, and we shall ever feel grateful te + them. ; After we had _ be- | come convalescent we returned home by the steamer Oropesa to Liverpool. They had to carry Mrs. Thomas and my little son | aboard, and my wife ' remained in bed for another three weeks. I walked to the steamer on crutches, being unable even then to use my feet and legs owing to the frost-bites, while not till my _ little son reached Liverpool was he able to put his feet to the ground | and walk. to such an extent that they had burst through his boots, and when the doctor had cut away the leather he remarked that it would be necessary to amputate his feet, as he feared blood-poison- ing. He would do that in the morning, he added. To our great delight, circulation returned during the night, and the little chap’s feet were saved. As soon as we had been dressed in warm clothing and wrapped in blankets, we were Captain Thomas's four-year-old son. From a Photo. by F. Duryea, Port Pirie. A Board of Trade inquiry was held to inquire into the loss of the ship, and I was completeiy exonerated from all blame, and congratulated upon our wonderful and miraculous escape. I am glad to say my brave wife completely recovered, and two months after our landing presented me with a daughter. I doubt whether any woman has ever experienced and survived such a terrible ordeal as she was, unfortunately, called upon to pass through.

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TWIXT THE MATTERHORN AND MONT BLANC. Some Guideless Climbing Adventures. By GEORGE D. ABRAHAM. Another of Mr. Abraham’s fascinating mountaineering articles, this time dealing with some exciting climbs in a new Alpine playground. The author illustrates his narrative with some very remarkable photographs. IN these days Alpine travel has become Yj a popular craze, yet none but the f mountaineer who leaves railways and sa beaten tracks far behind can appre- ciate the real pleasures of the Alps. It is a revelation of a new world to penetrate into the vast solitudes of the everlasting snows; to wrestle with grim crags and finally stand on some towering summit overlooking scenes of such beauty and magnificence that to attempt descrip- tion seems almost sacrilege. As the years go by it is becoming more and more difficult to get away from the * madding crowd,” and places that were once almost unknown are now spoilt by crowds of tourists. Still, for the mountain enthusiast there are many valleys almost untouched by the onset of modern civilization, though the ubiquitous Swiss hotel manager soon appears in promising climbing resorts and his patrons are usually not uncivilized enough to refuse the comforts he offers. In the long, secluded valleys that cut deep into that veritable sea of mountains ‘twixt the Matterhorn and Mont Blanc there are many ideal retreats for the lover of mountain solitude. Of these the most beautiful is the Val d’Hérens, with its lofty upper branch containing the weather-beaten chdlets and large, com- fortable hotels of Arolla. It was a midsummer morning when a party of four of us, bound for Arolla, left the Simplon express at Sion, in the Rhone Valley. Here we chartered a pre- historic - looking vehicle, fearfully and wonderfully made, and with a horse to match, to carry luggage and climbers . —— up into the heart of the mountains. pind he aime mane | 90.0 First of all we walked up a long hill From a Photo. by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. Vol. xxxi.—24, The Jast man on the rope fini Ain

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334 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. nearly two thou- sand feet in height, which led out of the Rhone Valley and up into the more level and __ loftier Val d’H rens. Now we partook of the discomforts of our carriage. The apology for a road trended gently upwards along the right-hand side of the narrow valley. High up above us vegetation clung sparsely to bold, rocky buttresses ; a thousand feet below us the torrent roared andthiundered, now hidden beneath a screen of greenery, anon flashing out into the sunlight amidst the ruin of its weather- shattered retaining walls. It was a disturbing experience to be driven along this crumbling escarpment in a broken-down, rope-harnessed vehicle whose wobbling wheels wandered perilously near the edge of the abyss. There were terrific glimpses of the quickest way down into the thousand-foot gulf, but familiarity had bred contempt in our Jehu, and he attempted to comfort us by stating that nobody had yet fallen quite so far as the torrent. This was not exactly reassuring ; the same may be said of his indication of a certain damaged tree far below, where a falling carriage and its occu- pants once hung suspended over the gulf. However, in the early evening we reached Evolena safely, and gazed with pleasure on the great peaks looming grandly in the twilight above pine- sheltered chilets and a welcome hotel. Early next morning, with our luggage on mule-back, we walked upa still higher branch valley to Arolla, and on the way scrambled up to the right of the track to climb the Dent de Satarma. The ascent of this aggressive-looking pinnacle proved somewhat of a gym- nastic feat, and on the upper part the situation was distinctly thrilling because of the scarcity of hand and foot holds. The great cliff on the right slanted down fearsomely. One’s eye, on the down- ward glance for a foothold, saw no- thing but an inch- wide ledge; below it, beyond a thou- sand feet of space, lay the tiny chilets of Satarma basking amidst sunny pastures. It was the first climb of the holiday, and there was a tendency to cling almost too carefully to the small handholds, which were only just Climbing the Dent de Satarms, a favourite rook-peak in the new Alpine playground. large enough to From a Photo, by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. make one realize

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‘TWIXT THE MATTERHORN AND MONT BLANC. 335 The beautiful Arolla Valley.—Mont Collon towers up in the background. From a Photo. by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. that he had a life to lose. The descent proved easier than expected, and then we scrambled down across the slopes, to finally reach Arolla late in the afternoon. The pine-encircled little village is situated nearly seven thousand feet above sea-level, with splendid peaks on every hand. It is an ideal spot for guideless climbing. The Aiguilles Rouges, the Dents des Veisivi, and the Aiguille de la Za are the grandest rock-peaks; whilst of snow- climbs, the Pigne d’Arolla, twelve thousand four hundred and seventy-one feet high, and the loftiest Arolla mountain, ranks as favourite, with Mont Collon a good second. Next morning we began our guideless raid on these heights. It was shortly after dawn, and Arolla was four hours’ journey below. All round us was mist, nothing but mist, white and impenetrable. The only solid bit of visible world to which we clung was a few vertical feet of the Petite Dent de Veisivi. Two thousand feet of perpendicu- larity lay below ; this much we knew after hours of fierce fighting with the force of gravitation. Above, all was unknown—a_ mist-wreathed mystery ; yet somewhere overhead the narrow rock ridge to which we clung must end near the shapely summit spire. Upward again we mounted, no sound but that of human exertion breaking the stillness of the vast hidden abysses. At last the sharp nose of the ridge, a veritable highway, gave way to shattered rocks and, consequently, less certainty of the route. Half an hour later we seemed hopelessly lost on the great cliff. An impending bulge of unassailable precipice overshadowed me after I had fought my way inch by inch up the vertical cliff; to the left or right there was no escape. It was a lonely feeling to hang thus suspended amidst misty nothingness, with friends fifty feet below and helpless to aid. The rope which swung downwards from my waist seemed my only connection with the world present, and so precarious was my holding that a careless tug would have landed me into the world to come. However, a descent at a rational speed was the only resource, and this was achieved after many anxious moments. The rope, hitched over a friendly outstanding spike of rock, ensured comparative safety at the worst part. Meanwhile the mist had been gradually vanishing. Now it swept aside like a huge white

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336 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. curtain, and mountains of a thousand forms stood out sharp and clear, gleaming in brilliant sunshine and flecked with wisps of fleeting vapour. But most interesting of all was a broad ledge slanting to the right about twenty feet below where we were foregathered. This proved the key td success. We traversed it carefully and almost breathlessly at one impend- ing spot, for the place was recognized as the scene of the terrible disaster to the Hopkinson family a few years ago. The exact cause of the disaster will never be known, because the whole party perished, including Dr. John Hopkinson, his son, and two daughters. When the bodies were found at the base of the two-thousand-foot precipice the rope was intact between them. It seemed that the younger man of the party had been allowed to lead, and his sister came second. With such a frail follower a slip on the leader’s part could not be checked, and so proved disastrous to all. And now the huge black jaws of the great gully yawned below us as though awaiting more victims; but forewarned is forearmed, and every precaution was adopted. Then, after passing across the face, an icy chimney was entered where the frozen covering had to be cleared off every hand and foot hold with anice-axe. Half an hour later, from the tapering summit, we were greeting many old friends amongst the glorious array of Alpine giants. The Matterhorn was there on our left, capped with his midday cloud, and some of the Mont Blanc range rose dimly away to the right, with hundreds of lesser but more interesting peaks between. Only one place gave us trouble during the descent, and here our leader became stranded on an ice-slope covered with loose snow that had The Fron: a Photo. by) Corner” on the way up the Petite Dent de Veisivi.—It was from this spot that the Hopkinsons fell, a whole party of four perishing. (Messrs. Abraham, Keswick,

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‘TWIXT THE MATTERHORN AND MONT BLANC. 337 Ticklish going—At any moment the snow may slip and bring about an avalanche. From a Photo. ty Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. melted in the sun. The startling “ swish!” as the snow slid off the ice, carrying our com- panions with it, was sufficient warning for our watchful second climber to give a timely haul on the rope. From this small beginning a great avalanche was formed, and its augmented thundering down the vast precipice beneath us on to the snowfield reminded us of our fate had there been naught but unpreparedness for the venture. Steps in the bare ice-slope had now to be cut with the ice-axe, and after regaining the easy rocks we scrambled quickly down them to the long snow-slope below the peak. Here we sat down, one behind the other, and, each clutching the man in front round the waist, glissaded at tremendous speed down a thousand feet or more to the level snows within sound of the tinkling bells on the Alpe Zarmine above Arolla. The next climb was over the snowy Pigne

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338 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. d’Arolla, on a hot day of cloudless beauty. Yet the earliest morning hours were bitterly cold, because a start was made about one a.m., in order that the snow might be found in a hard, frozen condition for the ascent. We devoutly hoped there would be no hitch in the sunrise that morning; nor was there. An hour after the sun had appeared in a glare of golden splendour we were yearning for shade on the white, pitiless, everlasting snow-slopes. Hour after hour we trudged up the huge alabaster dome, the only break in the perspiring monotony coming when the weight of the heavier members of the party made them suddenly break through the hard crust of snow. At one point some striking crevasses with hanging upper lips had to be negotiated in ng the summit ridge. In one particular instance our leader had to mount on the shoulders of the second climber before he could establish himself above the overhanging lip of ice. The last man of the party, who was conveying the heavy luggage, performed some amusing dangling feats here. He had no friendly shoulder to stand upon, so he eventually stood on his head under the overhanging lip of the crevasse, the while we hauled him up feet first. The misadventure came about through our pulling him up on the rope too suddenly until he became jammed under the impending ice. His muffled shouts were understood to mean more “haul,” and until he was able to kick backwards from the ice the position must have been a warm one, judging from the heated remarks that followed. The summit was gained shortly after- wards, and while we lingered, on photography intent, the hero of the crevasse consoled himself with the contents of a suspicious - looking bottle. Uncertain weather now set in, and only expeditions at low levels could be made. Mont Collon was unsuccess- fully challenged in a snowstorm, but the gruff old monster began a can- nonade of avalanches that eventually chased us valley-wards. The Aiguilles Rouges proved a magnificent rock- climb, and an exciting day was spent traversing the many pinnacles which led to the summit. The icy conditions made success uncertain until the very last, and we were constantly forced on to the difficult rocks on the sunny side of the peak, where an ascent of a dangerous chimney took toll of our rock-shattered garments. Then an Scaling the Aiguille de ls Za on the steep lower slabs. From a Photo. by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. icy wind on the summit almost blew through us and spoiled the enjoyment

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’TWIXT THE MATTERHORN AND MONT BLANC. 339 The Berto! Hut, over eleven thousand feet above sea-level, From a Photo. by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. of the crowning prospect. Finally, a whirling snow-shower hastened the descent. A few days later we started out for the most famous and interesting of the Arolla peaks, the Aiguille de la Za. It was to be o-r last climb, and after its achievement arrangements were made to continue across the glacier pass of the Col d’H rens to Zermatt, where the railway and our luggage would be joined. The weather was perfect as we set forth for the Bertol Hut, where the night en route had to be spent. Old Sol scorched us unmercifully, and, owing to the late start, the conditions above the snow-line proved absolutely sloppy. There were several snow- covered crevasses to negotiate, and our heavy porter, with a great load of luggage on his back, unintentionally explored the interior of one of these. He fell through the soft snow so sud- denly that two of us were nearly pulled alon- with him into the chilly depths of the glacier. Being next on the rope, I involuntarily had an appalling view into the blue-black depths of the crevasse where the unfortunate porter dangled, yelling for help and, sad to relate, swearing volubly in German, French, and English. His rescue proved somewhat difficult, but, by lowering a spare rope, on which he was able to pull, and all hoisting with a mighty heave on the rope around his waist, we landed him safe but sore out of his trying position. After continuous floundering through the soft snow we reached the hut in a soaked condition, so we hung our wet garments out to dry on the hot rocks and took a prolonged sun-bath in our “ birthday clothes.” The rest of the afternoon was spent in photography and enjoyment of the magnificent views around the hut. The Bertol Cabane, to give it its full titlc, is the second loftiest hut in Switzerland, being situated eleven thou- sand one hundred and fifty-five feet above sea- level. It is perched on a small island of rock which peeps out of the biggest glacier system in the Alps. We were astir at two a.m. next morning, and gazed somewhat disconsolately on the black, mist-shrouded solitudes; but the barometer continued to rise and our spirits followed its example. Half an hour later we had disposed of breakfast by lantern light, and clambered down the rope which had been placed to facilitate the descent from the hut to the glacier. The compass bearings had been carefully taken

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340 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the previous evening, so, after roping together, we set off confidently across the vast, trackless snowfield, which was now frozen hard and firm. In a short time we reached the base of an intervening ridge of rock, and in the dense gloom scrambled up a large, snow-filled gully, where the dislodgment of some loose rocks kept the tail end of the party very much alive, to judge from the vigorous wagging of their tongues. Ere long we emerged on the higher snowfield, and a weird, greyish light augured the approach of dawn. Onwards and upwards we trudged, skirting the edges of black, fearsome crevasses, and at times taking flying leaps across the narrower rifts—a somewhat eerie proceeding in the uncertain light. Just when a heated dis- cussion was in progress as to our whereabouts, rays of pale sunlight filtered through the mist, and with astounding suddenness the great cloud curtain sank downwards, and our wondrous surroundings were revealed in the new glory. Straight ahead and apparently close at hand, our objective, the Aiguille de la Za, rose like a huge church spire, its weathered, slabby sides slanting upwards to a slender, mist-wreathed summit in a way that appealed irresistibly to our rock-climbing instincts. Away to the right, and behind us, the scene was so magnificent that adequate description is impossible. The Dent Blanche reared itself like a great black monster in the track of the rising sun, and fleecy wisps of mist hovered gracefully over the fields of everlasting snow, with the unmistakable peak of the Matterhorn now and again pushing its tapering crest through the vanishing clouds. Far away beyond stretched a veritable sea of mountains. For several minutes we gazed speechless on the sight. After a short second breakfast we scrambled up to the great cock’s-comb-like ridge which rose above us and evidently led to the actual base of the Aiguille. On arrival, we found the crest of the ridge narrow enough to require considerable care and attention. There was a fine sense of lofty exhilaration as we slowly climbed and crawled along the rocky ridge-pole of the moun- tain, with the sunny precipice on the one hand and on the other the deep, dark abysses of the Arolla Valley, where night still lingered. Filmy clouds floated lazily upwards, and now and again the “Spectre of the Brocken” flickered faintly amidst the vapour. But these wonderful effects were soon forgotten in the excitement of the ascent. The last five hundred feet of the Aiguille were almost vertical, and the small hand and foot holds were often masked in ice. Up, up we went, now gripping the narrow ridge, with its knife-like edge, now wrestling with some over- hanging buttress or clinging affectionately to the great exposed’ precipice, with thousands of feet of airy space between us and the tiny chalets of Arolla far below. The ascent of the final section was enlivened by a stirring incident. I had reached the shat- tered rocks close to the summit cairn and was carefully taking in the rope, whilst the second climber picked his way slowly up the steep precipice. Suddenly there was a surprised cry of warning, and at the same moment I felt a violent pull on the rope. Fortunately this was minimized by the friction of the rocks over which the life-line—life-line in the truest sense of the word—passed, and I was able to peer over the edge at the cause of the trouble. There my friend hung, practically in space; with a great mass of rock tilted forward from the cliff resting on his shoulders and arms! He clung to the mass with the strength of desperation, for our two friends directly below were in dire peril. They quickly realized that absence of body is just as useful as presence of mind in such a dilemma as this, and, without stopping to argue the point, they moved along a narrow ledge to the left, out of the line of fire. Then our long- suffering companion let loose the piece of the Aiguille. It went crashing down upon the very ledges they had recently vacated, to disappear finally over the great precipice, whence arose the tumultuous roar of the descending dé5ris. When we had recovered our equilibrium after this narrow escape we scrambled steadily up- wards and foregathered on the summit. The view was somewhat spoiled by the clouds, which increased rapidly with the warmth of the morn—- ing sun. Now and again the peak of the Matter- horn thrust its cruel-looking crest through the vapour, and even more impressive still seemed the snowy domes of Mont Collon and the Pigne d’Arolla, when disclosed’ to our appreciative gaze. The descent was achieved without incident, and in the afternoon we trudged across the vast snowfields and over the Col d’H<rens, with the tooth-like aréte of the Dent Blanche on the left and the Dent d’H’rens on the right, while the stupendous cliffs of the Matterhorn dominated all in magnificence and grandeur. The setting sun saw us threading our way though the pine woods near the Staffel Alp, and Zermatt, with its agyressive smells and signs of civilization, was reached before darkness set in. Homeward journeys from the Alps are always tinged with regret, but happy days live long in memory, and the charms of Arolla will surely lure us back before very long to its snow-clad peaks, shattered ridges, and rocky pinnacles.

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*TWIXT THE MATTERHORN AND MONT BLANC. 341 From a Photo. by) Nearing the summit of the Aiguille de la Za. (Messrs, Abraham, Keswick,

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THE ESCAPE OF | | ‘Ibe prison of San Juan de Ulua from which Manuel Gonzales escaped by swimming to shore through the shark - infested waters. From: a Photograph, yer N the Gallega reef, in the harbour l 1 of Vera Cruz, Mexico, there stands an ancient Spanish fortress known pRB as the Castle of San Juan de Ulua. ~ It is used for the incarceration of political prisoners, and down in the depths of the reef on which it is built, far below the water- line, are a series of terrible cells, where the light of day never penetrates. The wretched inmates of these stone boxes are forbidden to speak ; they cannot lie down properly, and they can- not stand erect. Though the castle holds some- thing like two thousand prisoners, and has been used as a jail for hundreds of years, only one man has ever been known to make his escape to the mainland, for the surrounding channels are ceaselessly patrolled, night and day, by scores of huge man-eating sharks—more effective guardians than bolts and bars and lynx-eyed sentries. Up and down, inside and outside the reef and round its ends, these great sharks swim inces- santly. Their high dorsal fins cut the blue MANUEL GONZALES. By H. H. DUNN. ILLUSTRATBD BY FRANK PATTBRSON. If there is an impregnable jail in the world, it should surely be the grim Castle of San Juan de Ulua, situated on an island in the harbour of Vera Cruz, Mexico. For four hundred years no prisoner ever escaped alive to the shore, for, besides its bolts and bars and armed guards, the prison possesses a set of guardians who never sleep, night or day—the terrible man-eating sharks ot the surrounding waters. Many men, in the course of the centuries, have tried to run the gauntlet of their vigilance, but not till last year did one man, Manuel Gonzales, succeed. This story tells how he did it. waters of the outer sea and the greenish-grey tide of the harbour every hour of the night and day, and during the four hundred years since the corner-stone of the castillo was laid in 1528, on the spot where the Spanish conquistador, Juan de Grijalva, first landed in Mexico ten years before, there is no record of any prisoner escaping to the shore until 1912. Every man of the countless scores who have attempted to escape a living death in this grim prison by swimming the three hundred yards from the reef to the mainland shore has furnished

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THE ESCAPE OF MANUEL GONZALES. 343 a meal for some shark, until one Manuel Rojas Gonzales dropped into the harbour on the night of June 29th, 1912. In fact, the guards of San Juan de Ulua are never very anxious to prevent a man from making the attempt, so great is their confidence in the sharks, especially if the would-be fugitive is one whose crime has been punished with life imprisonment. If such a man “‘tries his luck,” it makes one less for the guards to watch, and one less for the prison commissary to feed—and the commissary 1s con- trolled by contract, so that the fewer the prisoners the more money the contractor makes. During the iast decade of the rule of Porfirio Diaz there was a standing order that any prisoner who escaped from San There are three tiers, or floors, of cells in San Juan de Ulua. The top tier, on the surface of the reef, and surrounded by the high, watch- towered wall of the prison, is for minor prisoners from the State of Vera Cruz whose sentences are light. Occasionally ordinary, non-political prisoners are placed in San Juan de Ulua, owing to the crowded condition of the mainland jails, and these usually get the airier, better- lighted cells on the surface of the coral barrier. Beneath these topmost cells is a second layer of rooms, measuring eight by eight feet. They are underground, but nevertheless receive some light and air from the upper world. Under these again are the terrible in- Juan de Ulua by “swimming the gauntlet” of the lurking sharks should not be fired on by the guards. On the other hand, the lucky prisoner could present him- self at the office of the inspector of the prison in the city of Vera Cruz, receive his discharge papers from the prison, and _there- after go free of all penalty for any crime for which he might have been imprisoned. Nobody, however, ever claimed the amnesty. When Francisco I. Madero became President of Mexico on Novem- ber 6th, 1911, most of the political pri- soners in San Juan de Ulua were released, and this rule concerning escape was abolished. The prisoners freed by Madero were largely adherents of his, who had been imprisoned by Porfirio Diaz. Likewise, the cells occupied by those prisoners were filled almost immediately by men of opposite political belief from Madero, yet whom he could not execute because they had not openly fought against him. Among those so imprisoned was Manuel Rojas Gonzales, of Vera Cruz. From a) Manvel Gonzales. comunicado cells, six by four feet in ground measure- ment, and scarcely five feet in height. A man can barely lie down in them ; he cannot stand erect if he be of average height. They are absolutely dark, and the little air they get comes through long, musty corridors, leading from the tiers above. All this floor of cells is below the water- line, and the pri- soners have con- stantly in their ears the eternal roar of the open sea, pound- ing against the reef. Green slime and moss cover the walls, and the average life of a prisoner in- carcerated in one of these incomunicado, under-water cells is seven years. What solitary confinement in the darkness fails to accomplish, the dampness and the unvarying cold complete. Into one of these dreadful submarine cells went Gonzales, when Madero came into power in 1911. After him was to come to the same prison General Felix Diaz, nephew of Porfirio Diaz, and later the conqueror of Madero; but Gonzales did not know this, and he did not feel like waiting for the overthrow of Madero to escape. (Photograph.

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344 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The distance from the innermost end of the reef to the mainland is about a mile, but at low tide there is only about three hundred yards of this mud-flat over which the water is deep enough to float the big sharks. The drop into this channel from the walls of San Juan de Ulua is sudden, but after the swim across the shark-infested channel the balance of the mile is easy wading across the mud-flat, the only danger being from occasional patches of shifting quicksand. Gonzales, who had been a man of some import- ance in the harbour city, had been over every foot of the bay in his launch, and knew it as well as his guards knew the prison. He had known of the political cells in San Juan de Ulua, and he knew why the sharks of Vera Cruz harbour are protected by law, but he never but they were so well substantiated by witnesses whom I had never seen before, and who did not even know me, that I knew my fate had been sealed by official orders long before I had even been arrested. I determined that sudden death at the jaws of a shark was preferable to years of slow dissolution in the slimy cells beneath the sea. After the examination I was returned to my cell, the last of a long row, running directly across the reef. A three-foot wall of stone separated me from the roaring, pounding open sea. I knew that there was no hope of getting through this wall. A box of dynamite would scarcely have broken it down, but as I crouched in my cell I noticed a tiny slit of light in the top of the wall at the end of the corridor. In the steel door of my cell was a small opening to Madero's troops entering Vera Cruz on the day on which the port surrendered to the revolutionists. From a Photograph. realized just what excellent guards they were until, taken out of his cell to religious services in the chapel one Sunday, he saw the big man- eaters swimming up and down through the channel. Thenceforward let Gonzales, whom I met in New Orleans shortly after my expulsion from Mexico by the late President Madero, tell his own story. On that walk to the chapel | made up my mind that escape was possible. Next day, ~ when I was examined on charges of fomenting opposition to Madero in Vera Cruz, I saw that I was in for a life sentence in the incomunicado cells. The charges against me were baseless, admit air, so that I should not suffocate, for the door was so well fitted into the stone that it was practically hermetically sealed when closed. : Through this slit in my steel door came the light from the almost equally small slit in the wall. As I sat there, my chin on my knees, waiting for the evening meal of beans and tortillas, the light faded. The occupants of the other cells were quiet, and above the roar of the sea I heard a steel door open somewhere above, and the noise of the garbage from the prison kitchen being dumped into the sea. Then followed a rushing and a splashing and the throwing of heavy bodies about, and I knew that the sharks outside the

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THE ESCAPE OF MANUEL GONZALES. 345 reef had come for their evening meal. 1 heard the monsters only for a short time— perhaps half an hour. Then all became quiet again, and as I sat there, still waiting for my delayed food, an idea struck me. If I could gain the wall about this time —seven o'clock in the evening—the chances were that most of the sharks would be out of the channel, feeding on the garbage on the seaward side. Next day I was taken out for another examination at about the same hour as on the first day. I had no means of knowing the time, and even the consolation of smoking was denied me, for everything I possessed, down to my cigarettes and matches, had been taken away from me. My watch, valued at a hundred and fifty dollars, and given me by my father, dead some years, was seized by the inspector of the prison, and I suppose he still has it. That evening, after the dumping of the offal from the kitchens, I heard the door above me re-open, and this time a single and heavier splash followed. I imagine that it was the body of some hapless pri- soner being consigned to a nameless grave in the Gulf of Mexico. This sound and its sinister meaning only increased my desire and determi- nation to escape, even though it meant death in a horrible form. Next day I feigned sickness, for I knew that I should be examined again, and I resolved to make the examination as late as possible. I demanded to see a doc- tor, and, as final judg- ment of guilt and sentence to the in- comunicado cells had not been passed on me, I was allowed to see the prison physician. After prisoners are condemned to the in- “| dived head-foremost into the shark-infested channel."* comunicado cells they ‘ee ty HA XL XN a

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46 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, are not allowed to speak to anyone, and if they are taken ill they die, for no medical aid is allowed them. By thus fooling the guards I was able to put off the examination until six o’clock. The in- spector of the prison returns to his mainland home in Vera Cruz promptly at seven o’clock, and at seven on this particular evening he closed the hearing, announcing that I should be examined again at “some future date,” which I took to mean the next day. The guards are careless on San Juan de Ulua, for rarely does a prisoner try to escape, and then he never succeeds. At least, that is what I was told both before and during my brief imprisonment. We walked to the entrance, one guard and myself, of the lower tier of cells. This entrance is not far from the channel side of the reef—I should say about fifteen feet. I was alone with this guard, the other men in uniform being occupied in conducting the inspector to his launch. My guard was armed only with a revolver, which hung at his right side, the side on which I was walking. “Now or never,” thought I, and, whipping out the guard’s revolver, I struck him with all my strength over the head with the butt of the heavy weapon. He fell without a sound, and, clearing the intervening space with two bounds, I clambered up an interior buttress to the wall, and lowered myself to a niche which had once been a gun-port in the days when this was a fortress. Here I slipped off my shoes and my coat, and dived head-foremost into the shark-infested channel. I am an expert swimmer, and as I shot through the thirty feet or more to the water I straightened out as much as possible, so as to make as little splash as I could when I struck. When I felt my hands dividing the water I went as deep as I could go, came up almost to the surface, and then struck off under water at top speed. As I swam, and no shark appeared, I seemed to gain hope. The feeling of despair and depression that had fallen on me in that dreadful dungeon gradually left me, and after swimming as long as I could underneath I came cautiously to the top. The sun was down behind the purple peak of the beautiful Orizaba, and the sky so shaded by ash-coloured clouds that it seemed to merge with the slaty hues of the channel. I could see that the wall of San Juan de Ulua was lined with guards, but I was confident that they could not see me. Turning slowly from my back—the position I had assumed to look at my late prison— I came almost into collision with a huge sand- shark. The moment I saw the white body I knew I was in no danger, but nevertheless the creature gave me a terrible fright. The shark disappeared, evidently as frightened as myself, but I realized that for the moment there were no man-eaters about, otherwise the sand-shark would not have dared to take so leisurely a course up the channel, for the tiger of the sea is perfectly ready to kill and eat his more inoffensive brother whenever occasion offers. I must have covered two hundred of the three hundred yards of open channel when, with a rush that drove me to take a dive almost to the bottom, a grey, torpedo-shaped body shot past—a man-eating shark going at full s ! The only reason I can think of that he did not slash at me with his wicked teeth as he went by was that he had eaten just previously and was not hungry. As I rose to the surface he swung across just over my head, evidently hunting for me. I had to come to the top for air, and as my head rose above the water of the quiet lagoon I heard a chorus of cries from the walls of San Juan de Ulua, “ Los tiburones ! los tiburones ! ” “The sharks! the sharks!” they cried, and I imagine they thought I was as good as done for. But I swam on desperately, shouting at the shark, making a terrific splashing and kicking about. I remember that one of the things I yelled at him was a fragment of a charm song we learned as children to drive away sharks when we were in bathing. I do not suppose that did any great amount of good, but it com- forted me somewhat, and I have since learned all of it over again. I swam thus for perhaps seventy yards more, with the big man-eater becoming more and more daring every moment, until I saw that he was getting ready to make a rush at me. The channel was as smooth as a floor, and I could see every move the monster made by the phosphorescence in the waters, which outlined him as with fire. I saw him move away, and I seemed to feel that this time his rush would be in earnest. As he came on I dived, instantly and deeply, turned at a right angle, and swam desperately for the shore. The shark did not follow me, to my great surprise, and when I had held my breath until I could hold it no longer I turned upward to the surface. To my intense delight my feet struck bottom, and I found my head and shoulders were well out of water. I soon found I had been swimming for the last ten or fifteen yards in water in which I could have stood up, and so shallow that the shark did not dare enter it. About ten yards ahead of me was the mud-flat, and I wasted no time

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THE ESCAPE OF MANUEL GONZALES. 347 “As he came on I dived.”* in getting to it. Then I ran in a straight line to the hills up the coast, where, gaining the shelter of the jungle, I was soon among friends. Provided with a horse and saddle, with clean clothing and money, I rode all the way to Tampico on horseback, and there took steamer for New Orleans, where I have been ever since, waiting for an opportunity to return to my wife and children in Vera Cruz. They know that I am alive and well, and we shall have a joyous reunion now that the overthrow of President Madero allows me to return to my native land. Digitized by Google

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CURIOSITIES A Korean A very interesting article, accom- set of photographs, describing the the Koreans, who resolutely decline Hermit Kingdom, despite all that still remains the quaintest country of picturesque people, and S|ESPITE the many re- forms which the Japa- nese have introduced into Korea since their annexation of the country after the Russo-Japanese War, it still retains its ancient and old-world traditions. In- deed, the “ Land of the Morning Calm ” remains to-day the quaintest country on the face of the globe, a topsy-turvy world of picturesque people, po: ing many strange and curious customs. i This is all the more remarkable when we a) remember what Japan has dene in her attempts - to develop and modernize the country. All A Korean porter with a load of greenstuff.

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OF KOREA. By H. J. SHEPSTONE. ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTO. GRAPHS BY FRANZ OTTO KOCH, BERLIN. wedding group. panied by a particularly valuable strange manners and customs or to adopt Western ways. The Japan has done to modernize it, in the world, a land of mystery, novel sights and scenes. the principal Korean cities now boast of large Japanese settle- ments, with wide streets, fine buildings, and up-to-date shops. Roads have been built, railways opened. and the various towns placed in telegraphic communication with one another. The cultivation of cotton and silk has been introduced, and several mines have been opened. Indeed, there are now over half a million Japanese settlers in the country and all the important official and Government posts are held by the energetic sons of Nippon. Nevertheless, the moment you get away from the purely foreign quarters, you are in old Vol. xxxi.— 25. Household removals in Korea. These porters can carry a load of five hundred pounds with comparative case,

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350 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. are no longer excluded from the streets at such hours, as was the case before the coming of the Japanese. The natives still worship the god of the mountains, and every village and mountain pass boasts of its shrine, where sacrifices are offered. Near the old city wall the daily market is still held, as it has been for centuries —surely the most picturesque of all Oriental bazaars. Here, upon a bed of straw or grass laid upon the bare ground, the white-robed Korean mer- chant places his wares and then squats by the side of them, puffing at his long pipe, solemn, grave, and digni- fied. The bustle and push associated with most Oriental shopping places is conspicuous by its absence. You are not pressed to buy, and there is a calm about the market that is unexplainable to Western minds. Perhaps it is because most of the shopping is done A corner of the market- place at Seoul. From a Photograph. by men, which custom arose through the seclu- sion of the women to their homes. Shopping is a very grave and solemn task, and occupies the master of the house the greater part of the day. In the market here he purchases his provisions, cooking utensils, linen suits, hats, sandals, tobacco, and the native drink, a liquor obtained from fermented rice. Only one article of the same kind is pur- chased .from a_ single store. It would be an offence against Ko- A Korean postman—He rean eti- wears hat made of oiled quette to buy without his pipe and a dozen at a pastas time, as this From a Photograph. _ woulddeplete the stock too Korea, where every- ching is as quaint, out- of -the-common, and non-prog essive as it is possible to imagine. You cannot escape the old-world atmo- sphere even in Seoul itself, despite its broad streets, electric trams, electric light, and modern buildings. The Korean still appears in public in the cos- tume of his ancestors, the kaftan - a flowing white robe of linen, surmounted by an absurd-looking black horsehair top-hat. The custom which allows the women of the upper classes to take outdoor exercise only at night is still observed, though men oa

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CURIOSITIES OF KOREA. 351 quickly and give the shopkeeper the trouble and work of restock- ing before he was ready! It will therefore be seen that wholesale orders are not welcomed in this odd country; “‘littleand often” appears to be the golden rule in buying. In the early morning the streets are filled with bullocks, ponies, and men From a} loaded with fuel, pet which they have brought into the ‘city for sale. Porters come along with cartloads of evergreen branches fastened to the “ jiggy,” a sort of framework which they wear upon their backs. The Koreans have used this method of trans- portation for centuries, and can carry very heavy loads. One man, at a pinch, will trans- port a load of five hundred pounds’ weight of fuel upon his back, the whole towering six o: seven feet above his head. If the Korean carrier is well enough off to purchase a bullock or a pony, he would never dream of buying a cart as well. He merely piles the load upon, the animal’s back, as he would upon his own. In the case of fuel, the principal item carried by these men, it will probably rise six or eight feet above the creature’s back and hang down his sides almost to his feet, so that all you can see of the animal as he trudges along are his head, tail, and hoofs. Even if it is an awkward piece of modern furniture that the porter is asked to carry, he would never dream of requi- sitioning the ser- vices of a horse if he could possibly manage to hoist it on his own back. From a) How the Koreans pack eggs for transport— They = oat up in rolls of twisted straw, and, travel quite *hotegraph. Notice the man carrying the unwieldy cabinet in one of the photographs. He conveyed it in this fashion from the railway station to one of the hotels in Seoul’s principal thoroughfare, down which run the electric trams. On the way up to the hotel he frequently stopped and chatted with his friends, making light of his ungainly load. These porters belong to the Pedlars’ Guild, probably the oldest labour union in the world, having been founded fifteen hundred years ago. There are families who for generations have known no other occupation than carrying the miscellaneous packs from one part of the country to another, wandering over hill and dale from morning till night. As in ancient times, so they are still to-day

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352 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a} A musical instrument maker's shop. (Photograph. the carriers of news, and may be said to represent the native Press of the land, with considerable influence and power. Public opinion finds in them its most direct interpreter. There is no movement, outbreak, or revolt in which they do not participate. The most important messages are conveyed through the pedlars, and it is their guild that nourishes the flames of all rebellions, . A decidedly quaint character is the Korean postman. You come across these gentry in the mornings, delivering the letters. They appear to recognize the dignity of their office, and fulfil their duties in a very quiet and grave manner. ‘The gentleman shown in one of our photos has donned his “ rain clothes” on account of the showers. Over his white kaftan he wears a light mackintosh, provided by a thoughtful Government, while his head is covered with a waterproof hat, made of oil paper. He is further fortified against the wet by an umbrella, Like most Koreans, the postman could not possibly work without his pipe, and as he strolls from house to house he is invariably smoking. The letters are carried in a leather satchel strapped to his back. This individual may be taken as a typical example of the physical characteristics of these interesting people. They are tall—over a head higher than the Japanese—well built, and fair-complexioned. Many curious sights and scenes meet the traveller as he passes , through the streets of Seoul. The shops, the houses, the quaint "M*,,Jandivich-board” has not yet

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@ Sth Urs Ps nT CURIOSITIES OF KOREA. 353 Sedan chairs—upon which sit solemn-looking officials being conveyed to their destinations—the loaded bullocks and the ever-moving panorama of white-robed figures make a spectacle the like of which can be seen nowhere else. Everything is so new and so totally different in this topsy-turvy land. Here, outside one of the shops, lying upon the pavement, is a pile of eggs. Only a Korean could pack them and transport them in their rolls of straw without damaging them. There are ten eggs in a roll, and the straw casing is so cleverly twisted and so strongly woven that it can be moved without fear of the eggs rolling out. A native will lift up a roll from the ground, place it across his shoulder, and march home with it, stopping and chatting perhaps to friends on the way, and though the roll may sway dangerously to and fro its contents always remain intact. Since the Japanese occupation of the land the streets of the capital are kept much cleaner than was formerly the case, and during the summer they are regularly watered. A decidedly novel water-cart is employed for this purpose. It consists of a huge wooden box, rendered water-tight by liberally plastering its joints with tar. At the back of the box, close to the bottom, there is a slight projection, also of wood, bored with a number of holes from which the water drops on to the road as the human steed propels this home-made vehicle through the streets, rinks | tomo “Bitte. y = reached Korea — When a merchant wishes to advertise his goods he sends a picturesque procession of Benner peerers round streets. *hotograph.

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354 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Coens s Although quiet and inoffensive, and decidedly submissive to their conquerors, the Koreans have nevertheless souls of their own. They are a music-loving people, and every parish has its choir or amateur musical socie Some of their musical instruments are quaint affairs of wood, possessing a number of strings, almost square in design and somewhat resembling a harp. One of our photographs shows a musical instru- ment maker’s shop in the open air, and the work- men are seen engaged upon the making of the instruments. There are elaborately carved brass gongs, flutes, stringed instruments of various kinds, drums, and cymbals. Like most Oriental harmony, the concerted music of the Koreans is discordant to our ears, but occasionally the notes of a flute, played on some lonely hillside, convey to one an air at once sweet and plaintive. Although the Korean has stubbornly refused to adopt Western ideas, he has always recognized the value of advertisement. When a Korean opens a new shop, or has any particular wares he is anxious to dispose of, or when a nobleman > Fron a} A Korean trial.—The judges dispense justice in the open air.

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(Photograph. CURICSITIES OF KOREA. 355 A high official, with his escort of police. From a Photograph. desires to convey a certain’ piece af intelligence to the people, he seeks the services of the sandwich-men. In the Hermit Kingdom, however, these men do not carry boards upon which the desired information is made known to all and sundry, but resort to the medium of picturesque flags, upon which the announcement is in- scribed. Anything from one to a dozen flags may be requisitioned, and these are carried through the streets by boys and men, forming a picturesque moving advertisement. The above photograph depicts a high Korean ‘official travelling under a police guard, the latter being dressed in white. “ He is about to make an excursion to a near-by town, hence the-need of a strong guard. The official, looking as solemn as a judge, is seated upon the skin of a snow-leopard, on his quaint chair, carried by eight liveried servants. The skin denotes that he is a mandarin, and a member of the aristocracy. In the old days such posts as these were bought and sold, and to obtain one was simply a financial transaction. Of course, directly the mandarin took up his position he was anxious to get back his expenses, and under some pretext or other he con- fiscated the property of well-to-do citizens and extorted money from the people. Under Japanese rule this abuse has now been stamped out, and it is strange that, whereas a few years ago there were apparently no wealthy natives, there are now thousands who boast of their wealth and maintain expensive establishments. The Korean judge dispenses justice in the open, and we are able “to present a typical scene in a Korean court of law. By etiquette only the judge can sit; everyone else must stand, excepting the prisoner and his friends, who are forced to remain in a humble kneeling position with bowed heads. Until quite recently these

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356 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. trials were always very one-sided and shockingly unjust. When a man was brought to a judge, it was taken for granted he was guilty, and if he did not confess he was tortured and made to do so. Witnesses, too, were openly bribed. In fact, giving evidence for or against an accused person meant a living to a portion of the com- munity, and these witnesses naturally favoured those who paid best. Punishments varied. If the prisons were too full, and the condemned could not pay a fine, they were often given a chance to escape, or disappeared by some means. Though these are things of the past, Korean judges, like those of China, possess a very poor idea of the sense of justice. Our next photograph depicts a native shoeing a pony. It will be noticed that the poor beast is tied up in a most extraordinary and uncom- fortable way. As it is one of the front feet that is receiving attention, one of the hind legs is tied to a post, and as the creature is left standing on two legs, it is impossible for it to kick. ‘To make doubly sure, the animal is further secured by stout ropes passed round its body to the beam above. One man holds the pony’s leg, while the other, in a half-squatting or kneel- ing position, removes the old shoe with a pair of pincers, and then replaces it with a new one. The shoe consists of a flat plate, and is fitted cold, as is usual in the East. No blacksmith’s work is done by the Korean farrier ; he simply takes off the old shoe and nails another in its place. Until a few years ago there were no schools in Korea, if we except the so-called universities where the sons of the ruling classes were educated. Now schools are to be found everywhere, thanks to the Japanese and also to the missionaries. Shoeing a pony—Note the extraordinary way in which the animal is tied up. From a Photograph.

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CURIOSITIES In the summer months they are entirely open to the street, and for several hours a day the children, dressed in spotless white linen, may be seen squatting on the floor busy at their lessons. It is a strange fact that in the Orient children are always taught to shout their lessons aloud, and young Korea is no exception to this rule. OF KOREA. 357 for ever as an outward and visible sign of his’ condition, but entitles him to wear a hat for the first time in his life and to be treated as a | man and enter public life. He may be a mere child, twelve years of age, but he has no longer any right to play with his boy friends, and must choose his associates among old men. He has from a) You know when you are approaching a school by the noise of the children’s droning.’ Although not so quick, nor possessing the inlaginative capacity of a Japanese child, the children of the Hermit Kingdom display remarkable endur- ance, self-control, and patience over their lessons. The teacher, with his ubiquitous pipe, squats‘ among his pupils, as staid and solemn as only a Korean could be amid such a deafening uproar. The Koreans marry very young, generally between the ages of twelve and fifteen. For a woman to reach twenty without marrying is considered a terrible thing. A peculiarity of these weddings is that they would appear to be a matter of interest to everyone except the parties mostly concerned, who often see one another for the first time on the wedding morn- ing. This is because in a Korean household the boys are kept apart from the girls, the father and the sons occupying the front of the house, and the mother and the daughters living in the rear of the establishment. Moreover, in their social life the boys are not allowed to mix with the gentler sex. The parents and friends arrange the match, in accordance with their own interests, and if both parties agree and the bargain is concluded, the formalities are of the simplest. There is no religious cere- mony and no legal contract. Early on the wedding morn the best man arrives to tie the bridegroom’s pigtail in a knot on the top of his head, and this not only remains A typical Korean school. (Photograph. now all civil rights, and is expected to behave accordingly. If, on the contrary, a man is unable to afford the luxury of a home and a wife, She may reach the age of fifty, but he must still wear his pigtail down his back, has none of the advantages of citizenship, and is expected to play with kites, marbles, and such-like. Any folly he may commit is excused in the same way as the naughtiness of a child who is not respon- sible for his actions. The wedding ceremony itself is most simple. The whole function consists of a procession, when the bride and bridegroom are conducted by their respective relations to a dais, as shown on the next two pages. There they are put - face to face, and probably, as already stated, see each other for the first time. They merely glance at one another, then bow, and the knot is tied indissolubly. Often, as may be imagined, the surprise is great, but whether agreeable or not, it is con- sidered very bad taste to show any emotion. The wedding feast now follows, cakes,sweetmeats, and fruit forming the principal items in the menu. The variety of the confectionery seen at a Korean wedding may be gauged from the array of sweetmeats seen in our illustration. After the feast the bride is conducted to the home prepared for her, where she virtually becomes a prisoner. Her lot is anything but a happy one. She is not even given a name, and is known in future as “ the wife of So-and- so,” or the “ mother of So-and-so.” Her own

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a\ husband addresses her by two words, the trans- lation of which means “Come here!’? Women’s rights are a negligible quantity in Korea. A very picturesque individual is the Korean army officer. The native army, about eighty thousand strong, is now principally officered by Japanese, and during the last few years many desirable reforms have been introduced. Old- fashioned weapons have been replaced by modern The guests at a Korean wedding.—Notice the extraordinary array of sweetmeats in the foreground. ones, and the Korean Tommy Atkins undergoes regular periods of training. Many of the high Korean officials, however, still stick to the dress of their ancestors, and may be seen upon the parade grounds in their quaint clothes and circular hats adorned with feathers. Although quiet and inoffensive by nature, the Korean, when aroused, will fight with the most desperate valour. They showed their bravery

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CURIOSITIES OF KOREA. 359 These take the place of the wedding-cake. (Photograph. when they fought the Americans in the forts of Kanghoa. On that occasion the hard-pressed defenders, deprived of their rude weapons, fought with stones and handfuls of dirt, and many of them stubbornly refused quarter. Korea is a most topsy-turvy country. For instance, when a builder decides to erect a dwelling, the roof is put on first, the walls being placed in position last. Then the Koreans can From a) An oldatyle Army officer. [/*Hofograph

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360 “THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A Korean archer with his quiver of arrows— Archery is a Javourite pastime. From a Photograph. ae ee et hie ae PoP aa Sie ae A wayside restaurant. From a Photograph. never be induced to resort to the use of ladders when desirous of reaching an elevated spot. Instead, they build a sloping gangway, as shown in our photograph, up which all mortar, stones, and other material are conveyed to the desired elevation. Most of the Korean dwellings, moreover, although built of wood, are minus nails, the boards fitting into grooves, and dovetailing into one another in a wonderful way Another photograph depicts the strange hats worn by the peasant women in the rainy season. They are of immense size, measuring three to four feet across, decidedly ugly, but neverthe- less serving their purpose. They not only protect the head and neck from the inclement weather, but keep the shoulders of the wearer and also the upper part of the body dry. They are largely worn by the workers in the field. When it is raining, and the wearer is in a stoop- ing position, it means that virtually the whole body is kept dry. The Koreans have voracious appetites and their powers of absorption are remarkable, as indeed they ought to be, for it is the great ambition of every mother to develop in her children a large capacity for food. Thus, restaurants are to be found everywhere, and the above photograph shows a typical country one. Here the traveller can obtain the native drink of the country, as well as various foods, rice, beans, meat, and fowl. Being lovers of Nature, the Koreans are very ond of open-air gather- ings, and arrange most delightful picnics, when they entertain their friends and engage pro- fessional singers and dancers to amuse them.

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CURIOSITIES OF KOREA. 361 These singers and dancers, known as “‘ gesangs,” form a caste by themselves, something like the geishas of Japan. It is at such times that these country restaurants do a roaring business. The two great national sports are shooting with bows and arrows and the flying of kites. One of our illustrations shows a Korean archer, with his quiver of arrows. Some of these men are very adept with these weapons, and will bring down birds on the wing, as well as hares Korean methods of building—The roof is put on first of all, and the upper storeys are reached by a sloping gangway. From a Photograph. and rabbits, with commendable skill. As sportsmen, in the true sense of the word, the Koreans do not excel, although there is plenty of game in the country—tigers, leopards, bears, and deer. The calling of the hunter is regarded as a low one, and is never followed except as a means of liveli- hood. The hunters usually stalk their quarry disguised in fur, feathers, or leaves, and they seek to attract the birds or animals they pursue by imitating their cries. Some of the tiger-hunters display considerable courage. One of them will go out alone, armed only with an old flint- lock, and will endeavour to get the tiger into a cave or tight corner of some sort, where he attacks him. Good tiger-skins are highly prized, and the teeth, claws, and blood of the animal are regarded as valuable medicines, while men eat the heart in order that they may become brave. Extraordinary “ rain-hats"’ worn by the peasant women. From a Photograph.

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The Case of ‘Jack Thompson.’ UR readers will remember the two we By THE EDITOR. have published con- the “ My case is in just the same state as it was two years ago, and I don’t think it will ever pra rR) (G) articles oN 5: cerning ‘‘ Jack ~=Thompson,” AVe87o}) young Englishman who has been lying for the last two years in a Bolivian prison, accused of highway robbery and murder, and apparently unable to obtain a trial. Many of our readers wrote to ‘‘ Thompson,” send- ing sums of money, and we have just received from him the letter and enclosures reproduced below. Quite apart from the question of his guilt or innocence, one cannot help sympathizing with him in his seemingly hopeless situation. “La Carce’, Santa Cruz, “ Bolivia. ‘To the THE Wipe Wor._p MAGAZINE. “ Dear Sir,—I write to you to thank you for Editor of your kindness in publishing my story in THe WIDE Wor tp, which has been the means of bringing me much kindness and sym- pathy. I didn’t know there were so many kind people in the world. I have had a large number of letters from all parts of the globe, about half of them being from the United States. Several of the letters con- tained sums of money, but unfor- tunately they arrived at a time when I was ‘absent without leave,’ with the result that the authorities got hold of the letters, and, of course, pocketed the contents. They were good enough to give me the letters, but not the money. after my recapture. ee , + Desde cl nfimero de hoy Lemos abierto esta nueva srccién cum ob. jeto de publicar los reportajes quo cotidianamente baremos 4 los revs, vebre la tramitaci‘n de sas pruca- wos: Josué Melgar. 27 afon.—rstatona: Re evenro: Delgado. cana: Pa- Isone’G a ua Carcet: En el a- fio 1903.—Llera nueve aioe de prisisn. ; Dsrrwsor: Dr, Mariano Zambra- ne b. Reroutmn—gPorqné estd Ud. a. curadot Meioar: —Por habor muerto & mi_bermano. R ~-Haga Ud. el favor de co- municarme algnnos detalles sobre ~ est particular. M.—De buena voluntad to ba- ria, pero desgraciadamente my ne > ObVIDAD) DB TODO AQUEILO: Ya Nd BE SUERDO Napa. R—No es creible eso. w— ...cémo ond... ade ‘ mfs.... do nada servird que “yn diga algo ‘porqae estoy priximo & * oumplir mi pena, BR —-gCudndo aslo Ud. de acd? M.—Deutrode un afo.—Hace sois moses que se ceneluyé mi juicic condengndome 6 10 dfos de pnaién, Nueve afios llevo acd, Mine 2 Sot POR LA CAROEL a make any advance unless a miracle happens. The judge has ordered that I shall have to pay the expenses of the five witnesses whom I have named for my defence. These witnesses live in San José, about a hundred and sixty miles from here, and as there are no railways they would have to come on foot or mule-back, and that would cost about five hundred Bolivians (forty pounds). You will therefore see it is highly probable that I shall end my days in jail, waiting for witnesses who will never come. “As you will see by the enclosed cutting from a local newspaper, a translation of which is appended, in April of last year I managed to make my escape from prison. I had an awful time of it walking through the forest, living on any kind of fruit I could get hold of, and luego, me falta uno... .. K.—Do modo que Ia tramita-! cién de su jaict> ha durado casi ol mismo tiempo que sn condena...? M.—Si sefior, Es pur eso quo no obstante de oreer muy exaje- reia le pona, no te tratady . do pedir aminoramiento porque sabia” de antemane gue mi mclamacion tardaria en tranuterss ma del tiem. po que debo estar aqui. : R.-—Luego gs: queja Cd. de le morosiciad “a fa justicis? 7 M.—Si_ ceftor, ¥ mucin, By pee nsral el doacontento aot por ere mismo, R--Qué Juzgado intervino : * au asuntoP ‘ M--ELY > de Partido! R—Alguna quaja ae tiene U + que hacer? M.--Yai ninguna. esa podia ha- her sido antes, pues que hoy mi re nigno & pasar por tudo con fa. de -completar el tiempo do mn, privi6o, Sin embarg>, pedird un favor: que Ud. intervenga por, todos lds proso8 para Que ao nos é pane el socorra, pucn haco 30! dias no lo mcihimes {Tanto tiompu ya? ‘M.—S{ seftur, y esto os martiri-” zar bastante & muchos que aed no’ tenen quifn los asista conel say: tonto. eee R.—Hemos coneluido. Al Lerad R. A newspaper extract referring to the case of a man who lay in prison for nine years awaiting trial—For translation see next page. having to contend against all kinds of wild animals, my only weapon being a rusty old revolver that I secured be- fore I left the prison. It was im- possible for me to travel along the roads, as I should have been captured again immediately. As it was, after enduring all sorts of hardships, I had the bad luck to be taken on crossing the frontier into Argentina, and was brought back again, arriving in Santa Cruz on September 14th, my journey to the frontier and back having lasted nearly six months. “Enclosed with this letter you will find three news- paper cuttings. The first refers to my escape, while the second describes

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THE CASE OF “JACK THOMPSON.” how the authorities kept a man named Josué Melgar in prison for nine years without a trial. I can assure you that there are more cases of the same kind here. The third cutting shows how I get my living and occupy my time in prison. “Again thanking you, and all the kind readers of THE WIDE Wor tp who have written to me, I beg to remain, * Yours sincerely, “ Jack THOMPSON,” TRANSLATION. FROM to-day we have opened a section with the object of publishing reports or details respecting the cases of ptisoners confined in the prison of this city. Josué MELGaR. Age twenty-seven years, was arrested in 1993, and has therefore been confined in prison for nine years. Tle was defended by Dr. Mariano Zambrana, Jun. Reporter: Of what accused ? Melgar: Killing my brother. R.: Will you do me the favour of giving me a few details respecting this matter ? M.: I would do so with pleasure, but unfortunately I have forgotten all about it. I don’t remember any- thing at all. : can hardly believe that. M.: Why not? Besides, if I were to give you the details you ask for, it would not do any good, as in a short time I shall be set at liberty, on the completion of my sentence. R.: When will you be set at liberty ? M.: Inside a year. finished. are you It is six months since my case was I was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment. EDICTO Raperto Bravo Arenales, Juez 2°. de Partido de esta capital. Por ol presente, HACE SABBR a que en el jaicio lerinminal que te le sigue de oficio [por wuerte a varias personas y robo de libras esterlinas, se ha dic- tady ef decreto siguiente:—«Santa Graz, Mayo 4 de 1912—Resultan- do del oficio anterior,-que ol pre- oe ba fugado de la » sin que pucda haber sido capturado por la Policia; de cons formidad al arte, 272 del Pdte. cri- minal, llamesele por edictosa dicho acusalo ..-.-- para que en el ter- mino de diez dias se’prasente ante este jazgado a weguir su en el jureio criminal gue por muerte a v $ parsonas y robo de libras, bajo la conmisa- toria de aer declarado tebelde a la ley ¥ auspenso del ejercicio de la ciudadania, y de ser sus bienes secuestrados dorante el juicio de cootumacia.—Como- medida de soguridad de los bienes dejados por con motivo de su faga. depositeose en poder de persona que reuna las condiciones legales, ta cual sera indicada por el sevor fiscal—Bravo Arenales—Ante mi— Sinforoso Leigue—secretarios. * bo qoe ee hace saber al seusiee + para los Anes de I Sao ruz, Mayo 7 de 1912. Roperto Bravo ARENaLsS. DS Sinforoso Leigue: Strio. The official notice declaring “* Jack Thomp- son” an outlaw unless he returned to prison after his escape. 363 R.: Then you complain of the delay in the administration of justice ? M.: Yes, sir,very much. Itis this that causes the discontent amongst the prisoners. R.: In which court was your case tried ? M.: In the Second Criminal Court. R.: Have you any other complaint to make ? M.: No, sir. I am resigned to finish my sentence, but I should be pleased if you would intervene on behalf of the other prisoners. It is thirty days since the authorities paid the twenty cents per day that is allowed us by the Government, and this is a great hardship for many of the prisoners, who have no friends to provide for them. NOTICE. Ruperto Bravo Arenales, Judge of the Second ( al Court. This is to give notice to “ Jack Thompson ” that in the criminal case brought against him, by order of the Public Prosecutor, for causing the death of several persons and for the robbery of seven thousand pounds, there has been issued the following decree :— That the prisoner “ Jack Thomp- son,” having escaped from the public prison, and as up to the present date the police have not been able to re- capture him; in accordance with Article 272 of the Criminal Procedure, we hereby give notice to the said “Jack Thompson” that unless he presents himself before this court within ten days, to make his defence to the charges brought against him, he will be declared a rebel to law and justice, will be suspended from exer- cising his rights as a citizen, and will have his goods and chattels confiscated until the case is settled. As a measure of surety, the effects left by “ Thompson ” I have been in prison awaiting trial nine years, and am therefore short of a year to complete my sentence. R.: You mean to say that you have been waiting nine years to have your case tried—almost as long as your sentence ? M.: Yes, sir; and it is because of this that I have not titioned to have my sentence reduced. longer to get the petition answered than I have time toserve. It would take AVISO « préso enlacar- have been deposited with a responsible person. (Signed) RuPERTO BRAVO ARENALES. SinForoso LEIGUE (Secretary). Santa Cruz, May 7th, 1912. NoTIce. “ Jack Thompson,” detained in the public prison of this city, begs to give notice to the public that he will repair sewing-machines, typewriters, gramophones, and clocks and watches of all descriptions at moderate prices. cel publica de esta Ciudad, poner en conocimiento del piiblico, que ompone maquinas de eocer, de escribir, gramdfonos, y, relojes, de toda cuenta d& precios muy imédicos. ** Thompson's” for work in the way of repairs, otc. advertisement in the local paper asking

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Our Canoe Cruise Down the Dordogne. By C. CESTRE. “@ LTHOUGH no river for tyro - boat- PQ) men, the Dordogne offers hardly any im- pediment to skilled A chatty description of an unconventional holiday on the beautiful upper reaches of the Dordogne, in France, amidst picturesque and quite unspoilt regions of feudal chateaux, medizval towns, and quaint old villages. Mon- | sieur Cestre's narrative paints such an attractive ; picture that we fancy many of our boating readers ; will be tempted to go and do likewise. The place where we decided to launch is called St. Denis pris Martel, a little village where the Dordogne ceases to be a mountain torrent while still pre- canoers. An up-stream trip is out of the question, on account of the speed of the current and the many rapids that stud the river-course. Going down-stream, how- ever, one’s muscular exertion is reduced to a mere matter of good steering and of “ trimming the dish.” In shooting the rapids caution and promptness are called for rather than any exceptional outlay of strength. We chose last year’s summer for the expedi- tion, because the scason had been wet and the Dordogne was less likely than usual to have been affected by drought, for this river, like all those whose head-waters spring from granitic or calcareous soil, is subject to great and sudden variations of level, according to the rainfall. A powerful stream in winter, wont to overflow wherever its banks of rock leave a breach or bend back circus-like, it sometimes dwindles in summer to such a reduced size that the shallows become a considerable hindrance to canoeing. Last year, owing to especially abundant rain, the river remained comparatively full, though not swollen—excellent conditions for a cruise in such a frail craft as a Canadian canoe. Our canoe was a cedar one, sixteen feet long, of English make, light and strong. To be carried to the starting-place she had been packed in straw and wrapped up ina tough piece of canvas, tied with cords. The goods-train rates allow sending such a package from the north to the south of France for a price not exceeding twenty francs. Our equipment consisted of a tent, two camp-beds, cooking utensils, a folding carriage with removable wheels for portages, a supply of blankets, and such provisions as were not likely to be found in village shops. For the rest we intended to draw on local resources. serving all the charac- teristics of a wild stream. This village offered the further advantage of lying on the main rail- way from Paris to Toulouse, and of thus being easily accessible for the boat and ourselves. When we arrived by the Paris train, one August morning at 5 a.m., the canoe and its accompanying paraphernalia were already await- ing us in the petite vitesse shed, an object of wonder for the half-dozen railway officials of the place. The strangeness of our impedimenta and the novelty of our scheme (of which we informed them) at once pricked their curiosity and won us their goodwill. ‘They were only too ready to volunteer help and profitable directions. No suspicion of any “‘ spying expedition” entered the thoughts of these peaceful Limousins, and so we were spared the grim inquiries and the demand for “ papers”? which we had had to submit to, the preceding year, on the banks of the River Doubs, near the Eastern frontier. We were far enough in the centre of France, this time, not to suffer from the feverish unrest of the ‘watch on the border,” and to be able to enjoy our river-roaming and sight-seeing without any official bother. As the river was two miles distant from the station we went to the village in search of a peasant’s cart. A short, wiry old man, in the grey smock and broad-brimmed felt of the Limousin villagers, agreed to hitch up his donkey and convey us and our belongings to the water- side. A few minutes later we were trudging down a narrow lane, the cumbrous, straw-padded boat bulging out over the donkey’s back and two of us steadying the stern to keep her from toppling over. Meanwhile the tonzues were not idle. Our

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OUR CANOE CRUISE DOWN THE DORDOGNE. 365 old guide had his own personal views about country life. The district, he told us, was fertile, all sorts of cereals prospered, tobacco was grown, vines yielded their luscious purple crop. The peasants made good use of the time tilling their fields and gathering the har- vest ; then, in the cold season, they tended the fragrant tobacco leaves and bottled their wine. The rocky hills, or causses, covered with meagre turf and stunted trees, were useful for horse-breed- ing. In the damp hollows, under the oak-roots, grew the famous Perigord truffles, a constant source of wealth for the region. The villagers lived comfortably and ought to be satisfied with their lot. Unfortunately, the movement from country to town had reached the province. The old man was sorry for it, and, with the prudence of a sage, vowed that he would never barter his free- dom and health for the seeming competence of a city worker. The donkey and his owner left us and dis- appeared round the corner of a neighbouring farmhouse while we were still busy doing up the various pieces of our luggage into shapes fit for stowing in the narrow middle compart- ment of the canoe. The sun was shining bright, the insects humming a protest against our crushing of the scented flowers. The Dordogne, just there leaping and splashing over a steep gravel bar, was chanting a wel- come. At last all was ready. The bank yielded its smooth surface to the gliding of the craft, which at length gently took possession of her ele- ment and struck a note of glimmer- ing brown into the green symphony of the alders and willows. The luggage, carefully piled mound-wise and covered with a green tilt, made the little boat look like a miniature Chinese junk, ready to start down- stream regardless of rapids and shallows. But what was this sturdy figure striding towards us, weapon in rest, through the high grass? It proved to be no more appalling creature than the ferryman, coming back home from the fields, his scythe poised in his hand. He had been attracted to the water-side by the Vol. xxi. —26. The voyagers’ tent by the riverside. [Photograph unusual presence of strangers. We were allowed to fill our water-bag at his well, and, as he belonged, no less than ourselves, to the amphib- ious tribe, we tackled him for information about the river. To his knowledge, there was no passage that one might call dangerous as far as Lalinde, where the Dordogne leaps over a ledge six feet high and a canal has been built to skirt round the fall. Yet, as we pointed out the frailty of the canoe-bottom, the man was not quite so positive. He was not sure that boulders might not be lurking in the shallows, and that the current under the bridges might not [ Photograph. A picturesque corner.

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366 THE prove too stiff for our canoe. He even men- tioned that, a hundred miles below, under Le Buisson bridge, three young men had capsized and never been seen any more. We thanked him for his friendly warnings and promised to keep in mind the fatal bridge. I settled down at the bow. As we were break- ing off the last connection with the land I heard the ferryman muttering: “ All very well for them! But they wouldn’t catch me at that game!” The demeanour of the stream as it entered the Cirque de Montvalent, promised to make the voyage interesting. At this place the river forces its way through the heart of the mountain, rushing into a narrow gorge and then sweeping out wide of its regular westward course. Where the gully was narrowest the waters dashed furiously against the rocks, were hurled back again, rolled in crests, twisted into eddies, and sent off at full speed. Just before getting there the turmoil of the waves, echoed back by the preci- pice, and the | of the foam - crested — str bespoke an impending scuffle, and it was River, road, and railway in @ narrow pass. From a Photo, by Louis Garde, Libourne. not without a throbbing of the heart that we entered the shadow of the tall rocks and saw our bow cleave the first of the white-caps. Yet our craft proved so staunch that, with all the prancing of the stream, she wa: only moved to a slight pitching. She obeyed the pressure of the steering paddle as readily as on a smooth lake, and careered steadily on unhampered. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The Dordogne had given us a taste of its angry mood, but we had learnt that we could trust our canoe and ourselves to fare safely onward through gorge and whirlpool. When the speed of the current and the pitch of our emotion had_ subsided, we struck off into a quiet The Chateau de Montfort, high above the rive From a Photo, by Pierre Daudrix, side-creek and enjoyed the beauty of the scene. On one side a cliff, three hundred feet high, wedged itself into the stream. The bare stone, barred with lines of strati- fication as with parallel scars, reared up its huge sides shorn of station save for a few low shrubs and, at the top, a crest of trees cutting their clear outline gainst the sky. On the other side was a mountain ridge, squat- ting lengthwise, mantled with the scanty grass of the causse and bristling here and there with a needle-peak, sole survivor of the endless conflict waged between rock and frost. When we got under way again the current had slackened and the rugged spine of the cliff had softened to a slope, fledged with full-grown timber. We were now floating along beside a wooded bank, listening to the song of the birds

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OUR CANOE CRUISE DOWN THE DORDOGNE. 367 and the crystal music of brooks trickling through beds of moss. The lower branches of the trees mirrored themselves in the stream or dallied with its surface. La Roque Gageac, which overhangs the roofs of the quaint village beneath. rom a Photo. by Pierre Daudrizx. The feudal castle of Beynac, dominating the landscape on its precipitous rock. From a Phote, by Pierre Daudrix The boat’s light ripple died away softly in the long weeds under the arching boughs, a~d a faint breeze wafted to us the pungent scent of oaks, mingled with the qdour of truffles. We had now re .ched a wide, calm basin above the dam which bars the river at Gluges. A portage had to be made over the sandy soil, through the brambles, under the noonday heat. When our two hundred pounds of luggage and the canoe had been carried five hundred yards below it was lu ch time. I started on a victualling raid to the village, while K——,. tempted by the picturesqueness of the scene, took out his sketch-book and colours. It was a lovely place. The water was falling in foamy cascades through the breaches of a rocky dam and bubbling tumultuously underneath before it spurted forth in blue streams among green islands. On the bank opposite a dense wood tumbled down a steep slope, capped by a chateau with a monu- mental Louis Treize roof. A hundred furlongs down stream the suspension bridge of the road from Rocamadour to Brive boldly shot the ex- panse, flung so high above the river that the carriages and foot-passengers looked the size of toys. From a distance Gluges was quite impressive with its steeple and red roofed cottages standing out against a background of tall rocks. When I had crossed the strip of vineyards and tckacco fields bordering the water-line, however, the village changed into a mere cluster of peasants’ dwellings, rashly clinging to the cliff. All the doors were shut against the midday heat ; not a single shop was open to the stranger! I had to return to the bridge and beg a loaf at the inn on the high road. The afternoon paddle took us through more wooded scenery, till we reached a frowning bend formed by a high crag, where an uproar of thafing waters announced a rough pass. Right in the wildest part, as we were steering betweer The Dordogne at Beynac. From a Photo. by Pierre Daudsix. the mountain spur and a gravel bank, there flashed upon us—too late—a long gleaming wave, that rushed forward with a sinister swoop, then curled over ominously. At the same time we felt a dull thump, which set the boat shivering from stem to stern. We had struck a boulder lying treacherously in wait just beneath the surface. The thud was not a violent one—but how had

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the thin cedar bottom borne the shock under the aggravating circumstances of weight and speed? We paddled hurriedly to the shore, landed at the first favourable place, and hastened to examine the damage. The long plank which ran the whole length of the keel had been slightly cracked crosswise, but the lips of the split were held firmly together by the cross- laths, letting just a little moisture ooze in. The gallant little skiff had behaved handsomely in the fray. We felt relieved, and, as evening was closing in, we set cheerfully about to pitch camp for the night. The place where we had landed was one of the low reaches, covered by the water in winter, where no cultivation is possible. A few trees had struck their roots into the sandy soil and formed a barrier which arrested the light wood adrift on the stream in flood-time. We easily found a level site for our tent; fuel lay all round in abundance. Two large stones from among those on the beach provided the founda- tion for a fireplace, and after testing the direc- tion of the wind and building our hearth as the smoke flew, we soon had a flame dancing and crackling under the kettle. All around was utter solitude. The sounds of civilized life that might have floated past us with the breeze were drowned in the distant tumbling of the rapid. The speeding water, the scudding rack, the dense brushwood about, hemmed us in. As twilight stole on and our camp-fire darted its glowing beams into the thick- ening gloom we could not help thinking of the prehistoric tribes that had witnessed the change from day to night in this very spot. This regio, we remembered, is one of the oldest abodes of man in the Western world, as is proved by the remains lately dug out from caves on the river banks. The crags that we admired for their beauty had been sought, ages back, for their shelter, by the remote ancestors of our race, cognate to the higher species of monkeys by the shape of their skulls and jaws, yet capable of making tools and weapons, and thus opening the way for later civilization. Countless arrow-points and knife- blades of chipped flint have been unearthed in the neighbourhood by merely scratching the surface of the soil, and some mountain caves have been found where drawings of reindeer and buffaloes could be made out rudely limned on the stone ceiling. A few miles thence arche- ologists discovered the pinekanthropos of Les Eyzies, where he had been resting for ten thou- sand years—a mere brute in appearance, yet laid in a carefully-dug grave stil] bearing the marks of the sacred rites dutifully performed. Five o'clock next morning! The sun was piercing a blue-grey mist; large drops were 363 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. falling heavily from the leaves of the trees, a hawk above went skimming off on a hunt, and the choppy river glimmered under the oblique rays of the sun. It was time to get aboard. But how would our canoe face the day’s work with the wound in her side? Our anxiety, however, was soon dispelled. She was almost as tight as a drum, for two hours later we reached Souillac without having taken in more than a cupful of water. We thought it unnecessary to request the services of the local joiner: a pennyworth of white-lead sufficed to secure us against the perils of a leakage. Souillac was well worth a visit, containing (besides what we wanted in the way of pro- visions) interesting historic souvenirs of the past. We found there, as in many places along our route, remains of medieval France, monuments of the piety and warlike spirit of our ancestors. The old belfry, built at the time of William the Conqueror, stands now partly in ruin, having been battered down in the wars between the French of Touraine and the English of Aquitaine. The church is a pure specimen of the Southera Romanesque, characterized by its round arches and bulging cupolas. Very few repairs have been effected, and the majestic apse, grey-tinted by age, is still a witness of the piety of forme: ages. Although thus preserving the memories of the past, Souillac is nevertheless an up-to-date little town, well provided with goodly hotels and much frequented by motorists. The old and the new are curiously mingled there. In an ancient Gothic-fronted house, where appetizing fruit was piled up temptingly at the window, we found the shopman polishing a pair of foils ready for use. He had been a fencing-master in the army, and now eked out his income as a fruit-dealer by training the youthful scions of well-to-do families in the noble art of thrust and parry. Meanwhile our canoe, quietly dangling in a little bay under a cover of bushes, was waiting for us. We got aboard once more, and pretty Souillac was soon fading away in the blaze of the noonday sun. For a space the Dordogne flowed through a narrow valley at the foot of a high cliff, to which the road and the rail-track clung perilously, away up there in the sky. What a panorama was this! Wherever the crag most imperiously lorded it over the surround- ing country rose battlemented chateaux, once the strongholds of feudal lords. And so we passed the chateaux of Pinsac, Cieurac, Fenelon (where the famous prelate was born), Feyrac, and the bold pile of Montfort, flaunting its flag at a dizzying height. Thus far we had enjoyed fair weather, having

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OUR CANOE CRUISE DOWN THE DORDOGNE. 359 fallen upon an oasis of sunshine in the midst of a wet summer. In ihe evening of the second day, however, as we were pitching camp, the freshening breeze began to blow in angry gusts and to bank up clouds in the east. Everything portended a change. Our baggage was speedily packed under the overturned canoe, and we put up our tent in a hurry on a site protected by the arching branches of low trees. Fortunately, the storm scudded off to the other side of the ridge of hills, so that we were only reached by its tail-end. It is a strange, and not altogether pleasant, sensation to be awakened in the small hours of the morning by the pattering of rain on the canvas and to feel the moisture chilling you through the blankets. You hear the monot :r nous drum-beat of the drops, and wonder if river-side. We steered in and I jumped ashore, soaked and dripping, to reconnoitre the place. It happened that Vitrac—the week hefore a mere village—was all astir and thrilling with the yearning to become a summer resort. A new local railway had just been opened connect- ing it with Sarlat and promising an exodus pf week-end visitors eager to enjoy the pastimes of the water-side. Distinguished strangers and wealthy tourists might be tempted to strike off the main road and choose the quiet hamlet as a resting-place for the holidays. The most enterprising innkeeper of the place had just been fired by the ambition of running his establish- ment up to the Touring Club standard, and had hoisted a conspicuous signboard with the em- blematic wheels and Mercury’s wings. We The Chateau of Fey:ac From a Photo, by Louis Garde, Libourne. the showers will give you a chance to dress, pack up the things, and cook the breakfast. A clearing-up favoured us, however, just in time for our preparations, and we started, wet from the dew and the dripping branches, under a lowering sky. The whole morning was a severe trial. The rain fell intermittently in heavy squalls and the sharp gusts of wind hardly gave us a moment’s respite. The sou’-wester gale, blowing right in our teeth, whipped the surface of the river into decent-sized waves hard to ride. Doubling the headlands, too, was no easy matter; the blast kept veering us round so malignantly. What with the impetuosity of the current and the violence of the wind, the shooting of the rapids was a fantastic business. After sustaining the brunt of the struggle for four hours we decided, near Vitrac, to seek refuge at the first inn by the were looked upon by him as luck-bringers, sent to secure him the favour of the gods and conse- crate his premises as the Grand Hotel of Vitrac. In a minute he was down at the landing-place, piling up our things on a truck, amid gabbling geese and wondering children. We were helped to shoulder our canoe and led triumphantly to the inn, all rain-bedraggled and mud-bespattered. You are always sure to get good meals at a French inn. As for the sleeping accommoda- tion, people used to camp-beds are not hard to please, so the landlord might have spared us the egregious yarn that his Touring Club rooms were unopportunely occupied by a family of motorists, just gone out on a tour, but having left their luggage behind. We listened with unflinching gravity to his tale and put up with the non-Touring Club rooms which were given us. For the rest, mine host made himself very

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370 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. serviceable by conducting us to the chiteau, the cliff-caves, and the maze down the slope to the water-level. His buxom wife gracefully supervised our dinner and kept up a pleasant chat. The new railway took us to Sarlat, where we had the pleasure of discovering, in the by-streets off the modern Rue de la République, a quaint old town of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, still alive with the memories of the Renaissance and its dainty art. The mansions of the old An ancient house in Sarlat. From a Photo. by Pierre Daudrix, Libourne. provincial nobility are still standing with their graceful fronts, slender turrets, winding stair- cases, and well-poised roofs; the streets are still romantically irregular, revealing a new charm at every corner. The rain had kept on falling while we were thus making use of our forced leisure, but when we were ready to start next morning the sky had cleared again, though the Dordogne was in flood. The river had already risen three feet and was likely to rise higher still, the landlord said. The perfect transparency which had made the beauty of the stream was now replaced by turbid opaqueness ; the bordering bushes, half- drowned in the seething water, bent under the stress ; whole trees drifted along in the middle of the current, and little green islets of entangled weeds and thorns were spinning about and bumping against the bridge piers. The violence of the current might have deterred us from resuming our trip at once had not the landlord— a member of the local Société Nautique—given us the reassuring information that the rapids, although more forbidding in appearance, were really safer, owing to the greater depth. Yet in his conversation there recurred the ominous - name of Le Buisson, of which he bade us beware once more, though unable to explain what sort of danger threatened us. Thus Le Buisson loomed up before us more and more foreboding, a kind of storm-cloud over our heads, fraught with tragic vagueness and theatrical solemnity. The Dordogne was now running high and strong, scurrying us along through narrow passes and wide basins. The clouded sky darkened all the landscape, the cliffs rose more impressive, the woods more mysterious. The smaller birds had been cowed into silence. At places, where the low banks, made of alluvial soil, lifted but a few feet above the water, the sand-swallows were fluttering about their nests, as though fearing that the swollen stream would invade them. Two herons took flight heavily, dragging their legs and craning their necks, and farther down, as we passed a narrow gully, a water-eagle struck straight aloft and dis- appeared in the strip of light between the cliff-tops. It was time fora spell. We had been struggling long enough with the speed of the current, so we hooked ourselves to bushes near the rock of Caudon, at the summit of which stands the town of Dornme. Inaccessible save from the land-side, this old stronghold was built there “ at the time of the English,” as the country people say, including in this phrase all the warlike memories of the past, the contests of the French kings with their barons, as well as the wars with the English and the religious strifes of the six- teenth century. One fortified gate remains almost entire, frowning down upon the lowland on the only side open to attack. From the terrace where the church raises its open belfry an immense reach of the river offers itself, map- like, to view. Half a mile below La Roque Gageac stands out boldly, a precipice whose brow overhangs the village roofs. At the next bend

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OUR CANOE CRUISE DOWN From a Photo. by Pierre Daudrix. the medizval castle of Beynac crowns a tower- ing crag. The weather was too unsettled when we reached St. Cyprien in the evening to allow of camping out for the night, and as the town lay a mile off we alighted at a river-side inn, the Carpe d’Or, which, we learned, was much fre- quented in the fine season by townspeople fond of a bath and of a dish of fried fish. The land- lord combined the occupations of fisherman and pig-breeder. Which of these avocations had more deeply stamped its imprint on his personality was hard to decide; but his bulky stoutness, flabby thews, and pale pink complexion made him more like one of his grunting friends than a river-god. The landlady took our visit as a matter of course, and, without putting herself out in the least, went about the preliminaries for dinner in our presence at a monumental kitchen hearth. In the course of the pro- ceedings the ice thawed and she received, good-humouredly enough, our compliments on her deftness in jerking the fish about in the frying-pan. Her witchery can only be described by its results—we had never eaten such a savoury meal of fish before in our lives. The whole menu was well designed to remind us that we were in the heart of Perigord, where geese are especially bred with a view to yielding fotes gras and truffles are the precious growth of the damp underwood. Every housewife in the district is a good hand at tempering the ingre- dients of a truffled duck or a goose- pie, and every peasant is a gourmet. The local THE DORDOGNE. 371 wine has a certain raw flavour which does not suit untutored palates ; but Perigord is next neighbour to Guyenne, and every decent inn is well provided with bottled claret. Our land- lady’s paté de foie gras filled the room with its fragrance, and it was an extra element of delight to learn from mine host (who, having done with his pigs, was ready for his guests) in what brush- wood the particular truffles had been gathered and what grunt- ing fellow of the keen smell had unearthed them with his sturdy snout. Such snatches of civilized life are not unwel come among the vicissitudes of a camping tour ; you can put up with the rain when no greater mishap befalls you than stumbling on such a “Castle Dangerous.” We felt quite rejuvenated and buoyant when we jumped aboard next morning and shot away on the flooded Dordogne. Every hour now brought us nearer the ill- famed Buisson bridge. But no one had yet cleared up the mystery attached to the place. A halt for lunch in the woods. From a Photograph.

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372 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, It seemed that the rumour of a peril lurking there had floated up-stream with the breeze, although no sluggish fisherman plying his trade between two rapids was able to do anythin; but repeat vaguely and superstitiously what he had gathered from hearsay. About two miles sbove the fatal spot, however, as we were striking off the current into the quiet channel of a little tributary in order to light a cigarette and ponder over approaching events, we were startled by a greeting from behind a willow. It proceeded from an angler who had escaped our notice. Instead of resenting our intrusion, he had thus humanely hailed two fellow water-lovers. We scented a man of a different type from the boors careful at Le Buisson bridge. But you have been through a dozen passes harder than this. The hitch there lies in the current, which strikes the bridge-pier slantwise, and might hurl you on against the corner-stone if you lost control of the steering of your boat. But keep straigtt and you'll be all right.” Half an hour later we reached the legendary “‘dead man’s bridge,” and, keeping at equal distances from the piers, shot through the middle arch with a mere swirl of the paddle. This feat marked the climax of our voyage. We made a stay at Le Buisson, occupying the afternoon with a walk to the church and cloister of Cadoin, six miles from the river. When we we had thus far met with on the river, and will- ingly entered into a conversation. Our new friend turned out to be an engine-driver belong- ing to the important railway junction and depot of Le Buisson. His open face and direct speech betokened a mind trained to master facts and follow the connection of cause with effect. When we had satisfied his legitimate curiosity as to our voyage, our goal, and the origin and make of our canoe, he readily confided to us his passion for the water and how he spent much of his holidays in a boat, fishing. Here at last was the long-looked-for guide, the man to solve the riddle of the river-Sphinx and to reveal to us what gruesome danger we were running into, grinning rock or snarling whirlpool! A knowing look met ours when we broached the subject ; his smile answered our smile, as of a man who pierces through popular credulity and parochial silliness. “ Yes,” he said, “ you will have to be A peacetul stretch of the Dordogne. From a Photograph. returned to our camp, at a safe distance from the mischievousness of urchins and the greedy curiosity of tramps, we found the canoe stranded on the spot where she had been floating three hours before. The swollen river was beginning to shrink back to its wonted summer level. During the next two days the rolling country : on both sides gradually flattened. The land- ‘scape grew tamer. The river was now flowing more gently towards the fertile but unpicturesque lowlands of Bergerac. At Mauzac we entered the canal which marked the dull transition from wild to civilized life. The weather kept glorious for the last stretch of paddling down to Lalinde, where we decided to pack the canoe again and load it on a goods train northward, whence it came. And so our canoe cruise came to an end, and regretfully we parted with our beautiful Dordogne, its waters sparkling in the sunshine.

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eS PAIREAX : < z ie gti! By ILLUSTRATED BY p 2G 2 G. HENRY BVISON. ‘ N DI D ‘ASSISC ANT - ae RESIDENT. A dramatic story of the “White Man’s Burden.” The young Political Officer in charge of a great African province found himself, without troops at his back, face to face with a powerful Emir who was about to declare wa" on the British and endeavour to sweep them out of his country. How, by sheer pluck and force of personality, the young official saved the situation is told in this narrative. The correct names of persons and places concerned have had to be suppressed, but have been supplied to us in confidence. EARS ago all the world and his wife knew about the Mahdi. He was ‘a ferocious person, probably black as to colour, a terrible slave-raider, who kept scores and scores of wives, and occasioned endless bloodshed and trouble in Upper Egypt. Time went on, the personal element faded, | and people got to talking of Mahdism—the condition of affairs to which the activities of the Mahdi had given rise. Again a few years passed, and there came Kitchener, and Omdur- man, and the destruction of the Khalifa and his hordes. Whereat the world and his wife heaved a sigh of grateful relief, saying, ‘“ Thank goodness ; that’s all over and done with.” And Mahdi and Mahdism alike passed from thought. Unfortunately, however, the matter did not end there. The Mahdi was the living expression of Mohammedanism militant, as his acts were ‘the logical and inevitable expression of its teachings. Right across the top of .\frica Islam holds sway, and that part of the continent lying north of the Equator is peopled chiefly by followers of the Prophet. The effects of the Mahdi’s movements were felt and reflected throughout the Moslem com- munities of Africa ; more, they are felt to-day as a living force. ‘‘ Slay the infidel, possess yourselves the land,” is an ideal which naturally and specially commends itself to those Moham- medans who—as in the case of the territories comprised within the British, French, and German possessions—have seen the “ infidel ” establish himself in the country by force of arms. They have watched him assume the control of affairs, and they have felt his heavy hand upon the slave-raider and upon the oppressor and evil-doer generally. The pro- hibition of the custom of raiding pagan tribes for slaves, and the gradual abolition of the insti- tution of slavery itself, tend necessarily to the impoverishment of the present generation of Mussulman chieftains. Each of these chieftains maintains a great crowd of dependents, also Moslems, who form the bulk of the local aris- tocracy. Hence, if the ‘big man” loses a shilling, the members of his entourage are affected. In any community a radical change of con- ditions is bound to operate adversely in respect of some individuals, and the Mussulman chiefs provide the “ hard case” of the existing situa- tion. In the long run, of course, chiefs, like the rest of the population, will benefit by the change, but in the earliest stage of the transition they are bound to suffer. The liberty to call together their followers and go forth to war upon a neighbour has, of course, passed away from them for ever. His religion. seems to endue the Moslem with a taste for blood, and a Government which bans the

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374 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. gratification of this taste can hardly ever be really acceptable to him. What, he argues, is the ability to purchase an automobile, a gramophone, European clothes and saddlery, compared with the life-and-death powers of an irresponsible autocrat—powers that he has lost ? So he is not content, nor does it seem likely that mere wealth will ever make up to him the price he has had to pay for it. Not very long ago the Political fficer in charge of a huge province in Northern Nigeria found himself in a very delicate position. In con- sequence of trouble at the other end of the Pr tectorate the company of native infantry which was ordinarily at his disposition had been withdrawn. Paucity of staff accounted for his having with him no junior man of his own department. In the station, the provincial headquarters, were a white doctor and one very young and quite inexperienced officer of con- stabulary, recently arrived in the country. The available force consisted of some thirty native ¢onstables—worthy enough fellows, armed with carbines, some of which could be fired. And, lastly, there were the usual dozen political agents, interpreters, and couriers, concerning whose value in their respective callings there might be some doubt, but in regard to whose fighting capacity there could be none whatever. Less than two miles away from the station, across the plain, its high mud walls grim and stark in the sunlight, stood a great native city. The station itself straggled along rather more than a mile of a low ridge—three bungalows, the courthouse, stores, and in the midst the fort, then garrisoned by the thirty constables. All these buildings were well separated, and each isolated from the others. Now that the troops were gone, station and fort alike were, from a military point of view, untenable. The city was the seat of an Emir,a great and powerful chief, ruler of the people for a hundred miles around. It was the custom of the Emir once a week to come in state, with his immediate entourage, attended by a mounted escort, to call officially upon the Resident in the station. Robed in magnificent flowing garments, turbaned and veiled, splendidly mounted on a gaily- caparisoned charger, this Emir was a fine figure of a man. And it was a brave sight when he and his bodyguard of spearmen, clad in armour, well mounted on useful animals, came clattering and jingling and sparkling out across the plain up to the courthouse. At the time of which I write, however, this visit was some days overdue. The Emir had not come, nor had he sent any explanation or excuse of any kind. ‘ From information received,” the Resident knew that a Mallam had arrived in the city some days previously. This person was described to him as “el Haji” —one who has made the pilgrimage to Mecca— an undertaking which at that period was an affair of some three years as to time, and of risks—murder, enslavement, starvation—almost incalculable. The Mallam arrived in the city alone and afoot from the North, and the report added that he had been instantly received by the Emir with great honour, and installed in a big house close to the palace. The “North” means that vast, vague, ill- defined extent of country east and south of the Sahara, the home of Senussi, and the haunt of those fierce, ruthless, fighting Moslem tribes from which sprang the Mahdi. The Resident’s troops had been taken from him to form part of a force whose objective ‘was in that portion of the Protectorate bordering upon this terri- tory. They had gone to operate against a power- ful chief who was known to be actively engaged in promoting a conspiracy amongst his co- religionists throughout the Protectorate to destroy, once for all, the ‘usurping infidels. The neglect by the Emir of his customary visit had led to a feeling of uneasiness in the station. Servants had made excuse for not going into the city to market, and a courier, sent with a letter to the Emir, had failed to return, nor was any news of him forthcoming. Normally, a crowd of natives with complaints and petitions awaited the Resident each morning outside the courthouse, but for nearly a week not one single man had been seen there. The usual hawkers came no more to the station peddling their small wares. The constabulary and native staff had begun to indulge in covert insolence to the white officials, several ‘‘ boys” were reported as having disappeared, and the four clerks from the coast—trousered negroes these, and Christians of sorts—grey-black with panic, and sobbing bitterly, had besought permission from the Resident to feed and sleep in the courthouse. Lastly, there was no telegraph line in the station. Such was the position that confronted the Resident one hot, dusty day in June. The con- templation of it went far towards spoiling his lunch, and he rose up and went across to the police office, where he found the police officer, collarless and in shirt-sleeves, busy with returns and a long cigar. “ Afternoon,” said the Resident. “Halloa!”? replied the other. pew.” The visitor took one, also a cigar.:. Then he asked, “‘ All your men in the fort ?’? “Yes. I moved ’em up there this morning “Take a

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WHAT FAIRFAX DID. 375 from their own barracks. And the ammunition and stores are there also, of course.” “Well, I should like to inspect the detach- ment this afternoon—four-thirty, full marching order, please. I’m going down to the town presently, and I’ll come and look at them on my way back.” With that he took his leave. A few hundred yards away stood the medical officer’s bungalow, and towards this the Resident bent his steps. Arrived there, he found the grizzled occupant inspecting his bat- tery of sporting guns. Dr. Warren was, and is, a mighty hunter, and his collection of guns and trophies is knownanddiscussed OWT Nil from Kano to Calabar. The man of medicine was as fully alive to the possibilities of the situation as was the Resident himself. Hence, possibly, this overhauling of the guns. Fairfax told him of his orders to “ the child,” for so they called the policeman. “You will oblige me greatly, Warren,” he added, “‘ if you will stroll over to the fort about four o’clock. Take the guns over with you, and the armourer can pull ’em through for you. I’m off to the city now, and I may be back by then, or I may not. Whilst you are in the fort you might keep your weather eye on the road out from the city. We shall know within a couple of hours whether we’re going to have trouble. If we are, you'll see a lot of people come streaming out along that road, and you'll be comfortably inside the fort in plenty of time.” “ Right-o !” said the doctor, and he held out his hand. Back in his own bungalow, Mr. Resident Fairfax lost no time in arraying himself in the rather gorgeous uniform he affected on occasions of ceremony. That afternoon, however, he The senior political- added a revolver to the kit. “ Scowls greeted the little party, and muttered threats accompanied it.” agent-cum-interpreter was in attendance, and Fairfax explained that he required his company to the Emir’s palace. “You will walk before me,” he said, ‘‘ and you understand what this is?” he concluded, with a tap at the pistol holster on his hip. The little party started forth. First walked the interpreter, then Fairfax, mounted, followed by the groom. Awudu Bashar, ex-soldier, at

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376 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. & one time of the Senegal Tirailleurs, late of the West African Frontier Force, and now most efficient and devoted of personal orderlies, brought up the rear of the procession, carrying a Rurkhee chair. In this order they proceeded to the city. They passed the gate without hindrance, and so on within the walls. There all was ferment and excitement. Buying and selling in the market there was none. Groups of men, always men—thete were no children or women to be seen—stood about, talking and gesticulating. The sight of them, and their noise, was alike sinister, ominous, threatening. The appearance and swift passage of the tiny cortége through their midst were a complete surprise. Scowls greeted it, muttered threats accompanied it, but the little party, threading its way rapidly through the throng, reached the * Emir’s palace without mishap. Arrived there, the interpreter hesitated for a moment. “Go ahead,” said Fairfax, his hand on the pistol holster, and the man led on under the Square tower that formed the gate, across a great open court, under another smaller tower, and so to a second court, with fine shady trees in the midst, and a colonnade running along one side. The court was more or less full of men, all “ Fairfax trode briskly across to the colonnade.” armed, lounging, walking, sitting, standing, restless and expectant. In the colonnade, seated on a lion-skin, surrounded by his great officers, was the Emir, apparently in council. Fairfax reined up. The surprise was perfect. A few men rose to their feet, then, seeing that the Emir remained seated, sat down again. Fairfax dismounted and strode briskly across to the colonnade. He was a young man, little more than thirty, decision personified, and he had an eye. His manner awed the crowd, and all, Emir included, rose up. It was done sullenly, surlily, and with the worst of evil grace, but stand up they did, and the Resident had scored the first point in the game of bluff he proposed to himself. Orderly Awudu Bashar set down the Rurkhee chair some four yards from the Emir, facing him, and took post behind it. Fairfax took his seat, and motioned the Emir to sit. His people completed the circle. The usual compliments were passed, the white man closely studying the faces around him the while. Very soon he decided upon the identity of the emissary from the North. Close to the Emir there sat a tall, lean man, with beautifully-formed hands and feet, aquiline features, and blazing eyes—the eyes of a fanatic. No negro this,

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WHAT FAIRFAX DID. 377 ie ) ca but a Fulani, light-skinned, thoroughbred - looking, his striking personality gaining by comparison with the men about him. “ Apparently a cultured, intelligent fellow ; certainly a dangerous one,” thought the Resident. The man was dressed all in white, not elabo- rately, but his things were spotless. On his head rested the green turban that indicates “el Haji.” After the salutations, Fairfax asked for his horse to be watered, and the Emir gave the necessary orders. Then Fairfax got to business. Addressing himself to the Emir, he spoke slowly and in a loud tone, in Hausa, and the court was filled with his auditors. “There is here in the town,” he said, “a Mallam from Senussi, who has come to lead you, Emir, unto trouble. And not you alone, but all your people also. The soldiers are even now marching against his friends in the North, because of their intriguings, and because they have put their heads together, and have joined their hands to break the peace of the great King, the father of us all. A fellow of ill-omen, and of evil heart, he seeks to drag you also down to ruin with them.” And he paused, his arm extending, pointing out the man from the North. “You, Emir, and your headmen here, are a Court. You have powers of life and death. I charge this man, this Mallam, with sedition, with stirring up the people to wrong-doing that could only end in their own utter ruin. UY It is my order that you try him, here and now, before me.” The proceedings began. Fairfax’s eyes were everywhere, and no word or movement escaped him. The tension was enormous, the strain on the man not possible to describe. The Court was dilatory. It raised difficulties, it hesitated, it wavered ; but through all Fairfax held on tight, and by sheer tenacity and force of per- sonality he kept it to the issue in hand. Once started, the Resident was not the man to relax the pace, and he sustained the pressure with all his strength and energy, and with every ounce of will-power he possessed. Educated Moslems are keen lawyers, and the Resident’s knowledge of the code of Islam stood him in good stead. The cause, he told them, was plain. Guilty or not guilty, it was for them to decide upon the evidence. And he held them closely to their work. The afternoon sped away, and twilight, the swift, sweet African twilight, came and passed and, passing, deepened into night. Native lamps were brought and placed here and there on the ground, lamps such as the patriarchs used. A little breeze flittered about the court, and the flickering lights fell upon the faces of judges and accused, now revealing, now veiling them. Fairfax sat on, and behind him, stiff at attention, through all the long hours, stood Orderly Awudu Bashar. At last the Court found the charge proved, but the judges at first refused to pronounce sentence. There was but one, and that death,

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378 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “The accused made no movement, he spoke no word.” for such a crime, and it took all that the Resident had left of will-power to induce them to make an end of the business. Ultimately he prevailed, and they passed sentence of death. The Emir, as president of the Court, formally detailed the proceedings to Fairfax, and submitted the sentence for confirmation. The white man sat up in his chair. “The Native Court,” he said, addressing the Mallam, “ have found you guilty of the greatest of all possible crimes, on evidence in respect of which there can be no dispute. The acts which constitute your crime are within the personal knowledge of every single member of the Court. You came to this city purposing to raise the people against the Government. Had you suc- ceeded in your design, these misguided people would have murdered me and the other white » men here. After that the scldiers would have come, the city would have been destroyed, many men would have been killed in battle, and others would have been hanged. Ruin, complete and utter, is what you strove to compass for this city and people. You failed in your attempt— Allah prevented you from succeeding. The Native Court have sentenced you to death. I confirm that sentence, and I direct the Native Court to carry it into execution forthwith by hanging you.” A long pause ensued. The light of the lamps, flickering still, shone now upon faces stricken with dismay, horror, consternation, terror. But the Resident had the gathering thoroughly in hand by this time ; he saw complete success within his grasp, and he pressed them hard. The accused made no movement, he spoke no word. He remained perfectly calm. His was the one face that showed no sign of stress or fear. He bowed his head slightly when Fairfax finished speaking, and remained passive. By race and religion alike a fatalist, his bearing in that hour did honour to his breeding and to his faith. He was hanged by the neck until he was dead, on one of the trees of the court. - Then Fairfax’s horse was brought, and he rode forth from the palace, through the city, past the gate, and back to the station in the moonlight stillness of the night. The peril was past.

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. Adventure and Discovery in Dutch New Guinea. CAPTAIN C. G. RAWLING, C.LE. An account of the doings of the British expedition dispatched in 1909 to Dutch New Guinea for the purpose of exploring the vast unknown regions of that part of the great island. The expedition, besides making valuable collections of birds and beasts, destined for the British Museum, discovered a strange new race of men, the Tapiro pygmies, none of whom reach five feet in height. The hardships undergone by the explorers were terrible, only eleven men out of four hundred remaining fit for duty at the conclusion of operations. In these articles Captain Rawling, who was latterly in command of the expedition, describes some of the discoveries made and paints a vivid picture of the strenuous work and hardship entailed upon the explorer in the interior of New Guinea, where all the forces of man and Nature conspire against the intruder. ¥ | afresh, the rivers were in flood, and the forest under water, but, in spite of these obstacles—and they —— were formidable indeed—steady pro- gress was made. At some tinfé or another, we knew, the streams would be fordable, even though the passage had to be carried out by struggling breast-high through a headlong torrent. For the passage of the Tuaba, however, a canoe had to be utilized as a ferry, and, with the assistance of the natives, this worked well. Had we been alone, it is very doubtful if a single load could have been transported across, so strong was the current. Useful as the natives were, however, they would not entertain the idea of entering the mountains, so that our own imported labour now became indispensable. For some unknown reason an entry into the hills was most repugnant to our Papuans, whether through fear of spirits, from dislike of crossing the border into pygmy-land, or from a more natural objection to climbing, we never could understand. Consequently, having handed in their loads at the farthest point, they were dis- missed, each man being given a note to the Gurkha left in charge of the camp to the effect that he was to receive an axe-head. We had all along treated Papuan them so fairly and justly that Cheating. they looked upon these papers as the most secure of invest- ments, so much so that very often they would not take the trouble to present them till it. suited their convenience. Writing, of course, they did not understand, and they concluded therefore that the pay- ment had something to do-with the shape of the paper, and so they argued that the result would be the same if another piece of paper of a like size, however obtained, was handed in, and that in this way they would rapidly grow rich. They pretended much indignation at the failure of their little plans, and after many rebuffs concluded that there must be some other reason for their want of success. A few days later a man was given his payment for some work done, the paper order being folded after the manner of a billet-doux. At the receipt of custom two men appeared, both with billets- doux exactly resembling one another, of the same size and method of folding, one with “axe-head ” written inside, the other having merely the printing of a newspaper. Again no payment resulted to the “dummy” bearer, but some corporal punishment instead. After ° that the imitation business languished. Whilst on this subject I may mention that the Papuans at once recognized such pictures - from illustrated papers as represented dogs, pigs, birds, and suc’-like things, but as cows, horses, and many other animals were totally unknown to them they could only give them names such as they knew. Thus, a cavalry soldier they would describe as a white man on a pig ; a cow would be called a dog, and so on. They were completely overcome with the beauty of actresses and ladies of fashion, thumping their chests with delight, and carrying off the treasures to their homes, there to gloat over them in silence, envying Marshall and me greatly, as we boldly claimed every beauty as one of our numerous wives ! But I am digressing. It was not the idiosyn- crasies of the natives that monopolized our thoughts, but the chances of success likely to attend our final attempt at an advance into the mountains, which had so long defied us. Five great rivers had been crossed, but the sixth, the Iwaka, defeated every plan that we tried, and finally forced us up-stream in the hope

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380 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) An up-river native. that a tributary might be dis- covered over which a_ bridge could be constructed. Our in- tended route lay to the east, and this river continued to run from the north in an unbroken volume, rushing along between almost precipitous banks. A view obtained from a hill three thousand feet high confirmed our suspicions that no ford would be found for many marches, and © || long after all available food had been consumed. For three days A Dangerous attempts were Crossing. made to fell trees in such a manner as to span the river, but every tree either broke its back or was swept away by the torrent. Still, cross we must if we were to attain our objective, and accordingly a big reward was offered to any man or body of men who would succeed in making a bridge in two days. All tried their hands, but with no success until late that evening the Gurkhas felled a tree with such precision that it spanned the torrent. They then crossed the river and fixed a rattan rope from bank to bank as additional security, so that, whatever might happen, some form of communication might be kept with the opposite shore. As was to be feared, a spate came down that night and swept the tree-bridge away, so that our only connection with the opposite bank was now the thin strand of rattan. If only one man could be got across, the bridge could be com- pleted, failing which the work was useless. The question arose as to the possibility, and whether a volunteer could be found. The river was in full flood, a turbid brown mass of water, fifteen feet in depth and forty-five to fifty yards wide, breaking up below in such foaming rapids that if a man were swept away there was but little chance of his coming out alive. A reward was offered to any of the lighter coolies to trust their lives to the frail strand of rope, but none would venture, even though many months’ pay was offered. It was then that Jangbir, a Gurkha, showed of what stuff this hardy race are made. Without ostentation, and with perfect coolness, he decided to make the attempt. A rattan rope was passed round his waist, necessarily thin and light, for, were it to be caught in the swirl of the river, it would probably be torn from his grasp, and yet it had Two of the Gurkhas who took part in the final advance and rendered invaluable services—Jangbir, the man on the left, was the hero of the river crossing here described. From a Photograph.

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. ; 38r to be strong enough to offer a chance of his being dragged back to safety were he cast into the torrent. Anxiously we watched him lower himself into the river and, hand over hand, start on his perilous voyage. The strength of the current dragged his body out horizontally, willing hands paying out the rope attached to his waist. Three-quarters or more of the way was accom- plished when that which we most dreaded hap- pened, the waist-rope sagging into the water and at once threatening to drag him from his hold. In an attempt to lighten the strain the rope was paid out as fast as posible, but this only made matters worse, for the weight was now so great that it seemed as if seconds only must pass before he would be torn from his From a) A typical native but. hold, and the second stage, that of attempting to save his life, begun. Then the most fortunate thing happened. The waist rope, never too strong, snapped. Relieved of the weight, Jangbir, with one last effort, dragged himself along for a few more yards and stood safe on the bank. It was with a sigh of the utmost thankfulness that we witnessed his safe arrival. Jangbir, as if his feat was quite an ordinary affair, at once pro ceeded to collect more rattan rope for the build- ing of the bridge. The whole act, carried out as it was in cold blood, with every chance of failure and considerable risk of death, was one of the pluckiest I have ever seen. With one man across, the work of construction rapidly ‘progressed. Rattan after rattan was passed from bank to bank and securely lashed to the trees until an unbreakable rope of five Vol. xxxi —27. strands, along whicn other men could pass in safety, spanned the river. The bridge was built after the style of those in use in the Himalayas and in many other parts of the world. On the evening of the second day it was complete, and of sufficient strength to take several coolies at a time and capable of enduring for months. The advance now started in earnest. Seven marches from Parimau had been completed, and five more were to be accomplished before we reached our goal, a six-thousand-foot moun- tain whence a glorious view was obtained of the whole country as far as the eye could reach. From here valuable mapping was accomplished and the country surveyed up to the snows. We were now in a position to realize the utter impossibility of the task we had set out to accomplish with the Mimika River as the line of advance. This, however, was only one item in the work of the expedition, and one which hardly affected the survey or the collecting of zoological specimens. By the end of the year eleven marches had been prepared through the dense forest to the east of Parimau, the up-river camp, that is to say, seventeen marches from the sea, besides numerous pathways due north into the mountains, and the last of the unfortunate coolies had died or been invalided out of the country. With them went half the European force, leaving as the sole remainder of. the original members of the ex- pedition three English, one Dutchman, four Gurkhas, two Javanese soldiers, and one convict. The zoological collections were now practically complete, but before leaving the country one final attempt was made to penetrate far into the mountains and up to the snows. While fresh coolies were being collected in the East Indian Islands, ethnographical and anthropological objects were purchased and other collections of value made. Of these objects skulls must not be forgotten, as now that the eg had learnt that we did them no harm hey were willing to dispose of the relics of their ancestors. It was a weird sight to behold half-a-dozen men standing in a row, each with a skull under his arm, offering it for sale, with long and eloquent explanations as to its origin, whether from mother, wife, or child. ents (Photograph.

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382 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Space, however, does not permit of a descrip- tion of the coast work carried out on the rivers to the east, or of the accidents which befell the exploring parties before our mission was completed. Sufficient had been accomplished. geographical and geological problems solved, new snow mountains located, and the whole accurately measured and the heights fixed. To this must be added the knowledge acquired of the races of the plains and the discovery of The base camp at Wakatimi as it appeared when finally abandoned by the expedition. From a Photograph. to fulfil the hopes of the societies who had inaugurated the expedition. Large and valuable collections of birds, mammals, reptiles, butter- flies, moths, and insects, together with botanical specimens, had been got together. A survey of three thousand square miles of hitherto unknown country had been accomplished, the new race, the Tapiro tribe of pygmies. Spite of all this, more remains to be done— work which the Dutch Government has set itself energetically to execute, and in which we, who have received so much kindness at the hands of the representatives of Holland, wish them the utmost success. The last boat-loads of men and stores leaving the country. (Photograph.

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CHASING THE GUN-RUNNERS. WRITTEN FROM THE XOTES OF LIEUT. T. J. FARRELL, ROYAL INDIAN MARINE, By J. P. O’LOGHLEN. ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRED HOLMES, AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. A breezy account of an arduous and dangerous service, concerning which the public hears very little—the never-ending war with the gun-runners of the Persian Gulf, carried on by British warships and their boats’ crews, who pit their pluck and resource against the cunning of some of the most villainous and desperate ruffians on earth. HE Khels and other tribes dwelling upon the northern frontier of India, though to a considerable degree pastoral in their mode of life, are sadly lacking in’ the attributes of bucolic peace that one usually associates with the “keepers of the flocks and watchers of the sheep- fold.” They are, in fact, to all intents and purposes, a race of professional thieves and murderers. Their sniping of objectionable neighbours H.M.S. “ Fox,” one of the vessels engaged in the gun-running blockade. From a Photograph. (who are punctilious in the return of the com- pliment) in the tribal feuds that are a peculiar feature of these people, and of Mr. Tommy Atkins when engaged on border-picket, has long been a source of worry to the authorities in Simla or Calcutta, and sundry raids upon frontier posts and much looting in British territory have resulted in several “little wars,” carried on with a view to finally pacifying the border. Arms were seized wholesale and burnt, and the traffic in rifles, pistols, and ammunition sternly interdicted through India, so that for a time peace of a kind was supposed to dwell amid the hills. Then the old state of things began and went on again as merrily as before, in spite of the fact that Pathan, Afridi, Zaka, and other Khels were thought to be entirely without arms of precision. Therefore arose the question : Whence did these tribesmen obtain, not Tower muskets and Arab flint-locks, but up-to-date rifles of high power ? Investigation showed that a regular trade in guns was being carried on from Europe vif the Persian Gulf and thence vi@ camel and pack to the hillmen. Bombay even was a centre of the agents, but Muscat, in the State of Oman, Arabia, was the actual “‘ jumping- off place.” Hidden away in all sorts of merchandise came whole cargoes of Enfields, French Martinis, and deadly Mausers, with ammunition galore: ‘745, 303, °271, and ‘315, they came out in thousands from Belgium, France, England, and, of course, Germany. The frontier of India became dangerous to an unusual degree, for with the warlike tribes armed with modern rifles any Power assailing the north or north-western frontier would find their aid a very valuable asset. They are born fighters, with a deep hatred of any settled rule and “ready for a row” at short notice. It was evident that a stop had to be put to this trade, and accordingly, a division of cruisers and other armed craft was detailed

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384 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. as a preventive force to operate in the Persian Gulf. One ship alone, H.M.S. Fox, has captured and destroyed a vast collection of arms and ammunition. The service against the gun- runners’ dhows, sailing from Muscat and other points, is arduous and dangerous in the extreme. Since the public hears but meagre accounts of naval operations in the Persian Gulf, the following account of an officer’s actual ex- periences in the suppression of the illicit traffic not there when, twenty-fours late in an average thirty-six hours’ run, the Dwarka arrived. “Proceed to Muscat,’ was the order, and so, still on the mail boat’s passenger list, Lieutenant Farrell continued his Fox hunt. The Tuesday following the Sunday of his leaving Karachi found him seeking tidings of his quarry from H.M.S. Perseus in the sun-baked port of Muscat ; but nobody knew the whereabouts of the Fox. Eventually Traders at Lingah, in the Persian Gulf—These are the sort of people who engage in gun-running. From a Photograph. in arms in those waters will be found of particular interest. Shortly after passing in Hindustani, Lieutenant Farrell was appointed to H.M.S. Fox, the senior naval officer’s ship of the Persian Gulf division of the East India Squadron, and as this ship was a béle noire to the gun-running fraternity, he came to the conclusion that he was not going to have a rosy time. Trouble of a sort there was from the very commencement of the journey from Bombay in the B.I. boat Dwarka to Karachi, where he had orders to report to the Marine transport officer for instructions as to where to join the Fox. The weather was bad to the worst degree, and everything on board was awash, so that the cruiser’s newly-appointed officer was glad of a prospect of getting clear at Karachi. But it was not to be. The Fox was instructions emanated with advisory comments. “ Follow senior naval officer’s mails. You're sure to find the Fox some day”; and the search began anew. Up anchor and away again, this time to another “one-eyed” place called Lingah, where, it turned out, the senior naval officer’s mail was to be landed, and where, too, the searcher after the elusive cruiser was to go ashore, in spite of the fact that not a sign of his ship could be seen. Anyhow, orders are orders, so the young officer mustered his kit and stood by ready to go ashore to the sweltering hole of Lingah, when down came the visitation of quarantine. Sun-scorched, almost overwhelmed by the concentrated essence of a thousand stenches from the hold of a native barge—the quarantine boat of this forsaken spot—Lieutenant Farrell

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CHASING THE GUN- RUNNERS. 385 endured a six-hour trip to the quarantine station, or within half a mile thereof, for when this bark of perfumes grounded in shallow water, himself and his dunnage were carried bodily ashore by the odoriferous crew and deposited morning, however, the castaway of this abomin- able island found his way aboard H.M.S. Fox and reported himself for duty. There was some excitement when a wireless message told the Fox that a party of hill gentry From a) —marooned is the proper word—upon a desolate island. Here the luckless officer had to spend the night, and since the only building was a rude Persian hut that had not been cleaned out for some time, and was utterly destitute of anything of convenience, his evening orisons must have been varied and peculiar. Next Typical natives of Muscat. (Photograph. were going to visit Bunder Abbas and turn the place into a shambles after looting the goods and chattels of the inhabitants, and_ since the seniar naval officer thought his ship should do the honours, away for the threatened city she went at full speed, after confiscating the cargoes of two innocent-looking “ buggalows,”

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386 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Captured gun-running dhows in Muscat Harbour, a) From a Photograph. which, ostensibly timber-laden, had concealed in a specially-constructed false deck a valuable consignment of about four hundred modern rifles and Mauser pistols and one hundred and seventy thousand rounds of ammunition. On arriving at Bunder Abbas it was “ clear ship for action,” and the Fox’s six-inch and 4°7 teeth bared for a meal of sundry bloodthirsty hill-men, who, however, instead of having a “night out ” of plunder, bloodshed, and general devilment, kept away and contented themselves with showering Mussulman curses on the giaour who was instrumental in bringing the man-o’- war into the programme and spoiling a joyous razzia. After quitting Bunder Abbas the Fox headed for Muscat, but was intercepted by a wireless message to the effect that arms had been landed at the village of Habt, on the Makran coast. So she coaled in a tearing hurry at Muscat and went off hot-foot, like the vermin she is named after, to do mischief upon the inhabitants of Habt. The place was a hen-roost for the “‘ Foxes,” and rifles and cartridges the chickens and eggs they sought, and as she steamed across the Gulf her heat-seared executive drew up plans of campaign. The Fox’s Number One (anglice, First Lieutenant) assumed the carrying out of the operations of punishing the village, and it was decided to land twenty Marines and twenty bluejackets in cutters, whilst a covering party in an armed launch stood by to attend to objections to the business by the “ mayor and burgesses ”’—or their Habtian equivalents. Lieutenant Farrell’s notes refer to this incident as follows :— «“ iting their last tow out to sea, where they will be burnt. Lieutenant —— was told off to go away in charge of the Marines and myself in charge of the bluejackets. We wore khaki, of course, and every one of us was an arsenal in himself. The ship kept well away from the shore until the hour of darkness. Then, with all lights doused, we crept in, going dead slow towards Habt, off which we came to anchor about nine p.m. The two cutters’ crews were then mustered, magazines charged, and off we went. We pulled away from the ship to the armed launch, which gave us a tow in-shore, and then, after casting off, took up a station to cover the landing operations. Lieutenant ——’s boat and mine then made for the beach. The arrangement was to land quietly, get behind the village, and then signal the Fox by rocket to switch on searchlights, and, if necessary, to open fire in order to intimidate the inhabitants. Everything went pretty well until we got to the first line of surf, and then every one wa; certain that this little expedition was not to be carried out without trouble. That landing would be a dangerous job was evidenced by the tumble of huge, curling seas that roared and broke in close proximity to us. An ordinary whaler’s crew would have had hard work getting ashore, but our two boats were heavily laden with rifles, ammunition, fireworks, boat-gear, a Maxim gun with fittings, and twenty-five hands in each. Rocks, of whose exact position we had no knowledge, were as plentiful as the curses upon Habt and its gun-running sins that were muttered, and it required very nice boatwork to keep the whole lot of us from going ashore as corpses. The Marines’ boat got full of water,

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CHASiNG THE GUN - RUNNERS. 387 but managed to pull clear of the surf. Then concluding that nothing could be done in the darkness, we agreed to wait a couple of hours for dawn, which would give us just sufficient light to see where we were. As everybody and everything was wet we decided to return to the launch, which would give us a chance of squaring things up a bit for a fresh start. Now after drifting and pulling about for a couple of hours in a current and amidst heavy surf bearings are apt to change, so that the task of finding the launch was like looking for a black man ona dark night. She had, of course, no lights, and so we pulled first on one course, then on another, and finally picked her up, tied up astern of her, baled the boats out, and gave After a drop of warm the men an hour’s rest. cocoa had _ been served out we started for the beach again about three in the morn- ing, with just enough daylight to see something of its surf-swept fringe. We made two attempts to get ashore, but the surf was too heavy for our laden boats, so we anchored in about nine feet of water, and one hand went over- board with a stern line. When he could find some- where to stand he hung on to the line and another man then went off and bore a hand in steadying it. Eventually, by this line of communi- cation, we all got ashore and then proceeded to the village. There was con- siderable excitement when we routed out the slumbering inhabitants, and their morning prayers consisted chiefly of consigning us to somewhere hotter than their sun - blistered, squalid, reeking hole of a place. What did we want? Guns? The headman, whom a file of half-dried “ jollies ” escorted, was by turns indignant at the slur upon his village, and then From al A dhow, captured with smuggled eae oa: board, being sags Vora ta to apparently sorry that the reis of the warship should send armed men to his peaceful abode. He was a Hadji, he said, and on his sacred word he had no guns in the village. By the beard of the Prophet, by his father’s beard—by the whole tonsorial outfit of his hagiology and family, in fact—he swore to it, gesticulating frantically the while. But the coast people are not to be trusted very much in most things, and in the matter of being innocent of smuggling or hiding rifles, not at all. So as a search amid the hovels and general filthy raffle of the place failed to disclose any firearms the headman was made prisoner and taken off to the Fox. Here he was kept until, somehow, in spite of his former protestations about there being no guns in Habt, the unwashed tatterdermalions of that evil abode exchanged thirty rifles and three thousand rounds of ammuni- tion for their cap- tured headman. After setting the old fellow ashore we steamed to Jask in order to burn the two buggalows that had been cap- tured before our visit to Habt, and on arrival there I was detailed for the duty, and went off with the tor- pedo gunner and a party of seamen to the craft. We made them fast alongside one an- other with chain lashings, and then ran them ashore on the beach, where the captain and first lieutenant boarded them. The whole crowd of us then proceeded deluge those two buggalows with kerosene until they were thoroughly messy with the stuff. Then the match was applied and the bonfire began. It was somewhat of a spectacle and, with the explosion at odd periods of stray rounds of ammunition, not quite a safe one to witness. Shortly after this we got wireless orders to go to Bombay and there dock the ship for an

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ZINE. THE WIDE WORLD MAGA *ydvaSojoy¢] [ov mony

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CHASING THE GUN- RUNNERS. 389 overhaul preparatory to joining the escort of H.M. yacht Medina, with Their Majesties on board. In the meantime, I applied for per- mission to remain in the Gulf, and cbtained it just in time to quit the ship a quarter of an hour before her departure from Muscat for Bombay. At half-past ten that night word was given me that if it were my wish I might proceed or board H.M. armed launch Harold, but to hurry up, as the Fox was about to leave, so I mustered my kit, threw it into a boat, and slipped off the old Fox’s gangway just as she was getting her anchor off the Muscat mud. I joined H.M.S. Harold as first lieutenant, and we sailed very soon after I had boarded her and reported for duty, our section of patrol being from Saddaitch to Ras Madain, on the Makran coast, about fifteen hours’ run from Muscat. I had the bridge next morning after breakfast, and had not been long under the welcome shade of the double awning when a buggalow was sighted. Accordingly, I headed for her, and upon coming up with her told her to heave to, which she did, with a vast amount of jabbering and singing out from her people. I was detailed to board and search her with an armed boat’s crew, and, of course, found her skipper—an eagle-nosed rascal of mixed Arab and Baluch blood—vociferous in denying any knowledge of rifles amongst his cargo. With a few hands, the rest standing by in case of unpleasantness on the part of the buggalow’s truculent-looking crew, I began a search and discovered, hidden under a saddle- bag, a sporting rifle and fifty rounds of ammuni- tion. The skipper was greatly surprised at the find. It was, he swore as only an Oriental can swear, the only rifle and the only ammuni- tion on board. How it got there he really couldn’t say. Mysterious! Wonderful! But we continued our overhaul, and when our investigations revealed another lot of cartridges, Martinis this tirhe, he became sullenly resigned to being made a prize and taken in tow by the Harold. As we headed for Jask, however, there came into view a ship that flew a senior naval officer’s flag, and we saw that she was the Perseus, which had assumed that dignity vice _the Fox, gone to Bombay. As she came up to us she signalled us to stop, and then com- municated the order that I was to report for duty to her captain. Having joined the Perseus, she made fast to the Harold’s prize and resumed her course for Jask, where the buggalow was dealt with, after which we carried on with the usual coast patrol. After some weeks in the Perseus I made an application for command of an armed cutter, and was given charge of P.J., detailed for the guard of Saddaitch and carrying ten blue- jackets, mostly gunnery ratings, an interpreter, who was a Persian, my coxswain, a petty officer, and myself. The Perseus dropped us one Sunday morning off the Saddaitch River and left us to look after ourselves. Previous to leaving I was handed my orders, ten sheets of typed foolscap, and these gave me to understand that as this was a hostile coast I was not to approach nearer than five hundred yards of the shore. Orders and instructions as to signals and urgent signals, such as in the event of being short of water, starving, etc., were also contained herein, and then, with best wishes from everybody, we went over the side and said au revoir to the Perseus for twenty days. My job was to prevent the landing of arms at Saddaitch, and to patrol a line ten miles east of that wretched place and ten miles west of it— twenty miles of a barren, sun-baked stretch of coast that shimmered in the blaze of a tropic summer, and without two pennywourth of green- stuff to speak of in the whole of its length. I began my work by having a look at the river, and after leaving the ship headed for the bar. The sea was rolling in pretty heavily as we closed in to the first line of surf, and the outer guard of breakers looked anything but tempting ; but we got through without any mishap save a drenching, and inspected the conformation of the shore. Nothing suspicious could be seen, so it was up-stick-and-away for a bit of cruising. Now the cutter was but twenty-eight feet long, and in her were stowed two masts, with sails, two awnings, twelve barricoes of fresh water, stores and provisions for twenty days, a stove with cooking utensils, fourteen oars, a metal-lined case of ammunition, a Maxim gun with its fittings, and one officer and twelve men with rifles, bandoliers, and kits. There was not an inch of space to spare, and after a couple of days we began to feel sore, for the little craft was chock-a-block with us and the collection of gear, so that at night, if one had to sleep, it was a plank or grating, or case for a pillow and mattress, and an overcoat for a blanket. The boat either rolled or danced about every minute of the twenty-four hours, and was a little floating lump of acute discomfort. Sometimes there was too much liveliness in her to allow of a fire being started, so the menu was biscuit and water, with water and biscuit as an alternative course. Cramped, sore, and ill-tempered after some days of this, we fell in with bad weather, and with some of the hands ill from exposure and exhaustion owing to want of food and sleep, the only course left was to let go an anchor and ride it out. To go ashore was out of the question, for news travels fast

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39° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. among those peoples of the East, and the coming of a ragged crowd of castaways—castaways of the hated patrol, too, and with rifles to boot—would have meant our being cut up into shreds by the Afghans and their equally gentle friends. We were between the devil and the deep sea with a vengeance, and, because we knew what sort of an end the latter would make of us, chose to chance matters there rather than with the devil, whose name was literally legion. Night after night, from sundown to the dawn, I sat at the tiller keeping the boat head-on to the seas, and then, when daylight came, tended_ the sick amongst us as best I could with the aid of such of my crew as could spare a moment occasionally from almost incessant baling ; then, towards the end of the afternoon, I would snatch what rest I could. Seven days and seven nights this sort of thing lasted, and no sign did From a} we see of anything like a sail or smoke-blotch that would give some hope, however slight, of help. Grey, grim, and dour was sea and sky by day and black was all by night, save where the white of a breaking surge roared and hissed amidst the tumble of water around us. On the morning of the eighth day of this wretchedness I saw what I thought to be a patch of smoke against the sky, and when absolutely certain of it, passed the word to the men, who welcomed the news with a cheer. The vessel proved to be H.M.S. Espiégle, and upon seeing our distress signals she got to windward and drifted down to us, when I went on board and reported our plight to her commanding officer. He decided to shift the cutter’s “beat” to a more H.M, Sloop "' Espiegie,”” also engaged in the Persian Guif blockade. sheltered centre, so we had a tow for a couple of hours, and I took the chance of a bath, with a good square meal to follow it, in the cosy ward- room, whilst the crew did likewise on the berth deck. About three that afternoon I cast off from the Espiégle with the same complement, re- plenished stores, and instructions to steer due north three miles, which would be the central point of my new beat, another wretched little place called Gabrig. About five we got in towards the shore, and upon examining its appearance found that we were off the seaward bank of a sort of lagoon into which a river discharged its waters. This we proceeded to approach and scrutinize, but could find no indications of a safe passage until well to the east of the starting spot of our investigation. We ran in through an intricate channel that was full of sand- banks, but man- “aged to avoid getting piled up on any of them. Seeing absolutely no sign of life whatever, I decided to give all hands a chance of stretching their limbs. I selected a sandy spit that formed a sort of peninsula jutting out from the main land, and put the cutter for it. All around us was the stillness of death. Not even a soli- tary bird could be seen in the sky. The crew of the P.J. were the only humans within my view. However, as a cautionary measure I sent the Persian interpreter—or spy, to use the proper term for this valuable member of the Gulf ships’ complements—to find out whether things were as quiet as they seemed and to report at sundown. Supper was then prepared, and whilst the hands were busied at this I examined the surroundings with a powerful glass and saw, as before, absolutely no sign of life. About nine o’clock, whilst I was initiating a quartet of bluejackets into the mysteries of bridge, one of the men came up and said that he had seen a light some distance away on the rising ground, so in reply to his request to part (Photograph.

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CHASING THE GUN - RUNNERS. 36t From a) company on an inspection I sent him, with another, to see what they could make of it, bidding them take their rifles in case of danger. They had not been gone many minutes when back they came and gave me news that surprised me. The light that had been first seen had dis- appeared, but several more were in sight and moving about. This called for my own attention, so I told the bridge party to carry on and, taking my revolver and glass, took up a position on the shore, whence a good view of the hills could be obtained. One glance was enough. The dark mass of the hills, that a few hours before had been void of life, now bore unmistakable evidence that men were afoot, for an irregular line of lights—some like brilliant pin-points, others reddish in colour and flaring— moved slowly downwards but ever towards the beach. A low call brought the coxswain to me. “Let the men have their tot,” said I, “ and at once, coxswain. Clear the cutter for action. Douse all lights. Clear away the gun for firing, with a long belt in. See the hands all ready.” I then posted two armed sentries and remained on guard myself. It was a tight fix to be in, and we all knew it. I had calculated that we should not be able to get the cutter afloat, from where she lay, high and dry, before midnight, and if the tribesmen made a rush in spite of Maxim and rifle-fire, Searching a dhow tor concealed arms. (Photograph. it would be over with every one of us in a very few minutes. So we waited, standing to arms, and in silence, striving to pierce the gloom of night, hearing nothing but our own hard breathing that at times caused a belt or ban- dolier to creak. But the lip-lap-lip of the ripples was the sound that all of us wished to hear growing stronger as the tide came gradually up the beach, for at any minute I expected to see the tribesmen pouring over the sand-hills, and, as I watched and waited for the Afghans or the tide, one question kept running through my mind : “ Will they attack before midnight ? ” At last, after a couple of hours of anxious expectation, we had water enough to float the cutter, and at about midnight got her under way without any noise, pulled out quietly about seven hundred yards away from the shore, and let go an anchor. About one o'clock, whilst I sat looking at the dark tongue of sand that had been the scene of our harassing vigil, there came a flash and the report of a rifle from the very spot. that we had left, and the shrill voices of men jabbering, and, doubtless, cursing their ill-luck. The hill-men had been disappointed. Dawn came and showed us that whatever gear had been left ashore by us had been burnt by them in revenge. Later on there came down to the boat our Persian interpreter, who told a story of how he had to “run plenty ver’ quick,” and who was gasping for a drink. I half believed the yarn, but took good care that

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392 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. none of us went ashore again in the vicinity of Gabrig. For some ten days after this we cruised about, stopping dhows with our Maxim and then searching them, but making no captures. The water and provisions had got rather low by this time, and for about a week we had not partaken of anything like a solid meal, and the whole of us were feeling sick of the job of boat cruising. One night we saw some lights, and presently the beam of a search-light in sweeping the seas rested upon us, and we were soon alongside H.M.S. Espiégle, to whose commanding officer I reported myself. He told me that the Perseus, which I had not seen for twenty days, had been ordered down to Bombay, and would rendezvous the next morning to pick up her cutter and crew. We tied up astern of the Espiégle that night, and next morning, when my ship the Perseus joined the Espiégle, I got the order that I was searching of dhows that marked the cruising as one of her officers. Most people remember the row about the molestation of an English lady in Shiraz, Central Persia, and the decision of the Indian Govern- ment to send troops to Shiraz and Ispahan for the preservation of order in those districts. These troops came up from Bombay in a couple of hired transports to Bushire, and, as the Persians had threatened to oppose the landing, we had orders to proceed and await the arrival of the force. On arrival in the harbour of Bushire we found H.M.S. Odin already there, and at once began to arrange a plan of action in case of any trouble occurring. I went: ashore with the captain, and had an opportunity of seeing the commandant of the military camp, who, together with the S.N.O., arranged the details of the morrow. Two heavily-armed cutters were detailed to escort the launches conveying From a) to transfer to the latter ship, and so bade good- bye to my cutter and her hands. The Espiégle, being next senior ship in the division, hoisted the S.N.O.’s flag. Whilst attached to this ship the participation in the landing at Bushire fell to my lot, and it was a change from the chasing, stopping, and A party of captured gun-runners. (Photograph. the troops ashore, and were in respective charge of the Odin’s first lieutenant and myself. Next morning in came the two transports with the troops (the Central India Horse was the regiment), and they found the Odin at one end of the harbour, the Espiéglc at the other, armed cutters standing by, and landing parties

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CHASING THE GUN -RUNNERS, 303 in readiness. We took up stations as detailed and saw all clear for getting the men ashore without any shooting being necessary, and then resumed cruising. Some time after this there came a signal from the commandcr-in-chief turning me over to the Philomel, which had Number Three Section of the Gulf Patrol, and was parent ship for all small armed craft within that sphere of operations, two of that flotilla being her own cutters. Hearing that two of the boats were away cruising I volunteered for com- mand of one of them. A buggalow had been reported as having left Muscat for Habt, and the commanding officer of the Philomel decided to drop another cutter to guard that harbour, and so I found myself again at boat-work very soon after making my offer, and in due course pulled away in the Ph. 3, the Philomel’s third cutter. In the harbour of Habt I went ashore, had a look round, and finding everything in order went back to the boat. On our way to the cutter we espied some turtles, and as the chance of fresh food on these expeditions is small we lost no time in “turning turtle” a trinity of the biggest ; two of them, six hundred and eighty and seven hundred and twenty-two pounds respectively, we presented to the captain and officers of the Philomel, and of the smallest we made soup for ourselves. The cutter remained at Habt for three days, and her guard was then shifted to Saddaitch, a place of which my recollections are not altogether pleasant. I remained off here for about three weeks, and had much better weather ; the bar, too, was easier to negotiate, which was a feature that was appreciated by reason of the fact that we kept fairly dry during our several trips through its surf. Soon I had another shift of station, and this time my centre was a place called Puzim, a sort of inhabited combination of dustbin and manure- heap, and a good deal farther to the east of my previous scene. When I heard of this being my centre I explained the difficulties of it to my commander, who was new to the station, and asked him to have an eye on us during the cruise, as the beat was an open bay, subject to a very nasty sea in the winter whenever a shamah, common to the coast about those months, started to blow. He was a good deal concerned, but as this particular place badly needed a guardian angel to keep it from the crime of gun-running, he assured me of his solicitude, and away I went with a new cutter and a new crew. At about seven in the evening on the day of leaving the ship, we got close in shore and rode at anchor until ten o’clock, when I found that it would be high water, which would allow of a closer inspection of the far from picturesque beach and its hilly conformation. So we got under way, nosed about for some time like a terrier after a rat-hole, and about midnight picked up a bit of a bar. The surf ran very heavy, with such a big breaking into “ white water,” that the prospect of getting through without a capsize seemed very remote. The look of the weather, too, was anything but bright, so I decided to get over the bar, as we should then be better placed to find shelter should it come on to blow heavily. A’ couple of us then stripped and got overboard, and after a bit of personal investigation saw that the bar was off the entrance to a fine river, where shelter could be found from anything like heavy weather. There was a chance of being up-ended in the surf, so I ordered all hands to strip and to stand by for a jump if she turned over. Then, clad as were Mulvaney and his chums at the immortal taking of Lungtungpen, we headed for the bar as soon as a cheery “All ready, sir!” was reported. By this time brilliant lightning was playing about us, but whether thunder followed it I could not say, for all round us was a tumbling, crashing, booming inferno of white water that drowned every other sound and nearly ourselves as well. We had only the lightning as an illuminant of our passage, but we got through with nothing worse than a bath, and after pulling up the river for about a quarter of a mile dropped anchor. Daylight came and then, with an armed guard, I went ashore to the village, which was scattered along the right bank, off which we had brought up. We tramped over sand and stone, and the yelping of a cur that came charging out of the cluster of huts brought out a number of the villagers armed witha variety cf weapons. These gentlemen, seeing what we were, called out that they were peaceful, and that their headman himself would go bail for their good conduct. Thereupon the headman himself came and made salaam and spoke soft, soothing words in pro- testation of his loyalty (they all do this, even though their huts are a veritable armoury of contraband shooting-irons). I hada look round, however, just to assure myself, and found no evidence of there being anything wrong in the rifle line of business. From a sanitary stand- point the place merited burning down, but that we couldn’t do. We then left the salaaming headman and put to cruising again. About a week or so after this H.M.S. Tamil signalled orders to proceed to Rashide and search the river. We did so, and on the passage back to resume our ordinary “beat” fell foul of a shamah, a northerly gale that may last a few

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394 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hours or a week. I knew what we were in for, and so hove-to under close-reefed foresail and mainsail ; but before very long away to leeward went the foresail in a hundred streamers. Not long after this the mainmast carried away about the middle and nearly capsized us as it went flying over the side. For a few seconds it looked as if we were going to finish there and then, but we let go our anchor and that kept her head-on tothe seas. Thus we spent the night. Lightning hissing and crackling around us; steep-to seas lifting the luckless cutter with a wrenching tug at the anchor that strained her in every inch of her frame, so that I thought she would open of getting into shelter. I don’t know ¢xj; > ‘"1.. how we got through, but by a miracle get ths 1 52 we did, and mighty glad we were to get inty, } ----- creek. Not long afterwards the Philomet ¢,,..; _ in sight, and we at once knocked off patching::., .” our damages and got alongside. I was snrry to report extensive damages, but the cap? > simply shook hands with me. yi “ Thank Heaven you are safe,” said he. , . ” I resumed command of the cutter with a now crew after she had been fitted out with ton masts and sails, during which I had a bath and something to eat. This resumption of my guard meant Christmas away from the shi, . a “All round us was « tumbling, crashing, booming inferno of white water.” up beneath us; water washing over the bow and rushing outboard over the stern, drenching all of us—that was our plight in a night of gloom. Daylight came and showed each one of us the dishevelled, miserable-looking men of his com- pany, and yet, spite of the melancholy spectacle it held out some hope that put a little energy into us, At least we could see. So we got out the oars and, watching every opportunity, edged gradually in towards the creek. It was a desperate chance. But since our own sense told us that there was no hope of living through the smother, we took this as a last fighting chance which was not a very pleasant prospect. How- ever, we made the best of it, and just after that festival were recalled by signal to the ship. I had to dismantle the cutter, as the Philomel expected final orders to proceed to Bushire, there to land every available man and every available gun to march upon Shiraz to relieve the Central India Horse, as they were being cut up by the Persians. However, something happened, and we got orders to resume our patrol, and I was once again mustering my cutter’s crew for cruising. The night of my departure was far from bright. Lowering skies

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CHASING THE ane “teful heave in the sea gave a threatening ar the prospect of boat work, and Captain not like the idea of the boat leaving, as “beat” had been shifted from Puzim +o. g, and I was new to it. However, as I knew'rm~ crew well and the weatherly qualities “ * vat, I assured him that we should be all aia id so, after telling me he would keep within -ange of a rocket, the cutter got orders to p: ceed. s cruising around resulted in our discover- ing what looked like the entrance to a river, so, of course, we had the usual fight with a boiling surf nd finally came to anchor in a fairly large streaiu. When day dawned we heard sounds of domestic animals, and the first gleams of daylight showed us a village clustered on the right bank, with three buggalows lying in a tier close in. Thereupon I sent the coxswain with an aimed party to investigate, but before long he returned and reported that a caravan of at -t forty camels and sixty men, every one of i armed, was near the village. “is was news indeed ! ae coxswain’s description of the caravan wos that “they were an ugly-looking lot and ‘gars to fight”; but in spite of the number letermined to have a look round the village, . So, with bandoliers full and magazines ged, we got ashore. We were not molested on our way up from the boat, and instead of b.ing ridden at by the “ camelry ” found that the outfit had stampeded for the hills. This l.oked fishy. So, to bring matters to a crisis, + e rounded up three headmen, marched them uwown to the cutter, and then, to ensure their c »mfort in the way of congenial society, boarded the three buggalows and haled their protesting skippers along also, leaving our half-dozen guests under escort. I told the headmen that if in an hour’s time they had not expressed a willingness to hand over all arms or ammunition in the place, I would search every habitation in it, and if rifles or cartridges were found raze the whole town. One of them looked up, and began the usual tale of ignorance concerning guns and ammunition, whilst his friends in duress joined in with shrill acquiescence and vehement gesticulation to emphasize the absolute morality of the squalid hole of which they were the ‘‘ corporation.” “ But why did those gentlemen on camels skedaddle ?” I asked in the Gulf equivalent for lingua franca or “ pidgin.” Oh, the caravan? They had come to buy goats and kids, for their flocks on the hills had been raided by sundry sons of Belial (my in- formant’s precise genealogy of the caterans cannot be repeated here) and having finished GUN - RUNNERS. 305 trading had gone back to their village. They were eminently respectable, I was assured— the local equivalents for the unco’ guid in general, and, above all, men of peace and goodwill. . This I thought to be a rather “ tall story,” and, knowing that village people are not in the habit of riding camels, gave the gist of the yarn to my coxswain, who had seen the caravan. “ Ah, sir,” was his remark, “ he’s just a bit of a liar. Them camel chaps ’ll fight yet.” The time for handing over the rifles had ex- pired, and we were overhauling the village, dodging in and out of filthy dwellings that reeked with smells, with dogs, mangy and scarred, snarling at us, and women spitting on the ground, when one of the hands who were keeping a look- out for any trouble reported that the mounted men were coming down at full speed in open order. A movement towards the cutter was now commenced, for a puff of smoke from the camel-men and a spurt of dust in the sand spoke of trouble, and as we fell back we gave them a few shots to keep them in check. The prisoners were secured, so that all hands were free to devote their attention to the shindy, and as the camels still came on—they had now closed in on their centre and were coming down at full ‘speed—we opened on them with the machine- gun and our rifles. For about an hour or so things were lively. The enemy were not the peaceful gentry the headmen would have had me believe, but, as I had surmised, pukka fighting men from the hills. They advanced at first in a charge, yelling and firing from thei1 swaying steeds as they came on. The din was awful. There were the shrill yells of the attacking force, joined in a devil’s chorus with the scream of the camels, the thud of hoofs, the irregular ‘‘ bang ” of Martiais, and, rising high above all, the harsh, grating purr of our little Maxim and the sharp crack of the Service small arms. The hillmen were using the old black powder behind a ‘45 bullet, and their fire gave a considerable amount of smoke. Through the cloud of smoke and dust and sand they charged again and again, trying to smash us by sheer weight after a scattering volley, but the steady stream of bullets from the Maxim and rifles stopped the rush every time. They next tried a rush in extended order, and failing to do so made one last attempt en masse, firing, reloading, and firing again as they stormed towards us, but only to meet a crashing fire that scattered them. They finally drew off, and we then had a look round to see what damage had been done during the attack. ‘There was one bullet-hole through the quarter on the

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396 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, starboard side, and the -45 that had penetrated my cutter had also splintered my left foot. I bandaged it and then went ashore with an armed guard to search the village. We turned the place upside down and inside out in a hunt for arms that lasted for hours, and which, much to the men’s disgust, was not rewarded by any iy “They made one last attempt ‘en masse,’ firing, reloading, and firing again as they stormed towards us.” discoveries. We finished about nightfall and then returned to the cutter, released the three headmen and buggalow skippers, and put to sea again to cruise. Though I made the signal “All well” to various vessels of the division that spoke the cutter, I was not sorry to see my parent ship heave in sight one day and display the signal for me to repair on board, as my foot was by now very painful and quite out of action, for when I made an attempt to board the Philomel the state of it made such a feat im- possible, so I arrived on board in the arms of my coxswain. Here ends this straightforward story of an officer’s experiences in the suppression of the traffic in arms in the Persian Gulf. Subse- SS * quently Lieutenant (now Lieutenant -Com- mander) Farrell was pulled off by his old cutter’s crew in a special gig to the s.s. Dumia, of the British India Line, and carried on board by his coxswain. As the gig pulled away from the cruiser there was a scramble of men to hammock nettings and rails. The whole ship’s company, without orders, turned out, manned ship, and gave “three cheers for Mr. Farrell ” as he started on his homeward voyage.

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ODDS AND ENDS. The Mysterious Well—A Sumatran Bride—A Village of Cave-Dwellers, etc., etc. sy) RIDES all over the world like to make ‘the w best display possible on their wedding day, and the bridal attire of the various countries | is invariably both costly and beautiful. CWP) For sheer gorgeousness, however, it would be hard to rival the wedding finery of the belles of the island of Sumatra. The dress is woven entirely ot gold thread, and its weight is so great that the wearer can hardly move; even stand- ing up requires a distinct effort. Apart from this shimmering, golden garment, the bride is loaded down with gold ornaments — rings, bangles, earrings, pendants, girdles, and necklaces—and sundry ornamental purses of the same metal. The huge ornaments hanging on chains round her neck are hollow, but all the smaller charms are of solid native gold, most massively wrought. One might almost think that the natives, having heard something about a good wife being “ worth her weight in gold,” had set out to prove the fact by loading their quaint little brides with the actual equivalent their weight in the precious metal. Two miles out from Settle, on the main road between that town and Ingleton, Yorkshire, there is to be found one of the most curious of natural phenomena in the shape of the famous ebbing and flowing well of Giggles- wick. A small, unpretentious little structure, scarcely to be distinguished from the ordinary trough of water to be seen on many of our country roads, it is yet one of the most quaint and fascinating spectacles one could hope to see. As the name implies, the wel: has the nature of a tide; it ebbs and flows continually, though by no means with regularity. Sometimes the privileged traveller will see the oblong stone basin filled with clear water; then, even as he gazes into its pellucid deptns, the water gradu- ally sinks until the trough is half empty, or it may be more. There is barely time to wonder at this st: thing ere, with a rush and a whirl, the trough is again full. The ebb and flow continues with more or less marked effect, and the water is never at the same level for two consecutive minutes. Sometimes the outflow has scarcely Vol. xxxi.—28. ict amie ‘The curious well at Giggleswick, Yorkshire, which ebbe and flows contiaually. A Sumatran bride—She is dressed from head to foot in oloth of gold and loaded down with golden ornaments. From a Photo. by Argus, Milan. begun before the basin again fills, but at other times the trough is almost emptied. Occasionally, perhaps once in a couple of hours, the well is com- pletely emptied, and then the wondering beholder sees what is apparently a huge worm double quick) across the base of the trough. It is all done in an instant, and one has but little chance to note the size of the “worm” ere the creature disappears and the water again bubbles over the mouth of the basin. The whole thing has a touch of the weird. ere is no visible outlet, though, by putting one’s hand into the trough, one can feel a small hole in the side of the basin. It may be through this that the water escapes, but where it goes to is a mystery just es much as how the refills 90

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398 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. rapidly. The ground round the base of the trough is hard and dry, and the water could not possibly be spilled there without some sign being left. It must, therefore, sink back into the underground cistern from which, as a spring, it arises. Local scientists have a theory to the effect that the whole thing is due to a current of air which passes through the base of the trough, and point out that when the wind is in certain quarters the “ worm ” is seen more often that when contrary winds blow. The well is steeped in antiquity, and is mentioned by the earliest of travellers. The photograph reproduced above shows one of the most famous “flat arches” in the world. This is to be found in the ruin of the Church of Santa Domingo, Panama City, and has stood for nearly three centuries. The arch has an unsupported span of thirty-six feet five inches, and stands twenty feet from the ground. Tradition has it that the Dominican monks planned and built their own church. This arch was near the front of the entrance and supported the organ-loft, and it fell down three times as soon as the supports were taken away. Then a monk who was neither an architect nor an engineer “ dreamed ” an arch and drew up a plan according to his vision. When the arch was for the fourth time completed, the designer stood beneath it while the supports were removed, staking his life on his inspired work. It stood, and still stands. The church was destroyed by fire in 1737,and now = Fyom a) The cave-dwelling village of Atalaya, Grand Canary, where about a thousand (y Marine. nothing remains but this marvellous arch. The ruin is now the property of private owners, and unless the famous arch is speedily bought by the Government of Panama it will be torn down, and a modern apartment-house will be erected on the site. In the island of Grand Canary there is a very interesting community of cave-dwellers. The village of Atalaya, as it is called, is reached by a drive of about eight miles from Las Palmas, during which an ascent of one thousand seven hundred feet is made. On reaching the crest of the promis live in caverns hollowed out of the rock. (Photograph.

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| THe FURTHIEF — ish.n9%% oe oe Pope Qo : ae ; LP Was WHERE ¢ E btn <— of Nakao SS A, pl BF A e Se THe Desert, ae ty ; ‘ ; tj y Xa A Ve Ve Pe ; Seba aera 3 oil te Be. MANCE OF HINDU PILGRIMAGES - A BATTLE WITH A PYTHON . ah SEATIGER. a WHEN THE BLACKS STOLE NORA | The map-contents of * “The Wide World Masezins,” wees eeig ata dance the locality of each article and narteiive: | of adventure in this number. Digitized by Google

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“THE FIRE, SEEMINGLY INFURIATED BY THE RESISTANCE OF ITS PREY, LEAPED AND RAGED AROUND THEM LIKE A LIVING THING.” SEE PAGE 405.

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TAE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. XXXI SEPTEMBER, 1913. No. 185. The Peril of Flame. BY EVE GRAHAME. ILLUSTRATED BY FRED HOLMES. A little story that will enable stay-at-home women, leading sheltered lives in older lands, to realize something ot the burden which their sisters on the verge of civilization have to bear. “The story is perfectly true,” writes the authoress; “the heroine is my own sister.” BLAZING sun beat down upon the vast outstretching prairie of Alberta, Canada. A gentle breeze rustled the illimitable miles of coarse grass and wafted eastward the thin smoke that rose from the one human habitation to be seen—Spring Bluff ranch, near Pine Lake. The log house was a large one—large, that is to say, in comparison with many Canadian shacks. But standing as it did alone, save for one or two outbuildings, it looked diminutive, an impertinence to the vastness about it. A little stream had somehow managed to collect itself out of the flatness, and trickled close to the shack on its way to the Red Deer River. Everything was dancing in a haze of August heat, and all around the prairie showed pale and brown and burnt. The shack and its out- houses were set in the desert like an oasis. A green, well-watered garden, with drowsy, nodding flowers, pigs grunting in the sty, and the scratching of hens in the barn completed the peaceful sense of rest and human domes- ticity. Shading her eyes from the brilliant light, Nancy H looked out across the prairie, her grey eyes steady with the fixed expression of one accustomed to a distant view. “No sign of him yet,” she called back to some- one in the room behind her. ‘ We’ll have our Vol. xxxi.—29. “rest after her dinner. dinner. I guess he won't be home before sundown now. - He must have stopped at the settlement,” and she turned again into the cool kitchen. Mrs. H——, the wife of a young rancher, was accustomed to solitude, and it did not usually trouble her to be alone. But to-day a vague feeling of unrest insistently returned to her mind. Save for her brother-intlaw, a boy of fourteen, and her two babies, she was alone. Arthur H—, her husband, had ridden off to bring some straying cattle nearer home. When the grass dries in the summer the herd is apt to wander miles upon miles in search of pasture. Some passing cowboy had brought word that cattle of the H—— brand had been seen far on the other side of the settlement— Innisfail—and Arthur had ridden away at daybreak in search of them. Nancy set the dinner on the table, and busied herself with her little girl, feeding her with gravy from her own plate. The child was soon satis- fied and sleepily rubbing her eyes. “Get on with your dinner, John. I am sure you must need it after such a long morning,” Nancy said, as she rose to put the little girl to bed for her usual nap. The baby was already asleep, and Nancy looked forward to a quiet When she returned to

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398 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a Photo.) The famous “ flat ar rapidly. The ground round the base of the trough is hard and dry, and the water could not possibly be spilled there without some sign being left. It must, therefore, sink back into the underground cistern from which, as a spring, it arises. Local scientists have a theory to the effect that the whole thing is due to a current of air which passes through the base of the trough, and point out that when the wind is in certain quarters the “‘ worm ” is seen more often that when contrary winds blow. The well is steeped in antiquity, and is mentioned by the earliest of travellers. The photograph reproduced above shows one of the most famous “flat arches” in the world. This is to be found in the ruin of the Church of Santa Domingo, Panama City, and has stood for nearly three centuries. The arch has an unsupported span of thirty-six feet five inches, and stands twenty feet from the ground. Tradition has it that the Dominican monks planned and built their own church. This arch was near the front of the entrance and supported the organ-loft, and it fell down three times as soon as the supports were taken away. Then a monk who was neither an architect nor an engineer “ dreamed ” an arch and drew up a plan according to his vision. When the arch was for the fourth time completed, the designer stood beneath it while the supports were removed, staking his life on his inspired work. It stood, and still stands. The church was destroyed by fire in 1737, and now = From a) of Panama City, which has stood for nearly three centuries. The cave-dwelling village of At (4y Marine. nothing remains but this marvellous arch. The ruin is now the property of private owners, and unless the famous arch is speedily bought by the Government of Panama it will be torn down, and a modern apartment-house will be erected on the site. In the island of Grand Canary there is a very interesting community of cave-dwellers. The village of Atalaya, as it is called, is reached by a drive of about eight miles from Las Palmas, during which an ascent of one thousand seven hundred feet is made. On reaching the crest of the ya, Grand Canary, where about a thousand people live in caverns hollowed out of the r (Photograph.

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Poe tee oak, fe | The FuRTHEF asses S = avo tguane Bh ore ge . re AM Reo) EOF THE SO % ) SNIWDOPRANSE” 957° nfo iE L¢TscHEN VALLEY ‘The Pern. OF FLAME SING ~, THe DESERT, . se ~~ A VenerableVessel wee Pp os: . STHESEATIGER. of “The Wide World Magazine,” which shows at a glance the locality of each article and narrative of adventure in this number. @HEATING DEATH at = a = The imap-conthats, ons avy Google

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Son ™ Sal A _ “THE FIRE, SEEMINGLY INFURIATED BY THE RESISTANCE OF ITS PREY, LEAPED AND RAGED AROUND THEM LIKE A LIVING THING.” SEE PAGE 405.

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TAE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. XXXI SEPTEMBER, 1913. No. 185, The Peril of Flame. BY EVE GRAHAME. ILLUSTRATED BY FRED HOLMBS. A little story that will enable stay-at-home women, leading sheltered lives in older lands, to realize something ot the burden which their sisters on the verge of civilization have to bear. “The story is perfectly true,” writes the authoress; “the heroine is my own sister.” BLAZING sun beat down upon the vast outstretching prairie of Alberta, Canada. A gentle breeze rustled the illimitable miles of coarse grass and wafted eastward the thin smoke that rose from the one human habitation to be seen—Spring Bluff ranch, near Pine Lake. The log house was a large one—large, that is to say, in comparison with many Canadian shacks. But standing as it did alone, save for one or two outbuildings, it looked diminutive, an impertinence to the vastness about it. A little stream had somehow managed to collect itself out of the flatness, and trickled close to the shack on its way to the Red Deer River. Everything was dancing in a haze of August heat, and all around the prairie showed pale and brown and burnt. The shack and its out- houses were set in the desert like an oasis. A green, well-watered garden, with drowsy, nodding flowers, pigs grunting in the sty, and the scratching of hens in the barn completed the peaceful sense of rest and human domes- ticity. Shading her eyes from the brilliant light, Nancy H—— looked out across the prairie, her grey eyes steady with the fixed expression of one accustomed to a distant view. “No sign of him yet,” she called back to some- one in the room behind her. ‘“ We'll have our Vol. xxxi.—29. “rest after her dinner. dinner. I guess he won't be home before sundown now. He must have stopped at the settlement,” and she turned again into the cool kitchen. Mrs. H——, the wife of a young rancher, was accustomed to solitude, and it did not usually trouble her to be alone. But to-day a vague feeling of unrest insistently returned to her mind. Save for her brother-intlaw, a boy of fourteen, and her two babies, she was alone. Arthur H——, her husband, had ridden off to bring some straying cattle nearer home. When the grass dries in the summer the herd is apt to wander miles upon miles in search of pasture. Some passing cowboy had brought word that cattle of the H—— brand had been seen far on the other side of the settlement— Innisfail—and Arthur had ridden away at daybreak in search of them. Nancy set the dinner on the table, and busied herself with her little girl, feeding her with gravy from her own plate. The child was soon satis- fied and sleepily rubbing her eyes. “Get on with your dinner, John. I am sure you must need it after such a long morning,” Nancy said, as she rose to put the little girl to bed for her usual nap. The baby was already asleep, and Nancy looked forward to a quiet When she returned to

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404 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the kitchen, John had evidently finished his meal and gone out of doors again. Presently he came hurrying in. “Nan—I say, Nan!” he cried. ‘‘ Do come.” “What is it, John?” she asked, a sudden apprehension gripping her. “The ‘cloud’ was a hurrying, raging, relentless prairie fire!” “Oh, just a cloud. But it looks very funny.” With a sigh of relief Nancy went to the door. “* What a queer boy you are,” she said. gave me quite a fright.” Then she shaded her eyes again and looked where he pointed. White and trembling, she “You rubbed her eyes and gazed again. A cloud— yes, but it was a cloud of smoke. “ John,” she asked, breathlessly, “can you smell anything ? ” “Yes, smoke,” he answered, promptly. Nancy sniffed the air. There could be no doubt that the wind was setting directly from that great cloud to the little homestead. And the “cloud” was a hurrying, raging, relentless prairie fire! White to the lips, for one moment her courage failed.her. Save for John, she was alone—and with two helpless children in her care !

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THE PERIL OF FLAME. 405, Soon, however, the knowledge that every- thing depended on her steadied her nerves. John would help. He was strong, and would do what he was told, and the babies were asleep. The babies—gracious Heaven! she must save them ! “ Quick, John !” she said, her mind made up. “We must harness Dobbin and plough the guard again. Arthur meant to do it yesterday, but he was too busy. Come along. The fire will travel fast, so we must hurry.” Fearful lest she should give way, Nancy chatted on to the lad as they harnessed the horse to the heavy plough which lay, ready for use, in the first furrow of the guard. The “ fire-guard,” I should explain, is a wide circle of land ploughed around the prairie homes to ward off the dreaded fires. These fires rage along over the dry grass and scrub, but can find nothing for fuel on the upturned earth. The guards should be kept always ploughed and fresh, for upon them depends the safety of the house and its inhabitants. Slowly they worked, Nancy giving all her woman’s strength to guide the plough. The fire was still a great distance away, but already the roar of the flames could be heard, while the wind, which had blown so softly an hour before, was now blusterous and scorching. So much occupied that their fears were kept in abeyance, the two worked solidly on until Nancy judged it to be time for farther measures. Unhitching the horse, which plunged about restlessly as it scented the smoke, she led him back to the stable. “Now come and help me again,” she called to her brother-in-law, and together they hurried to the house, presently reappearing with arms laden with rugs and blankets. These they carried to the little stream, pressing them well down under water. Back again they went—for the doormats this time—and these also went into the brook. Meanwhile, steadily and relentlessly, the fire came on, leaping now in fury, great tongues of flame stretching out to catch up everything in its path. There was not a moment to lose. Quickly Nancy wrapped John, who had now realized the awful peril, in a dripping blanket, enveloping herself in a similar way. She looked at the fire. There would be, perhaps, two minutes of grace before it would fling itself upon the half-ploughed guard. “Listen, John,” she said. “ You must take one of the mats and I will take another. When the fire leaps the guard, as it will do, you must beat it out with the wet mat. I will show you how ; do just as I do. And if the blanket round you gets very dry, come and tell me, and we will change it for a wet one again. Do you under- stand ?”” “T guess I do, Nan,” he answered. Another moment, and the fire was upon them, with a rush and a roar. How they fought ! Three times Mrs. H—— was compelled to change her own blanket, and twice John came for 2id in changing his. The mats dried and burned in their hands, and were replaced by wet ones. The fire, seemingly infuriated by the resistance of its prey, leaped and raged around them like a living thing. Here a cloud of flame, blown across the guard, would catch at an outhouse ; there a bit of dry grass flared up. Behind, beside, before them, it danced. Madly they laboured in the scorching air. Choked by the smoke, blackened out of all recognition, they fought to kill the leaping devils of flame. The boy’s mind was alight with its surround- ings. He worked with frantic effort, rushing from place to place as he saw fresh signs of smoke and flame. They lost all sense. of danger, and beat and pounded like machines, heedless of the flames that leaped against them. But slowly, slowly, they vanquished the enemy. The fire passed on its terrible way, and out of a smoking, blackened waste the home- stead stood serene. Then, for the first time since the awful fight began, the two had leisure to look at each other. John shrank from what he saw. Nancy, their dear Nancy, this steaming, blackened figure, with dry, cracked lips, singed eyebrows, scorched and smoky face, great staring eyes. “Nan, oh, Nan!” he cried, pitifully, as he looked. But she, unconscious of her own plight, looked at the boy. “‘ John, you have been splendid.” Her voice came in a choking whisper. “ You have helped more than I ever dreamed you could. Poor boy, how you are burned! Poor, dear old John!” Then in her utter weariness, and in the reaction from terrible strain, she laughed, a trembling little laugh at first. Then she seized John’s poor scorched hands, and they laughed together, “We've beaten it. We've saved the babies,” she cried, wildly, and the boy danced with her, both for the moment unconscious of their throbbing burns. At this minute the children’s pitiful cry for “ Mother ” floated out to them, saving Nancy from the attack of hysteria which seemed so imminent. An hour later, with foam-flecked, staggering horse, Arthur galloped into the yard. He had known nothing of the fire until he reached its

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406 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “*PThank Heaven!" he said. as he heard her story.” charred path on the homeward trail, and he had raced the rest of the way in a frenzy of doubt and fear. Holding a washed and much-bandaged Nancy in his arms, he listened to her account of their terrible fight with the flames. “Thank Heaven!” he said, as he heard her story. “ And John,” she finished, “‘ was just wonder- ful!” Arthur, for the moment overcome with - thoughts of what might have been, grasped his brother’s hand. “Thank you, old fellow,’ he whispered. huskily. Then he stooped and kissed his wife.

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THE ROMANCE OF HINDU PILGRIMAGES. BY SAINT NIHAL SINGH. Ruling princes and wealthy landlords journey to the. Ganges on richly-caparisoned elephants, followed by cavalcades of retainers. From a Photograph. dak Se . An interesting account of one of the world’s most remarkable institutions—the great pilgrimages which’ take place évery year to the sacred shrines of India, and in which hundreds of thousands of Hindu devotees from all parts of the country participate. UMMER i in India. A fiercely-flaming sun overhead, moving in molten ( —, ae) As far as the eye can scan, turrets and towers and minarets rising above countless temples, mosques, and shrines, their outlines mirrored in the smooth surface of Ma Ganga—Mother Ganges. From all directions a surging sea of Hindu humanity is hurrying towards Benares to procure passports to Para- dise. And what a conglomerate, picturesque crowd it is that drifts to the riverside! The ruling princes and wealthy landlords come riding on elephants whose broad backs are covered with blankets woven of spun gold or silver embroidered with precious stones. Huge howdahs of solid gold or silver, encrusted with rubies and rare gems, are strapped upon majesty along its turquoise tail. them, and they carry gold or silver ladders to be used in mounting and dismounting. Jewelled chains hang from the animals’ fanci- fully-painted heads almost to the ground, gold or silver rings set with gems encircle their tusks, and they wear heavy anklets and tail ornaments of precious metals. The persons of those who ride on these gorgeously-caparisoned pachyderms are ablaze with flashing jewels. Their heads are sur- mounted by small caps of purple velvet covered with gold or silver spangles, and adorned with glittering aigrettes ; or they are swathed about with turbans, some small, others large, of an infinite variety of shapes and forms, but always + “of the finest silk, embroidered with gold or silver thread. They wear flowing robes of crimson silk interwoven with gold, and trousers of the

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1HE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) same material. Their feet are thrust into slippers loaded with gold and silver thread and studded with jewels. Behind these people of high degree follows * a cavalcade of retainers, some mounted on elephants, camels, or horses, while others trudge along afoot. All are gaudily garbed, and carry in their hands banners and standards of vivid hues striped with gold and silver bands. The Nagas, or “naked ones"’—an order of Hindu monks—on their way to the bathing-place. (Photograph. This riot of colour and flash of wealth is accompanied by a jargon of sound. Strewn through the length of the stately procession are bands:« men playing on stringed, wind, and percu ..on instruments, accompanying choirs who sing devotional songs in lusty tones. In the wake of this pompous pageant plods a far different kind of procession. ‘These pedestrians are clad as nearly in the fashion of Hindu nuns on the pilgrimage.— Many of them walk barefooted for

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THE ROMANCE OF HINDU PILGRIMAGES. 409 primeval man as the British authorities will allow. Indeed, looking at them from the back, they may be taken for so many Adams. Their heads are hidden under a thick mat of shaggy, unkempt hair, whose intense black- ness has been turned into an inde- finable grey by the ashes sprinkled upon their locks. Their feet are begrimed and cracked and_ sore from walking miles on end without protection of any kind, over sharp stones and furnace-hot sands. With the angry sun beating down upon their bare bodies, these Nagas, or naked ones, as they are called for a sufficient reason, form a picture so utterly unrelieved by softening effect of any kind that it fairly cuts itself into the mind of the person who sees it. This weird parade precedes a train of Hindu nuns. The shaven pates of some of them shine like polished billiard balls as _the sun’s shafts strike them, while others hundreds of miles. The altar of a Hindu temple at one of the sacred shrines From a) of Hardwar. (Photograph. have tangled locks encrusted with ashes, flowing in tousled dishevelment over their shoulders. ‘A sheet of coarse, hand-woven cloth, coloured an indeterminate brown, is carele ly wound about their bodies and limbs. ‘This covering barely comes down to their shins. Their feet are left bare. These male ard female devotees have walked on foot to the bank of Ma Ganga. The railway does not exist for them; they have not the wherewithal to enable them to ride. Hundreds of miles do they tramp before they arrive at their destination. They move about in droves, marching in the cool of the night and morn, resting between times under trees by the road- side, and eating food begged from pious Hindu passers-by. Often and often a pilgrim clad only in a breech-

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410 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Pilgrims bathing in the Godavari River at Nasik.—The spot shown is one of the most sacred in the stream. From @ Photograph. clout, with a rag tied around his forehead and a brass vessel hanging from a stick slung over his shoulder, approaches the Ganges. He may come from some extreme point of the peninsula and have footed it a thousand miles or more, taking probably a year to reach his destination, where he arrives with no more capital than the rag around his head, the cloth about his loins, and the staff and brass vessel with which he left home. He may have undertaken this mission for a penance, to humiliate the flesh, or to fulfil a vow made in time of sickness or disaster, or he may have come to gain the sacerdotal knowledge which can be obtained only on the banks of Mother Ganges. Time was—and not so very long ago— when a man set out on a pilgrimage all his relatives called.on him to take final leave of him, just as if he were setting out for that “bourne from which no traveller, returns.” The women of the clan gathered about him and wailed just as they did over the bier of a loved © one. They had good cause for lamentation, for a goodly percentage of the pilgrims never returned from their pious peregrinations. The pilgrim often visited not one but many sacred spots. He went to Hardwar, in North- Western India, and from there journeyed to as near the source of the Ganges as his physical endurance would carry him. Then he went to Allahabad, where the Ganges meets the Jumna, and, according to tradition, another river, the Sarasvati, which is reputed to flow underground. From that point he journeyed to Muttra, sacred to the memory of the frolicsome god Krishna. Thence he trudged to Benares, the Hindu holy

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“ THE ROMANCE OF HINDU PILGRIMAGES. 4tr of holies. He then visited Cal- cutta, on the banks of the Hooghli, dedi- cated to the black-faced god- dess i, who delights in wear- ing a garland of skulls. Next he proceeded to Puri, where was located the temple of Jag- ganath, famous for its terrible “Juggernaut car.” From that point he jour- neyed to Nasik, on the banks of the Godavari, in the southern por- tion of the penin- sula. Finally he travelled to the westernmost point of Kathiawar—jutting out from the Bombay Presidency—where is situated the shrine of Dwarka, famed as the gateway to the Hindu Paradise. When it is remembered that this circuit, which leaves out many sacred shrines, extends over several thousands of miles, and that until quite recently the whole journey had to be made on foot, over bad roads, and sometimes by trails leading through dense jungles infested with beasts of prey, venomous serpents, thugs, and bandits, no stretch of the imagination is needed to realize why those who remained behind safe in the shelter of their homes feared for the fate of the relative who set out on this pil- grimage, and wept bitter tears as they bade him God-speed. Many did not return for the suffi- cient reason that they threw themselves under the Juggernaut car, or into the Ganges, to die in order to go to heaven. However, such tearful scenes do not to-day attend the departure of pilgrims, for the steel horse—as the natives call the railway—con- From a) Another view of the pilgrims’ bathing-place in the Godavari. Photograph,

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THE WLDE WORLD MAGAZINE, ducts them safely and speedily to their destina- tion. Practically all the sacred shrines of the Hindus have now been linked up by rail, and Ma Ganga is criss-crossed at many points by the railroad. Of course, the pilgrims usually travel third class, and the best of such accommodation in India makes no provision for comfort. Most of the carriages are divided into small cubicles, with long, narrow wooden benches running along a= "E58 a Bir 24 VIR Ga t Sg ar r~ the two sides. There is no convenience ot any kind, and the travellers are packed into the compartments like so many sardines in a tin. Of late, cars of a somewhat improved pattern have been introduced, but the seats are just the same hard, unupholstered wooden benches, and the carriages are overcrowded. On festive occasions, when Hindus journey by the hundred thousand to the sacred spots, it is a sight worth travelling many miles to see a ‘This wonderful picture shows a vast throng of pilgrims bathing in the sacred waters on the occasion of a solar eclipse. Every Froma

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THE ROMANCE OF HINDU PILGRIMAGES. 413 pilgrim train bound for some shrine on the Ganges. When it stops at a way- side station, scores of intending passengers try to force their way into the already closely-packed third- class carriages by San Secs aay The Hindus believe that solar eclinses are caused by an evil Spirit who tries to swallow the sua, sd everyone who can bathe at this time does so, thereby acquiring much virtue. From a Photograph. battering down the locked doors, or even endeavour- ing to crawl through the windows over the heads and shoulders of the occu- pants. The police use their batons freely to drive the invaders away, but usually a few manage to evade the constables and secure a foothold on the train. Sometimes the authori- ties are compelled to carry passengers in open trucks. They plant themse in the bottom of these cars and remain there, exposed to the inclemencies of the weather, for ten, twenty, thirty, forty hours at a stretch, one treading on the toes of the other— fretful babies crying, men and women grumbling— until the end of the journey is reached. In some instances it happens that the man of the family gets off at a station and before he can get back into the car the train starts. Then pande- monium is let loose, for twelfth year « dreat fair is held here which attracts devotees from all over India. Photograph.

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414 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the tickets of the women and children that the train is hurrying towards the Ganges are in the safe keeping of the man who has been left behind. With all this overcrowding, thousands have to wait for hours at a stretch while train after train steams past. They sleep on the stone platform, and outside they build humble hearths of mud and bricks, mark an oblong space around it with a paste of earth and cow-dung, and cook their meals in the brass and bronze vessels which they are carrying along with them in gunny-sack bags. This abnormal congestion is caused by the Hindu belief that the holy rivers, purifying at all times, are especially able to wash away sin and cure disease on certain propitious occasions. These times generally synchronize with an eclipse of the sun or moon. Hindu tradition has it that, in the beginning of time, Rahoo, a monster demon, stole the nectar of life that had been churned out of the ocean by the gods. The sun and moon instantly detected the theft, and reported it to a powerful deity, who cut off Rahoo’s head to punish him for his rascality. In the scuffle, however, a few drops of the stolen nectar accidentally fell on the genii’s head, rendering him immortal. From that day to this, so the legend runs, the immortalized Rahoo has been trying to swallow the sun and moon, his ancient enemies. Periodically he is able to do so, thus causing a solar or lunar eclipse. However, the gods do not permit the evil spirit to do any permanent harm, and thus the world loses the light of the gulped-down orb for a short time only. This myth has so taken hold of the Hindu imagination that no food is cooked during an eclipse. So long as there is the least vestige of a shadow over the sun or moon conch shells are blown, and the names of the gods are loudly repeated. Everyone who possibly can then bathes in the Ganges, Jumna, Godavari, or at Dwarka, for more virtue is attached to a bath in one of these holy places at this time than to one taken in ordinary water. When the pilgrim arrives at the holy spot he is instantly surrounded by scores of Brahmins, who shout at the top of their voice, ‘“‘ What is your caste?” “ Where have you come from?” ““What were the names of your ancestors?” These cries continue until the new-comer has supplied the, particulars and some one of the priests has claimed to be the guru (spiritual guide) of his family and has taken him in tow. The Brahmin is able to distinguish his clients because he keeps a regular register in which careful entries are made of the arrival, stay, and departure of pilgrims. These records are handed down from father to son. Ever after any member of that clan who happens to visit that sacred spot is considered to be the disciple of the guru with whom, or with whose forefathers, any of his ancestors has stopped. This business * has been so systematized that in an incredibly short time a Brahmin is able to tell more about the lineage of a pilgrim than he himself could describe. These records have sometimes proved useful in settling claims to the crowns of native States. More often than not, too, the wonderful memory of the Brahmin obviates the necessity of looking up entries. The priest conducts the pilgrim, his women- folk, and children to his home and gives them a small room, bare of all furniture, to use so long as they stay in the town. Sufficient bedding has been brought along for the whole family. This is spread upon the ground in one corner of the room, and the visitors squat upon it. Oft- times a whole room cannot be spared for a family, and then it is a case of squeezing in just as many men, women, and children as possible. This overcrowding frequently results in the outbreak of pestilence. Cholera, for instance, claims many victims. Epidemics break out whenever large bodies of Hindus flock to the sacred places, and many people die from them. The Brahmin priest charges no rent for his accommodation, but he benefits in other ways. Pilgrims give him doles when they perform their religious rites... Besides, they make him a present of money and ornaments when they depart. Indeed, the Brahmins derive such advantages from their guests that they display the greatest keenness to get hold of every pilgrim they possibly can, and there is as much competition amongst them to claim a new-comer as there is between rival hotel runners at a metropolitan railway station. To their credit be it said, however, that they do not steal each other's clients. Many of the pilgrims come for the express purpose of consigning the ashes of their dead relatives to the bosom of Ma Ganga. Of course, it is considered better if one can die on the banks of the Ganges, or be lowered into the water just as one is on the point of drawing the last breath ; but surviving relatives see to it that the ashes of those who cannot manage to do this are delivered into the river’s embrace. Indeed, wives and sons deem it their most sacred duty to the dead husband or father to perform this last sad rite. Many and many a person has literally beggared himself in order to convey the ashes of a relative to the Ganges. On festive days the bank of Ma Ganga at Benares appears to be one mass of huge umbrellas made of bamboo and leaves. Underneath these squat sellers of flowers, sweetmeats, and bangles,

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15 4 ES. L.GRIMAG PIL HINDU THE ROMANCE OF *sorvuag ye safuVH ap jo syuVq om vO suNLZTId Jo PMosD W [v mosy

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416 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. with large, shallow baskets loaded with mari- golds, roses, jasmines, sugar, and glass bracelets in front of them. Beside them sit Brahmins wearing on their right hands large gloves which cover their rosaries as they tell their beads. On the river bank also squat those who are looking after the shoes and clothes of the bathers. Moving about in the crowd are the lame and the halt, the blind and the deaf, the aged and infirm, who live by beggary. Flanked by the living are the funeral pyres, some just lit, some ablaze, others smouldering, all reducing erstwhile human beings to ashes which shortly will be consigned to the stream. Those endeavouring to attain a high degree of psychic development and spiritual perfection undergo the ordeal of the “ five fires.” They heap together brush, dried grass, and cow-dung cakes in four piles, which they light when the summer sun is at its zenith, and its rays beating down upon the sand heat it to the burning point. They sit in the centre of the four fires, equi- distant from the masses of blazing faggots, while the sun overhead forms the fifth flame, chanting hymns to the Ganges or lapsing into meditation, the furnace-like heat surrounding them mean- while mortifying the flesh. : From the rim of the river stone and brick steps run down into the water for several miles along the shore. On these stand thousands upon thousands of pilgrims, religious exactitude Pilgrims waiting to bathe at Benares. Lehetezraph. showing in every move they make. Each devotee, with a muslin or silk sheet wrapped about the nether limbs, or over the whole body if a woman, stands facing the sun, murmuring hymns in measured tones, throwing water towards it with both hands, pouring water over the head, and invoking the blessings of the powerful gods upon friends and relatives, living and dead. The river bears on its bosom fragrant sacri- ficial flowers—brilliant golden marigolds and pink rose-petals thrown into it as a gift to the gods and goddesses—prayers of devotees, ashes of the dead, and even the corpses of devout Hindus who have been cast into it and float with the current, furnishing food for the vultures soaring overhead and the alligators that haunt the shores, both ever alert for pickings. Life and death meet and clasp hands across Ma Ganga’s breast. When the time comes for the palmer to leave the sacred stream, a brass vessel is filled with Ganges water, and carefully sealed, to be taken back to the relatives at home. A similar pot is brought from each place of pilgrimage. The man who has completed the circuit of the principal shrines and brought water from each one is considered to have reached the summit of piety. and to have conferred everlasting blessings upon those relatives and friends who have swallowed a sip of water from each vessel.

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When the Blacks Stole Nora. BY JOHN A. HOPE. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN CAMERON. An exciting story of the old days in the “ back-blocks” of New South Wales. “The narrative is absolutely true, and most of the people in 1885," writes Mr. Hope. “Tt happened concerned are still living.’” B HAD just shot a kangaroo and was fin the act of skinning it when the double report of an eight-bore duck- gun startled me, as it boomed through the still morning air. Leaving the marsupial with some rabbits I had taken out of the traps, I rushed with all speed to my partner, Dick Duane, whom I had left getting breakfast ready in our temporary camp some quarter of a mile distant. Just as I reached him the sharper but equally distinct bang of a Snider rifle started a maddening chatter amongst a flock of cockatoos perched high overhead in the branches of some’ giant eucalyptus trees. No explanations were neces- sary, however. Already Dick had unhobbled and saddled the horses, and, waiting only to gulp down a cup of tea, we picked up our rifles and ammunition belts, mounted, and rode away. Not a moment was to be lost, for the lives of Dick’s wife and three children at the camp a good five miles distant might depend on our speed. The double shots of the heavy duck-gun, followed by a single shot from an old military Snider, was the signal agreed upon with Mrs. Duane, should she be in need of our assistance. We had left our main camp some two weeks previously. in order to trap the Chalk Hills. A second shot from the Snider would denote that she had been attacked by blacks. Thank goodness we had not heard it, and we certainly did not expect to, as we had not seen any black fellows in our vicinity for some months. “Easy, Jack, easy, for the first mile or so,” shouted Dick, a born frontiersman, as I pressed forward. ‘‘ Wait till the horses get their second wind. Besides,” he added, “ there is no hurry as yet.” The words had barely left his lips when we heard the dull, heavy crack of the Snider. “Heavens! My poor wife and kiddies!” burst from my partner in a voice of agony. “Nonsense, man, nonsense!” I answered, quickly, to try to calm the fears which I knew Vol. xxi. —40. had seized him. “I pity the blacks who attack your wife, more than I pity her.” We had now entered a belt of blue-gums clear of underbrush, and without slackening speed we shot through and out into the next sandy blue-bush-covered plain, frightening half a score of emus. It was flat as a billiard-table, as is more or less the whole upper plateau of New South Wales, and the tops of the next belt of timber could be seen some two miles away, growing out of the mirage of a beautiful lake. We had nearly reached this belt when the duck-gun again spoke—twice. Knowing that it was a signal for us to hasten, I started to unsling my rifle, but Dick yelled :— “Don’t answer it. She's all right as yet. We must teach them a lesson, or we can’t live here in peace.” In a few minutes more we were across the last plain and entering the final belt of timber, on the other side of which could be seen the white tents of our camp. We had slackened speed on arriving at the edge, when bang! bang! came the reports of Mrs. Duane’s big gun, followed by a prolonged scream of agony from her. Then, a few seconds later, we heard the sharp, whip-like crack of her small-bore rifle. “Curse them!” roared Dick, unslinging his rifle. “I believe they’ve got one of the kids. Cut ’em off from the myall swamp, Jack, while I go straight to her, and for the love of Heaven shoot straight.” “ Trust me,” I returned, swerving my horse as I spoke so as to circle the camp. The swamp in question ran back for two miles or so between two hills, and was impenetrable, or nearly so, owing to the peculiar tangled growth of the scrub known as “ myall.” Should the blacks succeed in capturing Mrs. Duane or any of the children and getting away into this swamp, or rather jungle, the chances of recapturing them would be small indeed. Twice Dick’s rifle rang out as I turned and

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418 twisted in and out amongst a network of euca- lyptus saplings in my efforts to get between the camp and the swamp, but in spite of all my exertions I was just a little too late. Streaming away, in full flight, across my front on the edge of the timber, were some forty-five or fifty black fellows, strung out and heading for the swamp close by. Instantly my eyes ranged along their line, but failed to rest on anything amongst them at all resembling a white child. At the rear Dick came into view, opening a rapid fire from his Winchester repeater. Then I heard Mrs. Duane screaming, ‘“‘ My child! my child! Save my child!” Dick was right, then, and again my eyes turned to the head of the line and travelled back along it until they rested on an object carried on a black’s shoulder in the midst of the others, and partially hidden by their bodies. Springing from my horse I picked off one of the blacks who was acting as a screen. Almost at the same moment the bushy-whiskered rascal carrying the child lurched sideways and fell, one of his legs broken by a long-range shot from Dick’s rifle, but the child—I saw it distinctly for a second —had hardly reached the ground when it was seized and swung on to the Shoulder of another man, the rest shaking their spears at me in defiance as they ran. Aiming hastily at the neighbourhood of the belt of the new carrier, I heard the bullet “ tell” on impact, and then the rascal’s body collapsed in a heap. Not to be beaten, the next savage snatched up the child, who I now saw was Nora, Dick’s eldest girl, six years old. Recognizing her old playfellow at the same moment, she threw up her little hands and called piteously to me. This appeal so unnerved me that I was afraid to fire at the poor child’s abductor for fear of hitting her. Angry at my impotence to save her, I quickly recovered my presence of mind, and fairly rained bullets on the last of the savages as they dis- appeared into the swamp, safe, for the time being, from our pursuit. Sadly we rode back to the tents, where Mrs. Duane, pale-faced but dry-eyed, made no com- plaint as she turned to prepare a hasty meal. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Born, reared, and married in the black bush to a kangaroo-hunter and rabbit-trapper, she had naturally more grit and determination than the average woman. While breakfasting she told us how she had saved herself and the children from being murdered in their sleep. There is nothing the aboriginals of Australia are more afraid of than the darkness. Bunyips, or evil spirits, are to be met with then, they think ; hence they attack only in the light, their favourite time being daybreak. Mrs. Duane had gone outside at that time to light the camp fire and to prepare a cup of tea for herself. She had not advanced half-a-dozen steps from the tent when a spear whistled close beside her and a chorus of savage yells rang out. Dark figures leaped from behind trees, but though com- pletely taken by surprise, as such an attack was entirely unexpected, she speedily regained her presence of mind. Springing back to the tent for her light gun, she fired both barrels at the leading blacks, wounding one of them severely. Then, dropping ‘the gun for her rifle, she shot another dead before he could get under cover. Amazed, no doubt, at meeting such resistance where they had expected an easy victory, the blacks hesitated. Meanwhile Mrs. Duane loaded and fired the duck-gun to call her husband and myself to her assistance, completing the signal with the Snider. Between the intervals of firing the heavy guns, being anxious to keep her assailants under cover, she fired her small-bore rifle at every tree that showed signs of life behind it. While doing so, however, she overlooked one very important point—that when fighting savages in timber you need to watch the rear as closely as the front. One of the blacks, profiting by this omission, crawled from tree to tree until he reached the back of the tent, in which the children were crying lustily. Slitting up the canvas, he —

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WHEN THE BLACKS STOLE NORA. 419 selected the eldest girl, and carried her off before the mother was aware of the fact. When she discovered her loss, however, she neither fainted nor lost her presence of mind, but again loaded and fired the duck-gun, relieving her over- wrought feelings meanwhile by a succession of screams. As the nearest railroad station —Hay—was one hundred and fifty miles distant, the nearest town seventy-five miles off, and as the only white men within the radius of thirty miles were hunters like ourselves, we were not only isolated, but forced to live pretty “At the rear Dick came into view, opening a rapid fire from his Winchester.” much as did our primitive forefathers. with his two sons and a man named Smith. Fifteen miles south of us lived “Old Man” As I mounted a fresh horse to go for the former, Nolan and his three sons. Twelve miles north- § Mrs. Duane asked me to be sure and bring old west, at a water-hole, another hunter was camped = man Nolan to mind the children.

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420 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “T’m going to help fina my child,” she cried, excitedly. By sunset we had brought in both parties, and made ready to take up the trail in the morn- ing. Round the camp fire after supper the old greybeards suggested a plan of action. To put it shortly, it was for the youngest members to enter the swamp, in line abreast, while the rest rode on each side ready to follow the blacks the moment they broke cover. Before the sun set we had struggled through the swamp to the end, and found it empty. The blacks had gone in the night, and, as we feared, had left not the slightest trail. The next seven days were passed in long, thirsty rides, beneath a sub-tropical sun, and under heavy, wetting dews at night—rides which laid bare to our eyes every bit of bush, swamp, and wild within a radius of seventy-five miles. But all in vain—not a vestige of the blacks remained or a clue to trail them by. Though defeated by the cleverest trailers known, our bushmen were feeling very humiliated as they sat round the camp fire on the seventh night in gloomy silence. Then two prospectors rode into camp. In a few minutes we learned that they had just come from the head-waters of the Darling River, and when within some one hundred miles or so of our camp they had passed through a large and recently deserted camp of blacks. In a moment all was excitement. “ Had they seen any signs of a white child ? ” we asked them. “No, they had not,” they answered. the blacks stolen a child ?” Explanations followed, with the result that the sympathetic prospectors decided there and then to be our guides. They had, they told us, seen signs that a “ corroboree”’ (skeleton dance) had been held. This was good, and it was decided to follow our new-chums at once. As the moon rose shortly after midnight, a couple of hours’ sleep was suggested. Then the horses were rounded up, half-a-dozen extra ones selected to act as pack animals, and the whole party mounted, leaving old man Nolan to mind the children. Although Mrs. Duane had been urged several times to stay behind, she turned a deaf ear to all entreaties. “We can cover the hundred miles in about thirty-six hours,” remarked one of the pros- pectors, a grizzled veteran, “ and the blacks will have an open trail, thinking they are safe from pursuit.” : Arrived at the deserted camp, we searched in vain for signs of outgoing spoor. This was disheartening, to say the least, and after a short “ Had rest we pushed on to the Darling River, some twenty-five miles distant, and went into camp in the dark. All of us being very tired, we threw ourselves down, after putting bells on some of the horses, at the foot of the trees on the river bank, setting no guard. I had not been asleep more than five minutes, it seemed, though day was breaking, when I was awakened by a terrific ringing of bells, thuds that shook the ground, and savage yells. Confused and only half awake, I staggered to my feet, and heard someone shout :— “The blacks! the blacks! Forma ring round this tree, boys! Someone hunt up Mrs. Duane and bring her here quick.” Wide awake now, I rushed to the tree, a giant blue-gum, just as Dick called out, ‘“ Here she is!” Forming a ring round the great trunk, we opened fire on all sides, for the savages had com- pletely encircled us. “For goodness’ sake, mind where you are shooting,” screamed Mrs. Duane, “or you'll kill Nora.” It was only partially light as yet, and no spears had found a mark among us, but with daylight would come the deadly boomerang. “Your child is not here, woman,’ answered the gruff voice of the veteran prospector who had assumed the leadership. “It’s with the gins and lubras (women and girls) in camp, wherever that is.”” “Tt must be up the river,” cried Smith, “for the blacks stampeded the horses in that direction.” “Then my idea is for some of you young fellows to break through the blacks, find their camp, and get Nora,” suggested Dick, firing at a dimly-seen figure as he spoke. ‘“ You must do it before the blacks here get to it ahead of you. We'll hold them in check all right.” The three Nolan boys, the two Hatfields, and myself, being all under twenty years of age, promptly volunteered for the work. “Be quick, then,” said Clark, the veteran prospector, dodging to the other side of the tree as a boomerang hissed by. ‘‘ Keep together, and the moment you get hold of the child hunt up the horses and bring them here.” All this was easier said than done, however, as we very soon discovered, for with the advent of full daylight the blacks closed in from both sides the moment they caught sight of us running from tree to tree towards them. All we had to shoot at usually was a black arm raised from behind a tree to hurl a spear or boomerang. To face the latter weapon in the open was, we were well aware, practically

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WHEN THE BLACKS STOLE NORA. 421 certain death. Therefore, being the oldest, I took command, and ordered a charge. Shooting as we ran, taking cover at every opportunity, and yelling like madmen, we rushed in a body straight at the enemy. This was too much for them, so, opening their ranks to let us through, they closed in “1 was forced to hold on to the mane of my mount with one hand and Nora with the other.” behind, losing two of their number, which tem- porarily checked further pursuit. Going by the river bank, we kept a bright look-out for the camp, until suddenly, on rounding a bend, we saw an old gin some two hundred yards ahead of us. With a cry of fear she wheeled round and ran into the thick scrub. “ After her, boys!’’ I gasped, completely winded. ‘‘ Keep her in sight; their camp’s close by.” With a yell of joy we followed the creature through the scrub, behind which, as we expected, were the nut-ruis of the camp. “Spread out quick, boys!” shouted Bert Hatfield, ‘ or we'll lose the child.”

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422 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “There she is!” roared Jim Nolan, and he sprang away in pursuit of a woman who was dis- appearing on the far side. Three old blacks rose, spear in hand, as we rushed past a large nui-rut, but were instantly shot down, while Jim Nolan, seventeen years old and six feet high, quickly overhauled the flying woman and tore the child from her. Clad in rags, very thin and miserable-looking, the poor mite was overjoyed to see us. Jubilant over our success, we paid no attention to the half-naked old gins, who abused us roundly from a safe distance. There was no time to lose, so we started off immediately inland in search of our horses. Stopping now and then to listen for the bells, we finally heard them at no great distance. The bell-horses, being old stock-running animals, were easily caught and rounded up, but to drive the younger horses through all kinds of scrub bush, on bare-backed mounts, was a most difficult job, especially for me, as I had to carry little Nora. Youth and a working knowledge of how to drive stock, however, finally brought us back within sound of the yelling savages besieging our friends. “ Hold hard a minute, you fellows!” shouted Tom Hatfield from away on the left. ‘“ We can’t drive the horses through the black-skins or they’ll spear some and stampede the rest. What’s to be done?” “Leave them here with Jack and the kid,” suggested Bert. “The rest of us will charge through them, firing in the air as we go, to let Dick know we’re coming.” Getting together in a bunch, the five boys started off, whooping and firing like escaped lunatics. The young horses, however, whose instinct told them they were being left behind, neighed loudly and charged after their owners, forcing me to hold on to the mane of my mount with one hand and Nora with the other. The blacks quickly sought shelter behind the nearest trees out of the way, closing in again behind us from all sides after we had reached the big gum. i Poor Mrs. Duane nearly fainted with joy on seeing her child again. “Oh, Jack,” she cried, with streaming eyes, “poor Mr. Hatfield is killed! A boomerang split his head. And Dick is wounded in the leg. Thank Heaven my child is restored to me!” “Saddle up, boys, and be quick,” roared the old prospector, ‘‘ We’ve got to teach these howling heathen a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry.” ; “ They’ve killed our father,” groaned one of the young Hatfields. “And we'll make ’em pay dearly for it,” sang out the other, savagely. Once we were in the saddle the howls of glee from the savages at again having us in their circle quickly changed to fear and terror as the men charged recklessly among them, shooting them down like wild dogs. Hither and thither we galloped through the brush and scrub, occasionally shouting our whereabouts to each other. Suddenly Smith gave vent to a roar. “ T’ve got their leader, that half-breed scoun- drel, Urumbi Jim !-” he cried. This was great news, and, riding quickly up to where Smith was, we saw the notorious half- breed renegade and horse-thief, leader of the blacks in many raids on the settlers, stretched on his back stone-dead. He was a giant of a man, fully six feet five inches in height, finely built, and showing more white blood than black. His presence solved what had been puzzling us all through—the unusual courage displayed by the blacks, who, as a rule, are as cowardly as they are treacherous. After burying poor old Hatfield and binding up Dick’s wound—a spear-gash in the thigh— we commenced our homeward journey, thus ending one of the most exciting adventures I have ever passed through.

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WHERE CONVICTS GUARD THEMSELVES. HERE is an old saying, “Put a beggar on horseback and _ he'll tide to the devil.” Modern humanitarians, however, have revised it, so that it reads, “Put a beggar on horse- back and trust him to keep his seat.” This last is the radical doctrine accepted by the Government of Ontario, Canada, as the real secret in managing law-breakers. “ Give a man an inch and he will take a mile,” said the pessimistic upholders of the old system of prison control. “Very well, then,” argued the reformers. “Let us see if, by giving him a mile, he will be content with it.” So, three years ago, the authorities of the Pro- vince of Ontario cautiously commenced to reverse a system that had been in operation with little variation for about twenty centuries. They took four hundred men from behind the high walls and steel bars of the Central Prison, Toronto, and placed them on a farm, where their words of honour were the only bastions and a common- sense notion of “co-operation ” their only lock and key. The authorities moved with care ; they did not choose desperate criminals for such unparalleled leniency of treatment; they did not take murderers or dynamitards. Many of them, however, are practised burglars, forgers, pickpockets, and the like, and about ninety per cent. of them are the products of drink. This experiment has been successful almost beyond belief. Four hundred convicted men, mostly young, live the year round on twelve hundred acres of farm land, with no more repression or surveillance than is imposed on By ) ROBSON BLACK, of Coronto, Canada. ‘ary of Onta . who is chiefly ¢ of prison reform. From a Photograph. Practically every country has its own ideas of penal treatment, but it has been left for the provincial authorities of Ontario, Canada, to put into operation the most revolutionary scheme yet devised. This consists in taking . the convicts out of prison and putting them on a farm, where, with nothing but their own word of honour to keep them from escaping, they are left to work out their terms of im- prisonment! There are no bolts or bars, no armed guards, nothing but a man’s promise to stop! Bxtraordinary to relate, the scheme has worked magnificently, as this article shows. any farm labourer in an English county or on the Canadian prairie. Do they escape? Four in three years, out of a transient population of perhaps a thousand. “ But does not the system make prison life so attractive as to place a remium on crime?” asks the sceptic. So far is this from being the fact that not one-half the percentage of “ repeaters ’’ come back for further sentences to the Prison Farm, as is the case with the old-fashioned jails. Even stranger than the record of the four hundred men at the Guelph Farm is an experi-

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424 THE ‘WIDE WOKLD The temporary buildings of the Ontario Prison Farm at Guciph — The piace houses » hundred and filty prisoners, aod coatsias 20 . bar. Photograph. From a) ment conducted by the Government during the past twelve months at Fort William. Forced to find an alternative for the costly and wasteful practice of tethering energetic men to a ten-foot cell, the authorities set aside a thousand acres in the north-west corner of the province, and transported thereto gang after gang of prisoners from the common jail. The land was superb for agriculture, and covered with a rich array of timber. At the start the men were placed individually on their word of honour not to attempt to escape. That promise was abso- lutely the only guarantee that the army of convicts would not desert in a body, overrun the province, and bring ridicule on the administra- tion. The camps in which they live are as free From a) One of the dormitories in the Prison Farm. MAGAZINE. to the world as a prospector’s tent in the wilder- ness. There are no bolted doors, no bars, no shackled limbs. On the whole estate there is not even a firearm, except a rifle for potting game. Four paid men live with the forty-five prisoners. One is an assistant warden, the second an overseer in charge of field operations, the third a guard, and the fourth a cook. One man guards the whole body of prisoners, who are frequently working over an. area of two hundred acres of bush. There is also a watch- man at night to see that there is no accident by way of fire or otherwise. That watchman is himself a prisoner. In twelve months there have been three or four escapes. Several of the fugitives were brought back, but no one would for a mofnent say that the work should be stopped or the plan abandoned because out of a floating population of some two hundred three or four have failed to live up to the trust reposed in them. These men are of good type physically. About Fort Arthur and Fort William there concen- trates an itinerant population from the Great Lakes fleets, the lumber camps, and the railway construction gangs. Many a man has found himself on the streets of the city under arrest. He is sentenced to sixty days or six months, as the case may be. To send him to |Photograph. the common jail or the

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WHERE CONVICIS GUARD THEMSELVES. 425 Central Prison éritails a burden on the tax- payers aggregating a vast sum yearly. The thousand acres at Fort William were worth in their virgin state twelve months ago from ten to fifteen dollars an acre, but cleared and stumped, as the prisoners will shortly have them, the value is upwards of a hundred dollars an acre. When the first lot of sixty prisoners were brought out from the town last summer with tents and the necessary equipment for a working camp, they set to work with a will, and in the course of five or six days not only chopped, but stumped and cleared up some five or six acres, which were immediately planted with turnips and potatoes. During the six months of fall and winter weather the prisoners chopped and ‘“wind- « rowed ” about three hundred acres. They have cut roads all round and through the thousand acres, and have built for themselves permanent quarters in the shape of éommodious but rough cabins. They have sunk wells, and have a good water supply, as well as proper drainage. At the ~ farms round about, the neighbours —~at first alarmed at the invasion of the prisoners—are now delighted with the camp, for the thousand acres of wooded land was a potential fire menace to their holdings so long as it remained unbroken. From the day of the opening until the present there has not been a single charge of misconduct against the prisoners. As the Provincial Secre- tary, the Hon. W. J. Hanna, who is the life and soul of prison reform in Canada, recently said, The farm has a railway system of its own, over two miles long, and prisoners fill all the positions on the line. From a Photograph, “Out of the labour that was going to waste in a jail we have made a profit to the province of about fifty thousand dollars, or possibly twice that. It has improved the neighbourhood ; it has improved the whole country ; and, above all, it has improved the men.” The four hundred men at Guelph form the real pivot of the provincial prison system. As in the Fort William experiment, locks, bars, and firearms are non-existent. The prisoners wear no special garb, but the clothes of an ordinary workman. Their hair is not cropped, nor do they eat or’ sleep in solitude, but in well-aired and lighted halls, where. the self-respect of normally decent men is not insulted and crushed. Nothing but their own choice prevents a suc- cessful bolt for freedom, but in three years not more than five escapes have been attempted, and—what is really significant—not one of these was the result of concerted action on the part of the men as a self-governing body Fast as the prisoners pour in, there will be for many years to come more work than workers. There were the lands to clear, fields to cultivate, ditches to cut, tile drains to put down, roads to build, bridges to erect, quarries to open. This was followed by the construction of a lime-kiln, a brick and tile plant, a sand and gravel pit, and a system of waterworks. A steam railway was built with narrow-gauge tracks to transport quarried stone to the new buildings. This road is operated entirely by prisoners. When it is stated that “the prisoners guard themselves,” the words are no exaggeration. Escape is always possible by country road or passing train. Why so few take advantage of what must be a sore temptation at times is a matter of intricate analysis. One obvious reason is that every man’s labour is constructive and

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420 7 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a\ useful and interesting. ‘he day is past when wardens of prisons compeiled their victims to carry a load of stone across a courtyard and fetch it back to the original spot ; that is what breaks down a man’s reason and turns him into a fiend. At Guelph and Fort William there are ‘dozens of instances proving the common sense of valuing human services—even convict services —above the standard of the ox. Once, when the gang of prisoners was constructing a hand- some cement bridge above the River Speed, the overseer found himself late in the after- noon with one of the sections only half com- pleted. ‘‘ Now, boys,” he shouted, ‘‘ what shall we do—finish up to-night or leave it until to- morrow ?” : From a) ‘The barn and stables at the Prison Farm. [ Photograph. “Finish it to-night!” they cried, eagerly, and everyone set to with determination and ended the task just before midnight. Then they returned to the dining-hall, pleasantly conscious of good work well done, and were served with plenty of hot coffee and sand- wiches. An elderly man who had been employed in beautifying the banks of the river found his term expiring while the work remained uncom- pleted. On his last day he saw the Provinciat Secretary coming down a path, and boldly addressed him. ‘I hope you'll see that there’s a good man put on the river job, sir,” he said. “‘T shouldn’t like to think that all I did would be spoiled.” The discovery of such fine feeling in a man who had been a worthless tramp Some ot the cattle with which the prisoners carry on a highly-

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ww a\N a a a WHERE CONVICTS GUARD THEMSELVES. 427 {From a) brought from Mr. Hanna a hearty assurance that the prisoner’s job should go to the best man that could be found. A young prisoner skilled in the care of horses [Protograph. Part of the dining-room- (Photograph. * was placed in charge of the stables. One night he found a valuable animal seriously ill. “I should prefer to sit up to-night at the stables and watch that horse,”. he told ‘the guard. Per- mission was given, and he soon had the patient in good health. ‘After his term ended he was engaged at a salary to take charge of the stables, and remained for many months. These are but a few of numerous incidents, unimportant in themselves, put nothing less than extraordinary when one considers that these men were convicts, who, under most systems, are treated like dangerous wild beasts. The reader will appreciate them even more in the light of this cur ous fact—that the great majority of prisoners serving terms for “ second- ary ” crimes have never been taught how to work, have never known the pleasures of useful labour, and never acquired skill enough to get them a day’s pay except in the way of fraud. The Prison Farm puts them on speaking terms with pleasant employment, gives them a robust physique, modifies their instinctive hatred of jaw and order, and starts them off on life’s high road better than when they left it. It may be only a step towards the redemption of the vast mass of derelict human material, but a step forward is better than nothing, and infinitely preferable to a penal system that frequently accomplishes nothing more than making men worse.

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Through the Witch- craft. By P. AMAURY TALBOT. An altar of the great Nature goddess Nimm—-The natives pray to this stone for protection against “human crocodiles.” From a Photograph. I. Sa HOULD any reader of THE WIDE | WoRLD MaGazINE grow weary of the monotony of life in this prosaic twentieth century and long for the glamour and mystery of earlier ages, he has but to purchase a ticket for an Elder Dempster Liner, and, arrived on the West Coast of Africa, make his way into some part of the The Author's wife crossing the Calabar River, a crocodile- infested stream, and the, home, of crocodile and elephant From al “souls.” [Phoregraph. In these remarkable articles the author gives a most absorbing account of his ex- periences and discoveries while travelling as a Government official through the haunts of the “ju-ju,” in the remote and little. known “bush” districts of West Africa. The people are steeped in superstition; witchcraft and the fear of evil spirits domi- nate every act of their lives. Secret societies, whose members claim uncanny powers and strike at their enemies in mysterious ways, flourish on every hand; and some of the stories of “ju-ju” magic are so strange as to make one wonder if there is not some- thing more than mere coincidence at the back of them. “bush” hitherto unstudied and unsur- veyed. Within a few hours familiar sights and sounds are left behind, the green forest curtain falls imperceptibly between our hypothetical traveller and all he has hitherto known. He is no longer in the twentieth century, with its strenuous struggle for existence and its matter-of-fact explana- tions of natural phenomena, but has stepped backward through the ages, to the childhood of the world. Here, in the eternal twilight of the bush, time is of little account. Mystery and terror lurk in each quivering shadow or half- heard sound. Every other flower and leaf has magical properties, while rivers, rocks, and trees are peopled with evil spirits, as hideous in

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THROUGH THE LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. 429 nature as in shape, ever hovering around, eager to drag the unwary down to a terrible doom. That part of the forest belt which extends almost from the Gulf of Guinea to the German Kameruns, and indeed over the border, is peopled also by the so- Awa Ita, the snake woman, and her husband—Her execution was stopped by the Author. From a Photograph. ae q AS Re | Aco | An Ekoi elephant- hunter, From a Photograph. called “Calabar Bush Souls ’"— akin to the were-tigers of India and the were-wolves of our own northern lands. It is an article of belief among the people of this uncanny region that every man has two souls, one of which always animates his human body, while the other, by means of a magic draught, the secret of which has been handed down for untold ages, can leave the form in which it usually dwells, and float invisibly into the depths of the forest, where it takes on its were-shape. The Calabar River is supposed to be the home of many such elephant and crocodile souls —‘‘ Efumi,” as they are called. Near the bank where the main traffic crosses the river lies a great oval-shaped stone, half embedded in the ground. Behind it a ju-ju tree has been planted, and in front a heap of leaves may be seen. This stone is one of the altars of Nimm, the great Nature goddess of the Ekoi people and the chief object of devotion to the women of this region. To ensure her protection leaves must be plucked, rubbed on the forehead, and then thrown upon

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430 THE WIDE The man in the white coat was a “buffalo soul,” and died in mysterious circumstances From a Photograph. the heap with the prayer: “I am coming across the river ; may crocodile lay down his head.” At the time of the New Yams no prayer is made, as everyone knows that it would be unheeded. For seven days, at this season, the Efumi hold their great festival to the Nimm ju-ju, and anyone rash enough to enter the water or unfortunate enough to be dragged down from the bank will surely be sacrificed to the goddess. Nimm heeds no prayer for mercy, for she longs for offerings, in return for which she makes fruitful the farms of her worshippers. Early in 1911 a deputation from one of the larger towns brought two prisoners, father and son, before the Commissioner at Oban. They were accused of having, in crocodile form, killed two women while the latter were crossing the river. As they refused to swear their innocence on the dominant ju-ju of the town, they were brought before the ‘white man,” who naturally decided that there was no case against them. The deputation, however, had not finished with the matter. On re- turning home another ju-ju was invoked, with the result that the son confessed that both he and his father were guilty, and that WORLD MAGAZINE, they had killed and eaten seven other men and women. Strangely enough, people accused of this uncanny power nearly always acknowledge their guilt, even when fully aware that such confession will probably cost them their lives. Awa Ita, an old woman of Oban. was suspected of being a ‘‘ snake soul,” and of sending out her familiar every night to lick a wound on her husband’s ankle while he slept, and so prevent it from healing. The chiefs of the Egbo summoned her before their tribunal, which, under native law, had the right to con- demn to death. In her own words: The man with the baby is a “buffalo soul”; the native in rear is a ”boer From a) soul. (Photograph,

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= mm ow THROUGH THE LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. Mud figure of Maia, priestess of the women's secret society. From a Photograph. “They asked me, ‘ You possess a snake?’ I answered, ‘ Yes,’ because I have it for true.” On this she was sentenced to death ;. but fortu- nately news of the threatened execution reached me, and she is not only still alive, but cleared of suspicion in the opinion of the townsfolk, since thewound healed after the appli- cation of clean water and a little ointment. Soon after my arrival news was brought that a certain chief was about to suffer death on sus- picion of having, in the guise of a were -leopard, killed several cows and goats. Fortunately my appearance on the scene put a stop to the pro- ceedings. Chief Ag: bashan, a well- known elephant- hunter, is thought to owe =eaea oa 3 . his success in the Three young girls who have just been initiated into the mysteries of Nimm. chase to the fact From a Photograph. 43t A weird Egbo ™ image.” From a Photograph. that he is an elephant Efumi, and can there- fore approach his quarry un- suspected. Such _ beliefs are deep-rooted, and when one imagines that a little headway has been made against them coincidences seem to spring up to attest their truth and im- press them on the minds of the people more deeply than be- fore. About a year ago, for instance, one of the bravest natives

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432 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. __ a The interior of an Egbo Club-house, where human sacrifices take place—Observe the weird paintings on the walls From a Photograph. I know was out after elephant. He shot a only possessed two flat, ribbed protuberances bull over eleven feet in height, and on running _ about a foot long, the depth of a finger, and one up to examine it discovered, to his horror, and a half inches in breadth. that instead of the great, curved tusks which The sight of these abnormalities reduced the he expected and imagined he had Seen, it man to a state of abject terror, for he considered saaek a £ 2 = a 5 he ‘The exterice an Egbo Club mecting-house, s prominent feature of every native town— This dreaded secret society bed the Dower of

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THROUGH THE LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. The meeting-houses of two new “ju-jus” in the Kameruns—These cults have spread to British territory and caused much trouble. From a Photograph. them proof positive that his kill was no true beast, but a were-elephant. On returning to the nearest town he learned that at the very hour at which the fatal shot had been fired, the son of one of the chiefs, long suspected as an elephant Efumi, had fallen dead! The deformed tusks, perhaps the most curious of their kind in the world, are now in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. Another striking case occurred among the Ododop tribe, the head chief of which, Awa Anjanna, was confessedly a “ buffalo-soul.” He was a friend of mine and a man of great intelli- gence, scarcely touched by white influence. On our return to his country, after a sojourn in England and a tour through Central Africa, we looked for him in vain. Inquiries only brought the answer, “He die long since.” It was obvious that his people did not wish to give further information, but later we learned that the Commissioner at Oban had, one day, shot a buffalo in the Station garden, about four o’clock u the afternoon, At almost the same moment Awa Anjanna, in his little settlement some dozen miles away, struck his hand on his body. exclaiming, “ They kill me for (t.e., at) Oban.” A little while after, about the estimated time at - which the wounded buffalo died, he passed away, after sending a message to all the “ buffalo- souls’’ in his chief town to avoid Oban, as it was too dangerous. I mention these stories as an instance of the difficulties which beset white administration in such far-away and superstition-ridden regions. Just as the Calabar River is looked upon as the home of were-elephants and crocodiles, so the Kwa is the special dwelling-place of Nimm, the Terrible, who, at the call of her women worship- Vol. xxxi—8h From a) An Ewaw “image.” [Photograph

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434 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. pers, sends forth her servants—the beasts which flock down to drink of her waters—to destroy the farms of any who have offended. Some- times she manifests herself as a huge snake, sometimes as a croco- dile. Her priestesses have more Another grotesque ju-ju “image.” From a Photograph. From a) Ju-ju “images” and power than those of any other cult, and the society which bears her name is strong enough to hold its own against the dreaded Egbo Club itself. It is during the rainy season that Nimm is most to be dreaded. Once, at the height of the rains, one of my best paddlers was returning with a consignment of goods from Calabar. The party in the canoe was a very friendly one, and .

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J] THROUGH THE LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. 435 their attendants all were talking and laughing. Suddenly, as his hand neared the water at the down stroke. the head of a crocodile appeared above the surface. The cruel jaws closed on the man’s wrist, and, in a flash, he was dragged under. ‘“ Nimm,” whispered the terrified survivors, as they paddled on; “who knows? Perhaps he had [Photograph angered his wife, and she prayed to Nimm to avenge her.” The whole land is honeycombed with secret societies, the importance of which, especially that of the Egbo Club, already mentioned, is obvious to the most careless visitor to any district where it has gained a foothold, for its meeting-

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436 house is the most prominent feature of every town. Under native rule this society had the powers of life and death, made trade impossible to non- members, and exercised a deep influence on the daily life of the From a) people. It takes its name from the craftiest and most dreaded denizen of the bush, for the term “ Egbo” signi- fies the Efik “Ekkpe” and the Ekoi “Ngbe,” ie., Leopard. There are seven grades of this society, the ritual of which is very ancient, and contains a mixture of many ju-ju cults. It is one of the inconsistencies of the black nature that, while handing down, with the most scrupulous care, the traditions of ancient THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A woman about to be sacrificed to this ju-ju was set free by the Author. From a Photograph. rites, they are willing to welcome new ju-jus at any moment. Akpambe may be cited. This cult was started in 1908 by a man named Obassi Abong, who was taught the neces- As an instance, Photograph. sary rites by his mother, a celebrated ju-ju woman of Okuri, in the Kame- runs, where the first shrine still exists. Thence it crossed into British territory, and rapidly gained SO great a reputation that lodges were established in almost every town. It is now causing a cer- tain amount of diffi- culty to the Adminis- tration. The so-called “images ” of ju-ju cults are formed by men, covered from crown to feet in long vobes, and wearing

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maaan as THROUGH THE A domestic ju-ju. From a Photograph. on their. heads carved effigies or smoke- dried, skin-covered, human skulls. The “images ’’ are never supposed to assume the insignia and appear in public except when under direct inspi ration from the ju-ju. As an example of the danger of such cults an instance may be given which came under our notice a few months ago. On arriving unexpectedly at a town in the interior, we came upon a ju-ju “image” busied in “ smelling out” a “witchcraft.” The supposed “ magic ” was unearthed at the foot of an old ju-ju tree, and the ceremony then appeared to be over. A little later an anguished cry brought us hurrying to the scene, to find a poor woman struggling in the grasp of her husband, who was forcing her down before the accusing “image.” At sight of us she wrenched herself fiee and, flinging A ju-iu Wee, with sacred LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. 437 herself on the ground before us, lay clutching at my shooting-boots, rent with sobs and shaking with terror. It was the usual story, Several prominent men had died in the town, and the woman accused of bewitching them—a childless wife, from a’strange district, with no kin save one sister to take her part—was fixed upon as a sacrifice to the u-ju. She followed us over the long trek, and is now happily remarried and has settled down under Government protection. Beside those which are sacred to the whole town, every house has its own particular ju-ju. Among these, shrines dedicated to Obassi Osaw, the Sky-god, and Obassi Nsi, the Earth-god (or goddess), hold first place. The former may always be known by the clump of epiphytic ferns growing upon the central pillar ; the latter by the group of coco-yams, planted or laid in a heap near by. At the present day Obassi Nsi is mostly pictured as a male deity, but enough fragments of ritual and old legends remain to show that, in earlier ages, Nsi represented the great Earth- Mother. Before the Egbo’ House in every town stands a solitary tree, its branches thickly hung with weaver-bird nests. The birds dart fear- lessly hither and thither, keeping up a constant shrill twittering, and careless of the approach of human beings. Every child knows that they are sacred ; for should they be injured or driven away the women would have no children, and even the cattle would cease to increase. bird-nesi Disaster is believed to fall upon the village if the birds are driven away. [Photograph. (To be continued.)

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THE SEA-TIGER. A BUDGET OF SHARK STORIES. By LEWIS R. FREERTAN. ILLUSTRATED BY GRAHAM C. SIMMONS. The shark is probably the most universally-dreaded and detested creature alive; sailors, in particular, hate him with a ferocity that is remarkable in its intensity. In this article Mr. Freeman relates a number of adventures with sharks—amusing, curious, and exciting— that have happened within his own experience in various parts of the world. — w ye Dan BW E gustibus non est disputandum ” is a truth of wide application, holding good no less generally in the animal kingdom than in that of man, and in neither more forcibly than in sharkdom. What is one shark's meat is quite likely to be another shark’s poison, and because a certain thing is sauce for the voracious ‘“‘ man-eater,” it does not follow that it is sauce for his epicurean cousin, the “ shovel-nose.” Regarding the tastes of sharks of any one locality, it is usually possible to speak more definitely, but still with no degree of certainty, and even the likes and dislikes of a single

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THE SEA-TIGER. 439 individual cannot be pinned down and charted as with square and compass. This latter fact was well borne out by the action of a grizzly old fifteen-footer — identified by the rusty stump of a harpoon, planted just aft his dorsal—whom I chanced to observe one day down at Tongatabu, in the South Pacific. The natives pointed him out tome as he nosed his way about amongst the other sharks that were nibbling gin- gerly at the outside corners of tempting hunks of salt beef lowered for their delec- tation, and said that this was the seventh year that they had fished for him, using everything from “charmed” cocoa-nuts and shiny tomato-cans to plucked gulls and live sucking-pigs, without ever coming near to landing him. “No one has ever seen him so much as smell the bait,” said a white-haired old fellow, “and from that we know that he must be tabu. Now we no longer give him notice, for we understand that he must be fed and protected by the Evil One.” Hardly were these words spoken before the great harpooned tail of the wily monster in question gave a vigorous swish, a smooth, mouse-coloured body shot up through the water, and two triple rows of gleaming ivory opened and closed upon—nothing more or less than a bare hook that its owner was pulling up for re-baiting after it had been dexterously stripped by the “sleight-of-mouth” performance of some other shark ! Yet the general trend of the gastronomic preferences of the sharks of any single bay, or island, or even group of islands, is usually under- stood sufficiently well for all practical purposes, and if the natives or old resi- dents advise one against bathing in certain locali- ties, it is best not to take the chance. In few corners of the world are sharks more plentiful than among / the atolls of the Tuamotu or Low Archipelago, the most south-easterly of the South Pacific groups ; but in spite of the fact that the natives, whether engaged in fishing, pearling, or swimming for pleasure, expose themselves constantly in the waters infested by these monsters, loss of life from that source is rarely heard of. It was on the long island of Fakariva, of the Tuamotu group, that I was sitting one afternoon in the shade of the sheet-iron veranda of the principal trading store of the village, watching with no little enjoyment the antics of a big band of supremely happy youngsters who were dis- porting themselves in the limpid waters of the lagoon. Presently a number of men came down to the beach, straightened out the coils of some heavy lines, baited up a lot of big chain-leadered hooks. and began hurling them right out amongst the swimmers. “ Wake up !”’ I shouted to my host, the trader, giving his hammock a vigorous shake. “‘Isn’t it rather risky business throwing fishing-hooks in where a lot of naked boys are swimming ? What if they should snag one of the youngsters ? ” “ Boys’r’all right,” came in a muffled yawn from under the trader’s koui fibre hat. ‘‘ Them coves ain’t fishin’ fer boys; only fishin’ fer sharks.”

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440 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A man-eating shark on the beach at Pearl Harbour, Hawaii. From a Photograph. “Sharks!” I scoffed. “Sharks in there where those boys are swimming! Wake up, man. You’re talking in your sleep.” Thus admonished, the trader sat up, yawned, stretched himself, drank a glass of absinthe, and finally explained that, as a rule, sharks in the Tuamotus did not care for boys, particularly in those localities, like Fakariva, where it was the custom to fish for them daily with succulent hunks of salt pork. The Marquesas, together with the Solomons, which lie a few degrees north and east of Australia, are the only islands of the South Seas where cannibalism is still practised, and here the favourite bait is a live chicken. Pigs and kids are also used, and as a last resort, when no live bait is obtainable, a hunk of beef from the un- bled carcass of one of the wild cattle that abound in several of the larger islands. In Samoa, in the American island of Tutuila, and the German island of Upolo, one may bathe with impunity inside the reefs, but in the large German island of Savaii, if a stranger ventures into the water beyond his knees at any ppint he is pretty sure to be pulled bodily back by the ever-vigilant natives to prevent his being pulled off in the opposite direction by the no-less-watchful sharks. In these islands the natives have a legend about a man and a maid who eloped from Savaii, fled to Tutuila, and were there turned respectively into a shark and a turtle by a god or devil into whose hands they chanced to fall. As a proof of this story, the natives claim that if you go out and sing on a moonlight night at the end of a point near the village of Leone, the shark and the turtle will appear to you. When they told this story to a friend and myself, the former said that he was quite ready to believe the transformation part of it, because his outrigger canoe had “ turned turtle” that very morning, while a native dealer who had sold us curios was nothing if not a ‘‘ shark.” In the matter of the power of music being able to call up the loving pair, however, we were both agreed that we would like a demonstration. That night, therefore, a party of a score or more of the villagers escorted us out to the point, and started up a good lively Samoan “ himinee.” They had finished a swinging native rowing song, and were just getting under way with a local adaptation of an old English ballad that begins “Oh, me nevah will fo’get you,” and goes on with a half-dozen lines of ‘‘ La, la, la, la, las,” to the end of each verse, when the unmistakable dorsal of a man-eater began to cut back- wards and forwards across the rippling moon- path. Simultaneously a black hump began to show above the water directly in front of us, and presently the natives called our attention to the fact that it was slowly rising, adding that it was getting ready to swim over and meet the shark. It was at this juncture that my observant companion noted that the tide was rapidly falling, and after ricochetting a round of bullets from our revolvers off the back of the quondam maiden without stirring her into activity, we went back to the village fully con- vinced that the story was a fabrication, the shark a coincidence, and the turtle a black rock. Sharks are numerous in Magdalena Bay, on the west coast of the peninsula of Lower Cali- fornia, the Pacific rendezvous of the American fleet for target practice. The monsters at this A shark caught at Suva Bay, Fi (Photograph.

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THE SEA-TIGER. 441 point seem to take almost any kind of bait, and it is rarely that a warship is seen at anchor without from one to a half-dozen lines dangling from its stern. Watching a shark-line is a tedious business, but it is strictly necessary in order that the fisherman may know when the monster is hooked, as its frantic rushes, if allowed to go unchecked, are pretty sure to cause some part of the line, leader, or even a portion of its own anatomy to give way, and result in its escape. The old scheme of tying the line around one’s big toe and going to sleep would probably work all right so far as rousing the fisherman was concerned, but the sequel might not leave him in aconditiontogive undivided atten- tion to landing his prize. To this end the officers and sailors have hit on an ingenious plan. Instead of taking in their lines when the dinner - gong sounds or when for any reason they are on duty elsewhere, they Tun a stout piece ports is quite out of the question in Magdalena Bay. There is, to be sure, no record of anyone in the American navy having been attacked by a shark in these waters—a fact not so remarkable when it is also learned that there is no record of anyone having exposed himself. The closest call, perhaps, was that of a well-known lieutenant commander who took a dive into the bathing- pen at the same time that this small enclosure was occupied by a fourteen-foot man-eater. The bathing-pen is a thirty-by-thirty railed-in space on the shore of the bay, built with the ostensible purpose, not of keeping sharks in, but of keeping them out. An unusually high ‘ : Z ae of marlin twine 7,2 cgcers’ bathing-place at Matdalena Bay, Lower California, where an American officer ay from the shark- exciting adventure with a shark. [Ph From a] line up to the steam-whistle, leaving it for the man-eater him- self to announce the event of his being hooked by sounding a toot. I regret to have to state that the inventor of this clever expedient, a surgeon on the torpedo boat X—— (I withhold the name of the craft by request), came near to losing his position as a result of his first experimental trial of this time-saving contrivance. This came about through his lack of judgment in running the main line—instead of the comparatively light twine now employed for that connection—up to the whistle. The latter gave forth a brave toot in response to the jerk of the big “ man-eater” at the other end of the line, but the blast was in the nature of a swan-song. An instant later, with a parting shriek of agony, the whole of the whistling mechanism was wrenched from the after funnel, and, carrying a string of hammocks ind the binnacle-stand along with it, vanished overboard, spinning like a taffrail log in the wake of the flying shark. The X—— did most of her whistling with a foghorn during the remainder of that voyage. The morning plunge overside regularly enjoyed by officers and men in many of the tropical spring tide, however, flooded the top rail to a depth of a couple of feet or more, and during the period of submergence the big shark in some manner nosed his way in, and was left captive when the water subsided. The water of the pen was murky from the action of the swift-running tide of the bottom of the bay, but there was nothing in its dull translucence to awaken sus- picion in the minds of the half-dozen officers who, hot and dusty from a twenty-mile ride into the interior, were preparing for a dip. The commander in question—a man noted for his nervous haste in doing things—was well ahead of the others in stripping for his plunge, a’ circumstance that was entirely responsible for his having to bear alone the shock of the discovery that the pen was already occupied. With a snort of contempt for the slowness of his companions, he sprang from the rocks and disappeared under the cool water in a long, deep dive. An instant later the pen was a vortex of foam, in the midst of which whirled the white shoulders of the commander, and through which cut with lightning flashes the black dorsal and tail fins of the threshing shark. Yelling like a Comanche, the frightened swimmer

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442 THE reached the outer palings at the end of half-a-dozen desperate over- hand strokes, clambered over the barrier, tumbled into the water beyond, and, wide - eyed with terror, started lunging right off towards the open sea. When he was finally recalled to the shore, he de- clared that the pen was literally alive with sharks, and not even after the luck- less man - eater, riddled with bul- lets and bristling with the harpoons of some Indian fishermen, was hauled out on the beach, could he be made to believe that the score or more of its fellows among which he imagined he had plunged had not escaped. Inasmuch as a frightened shark has never been known to touch even a piece of raw beef, the impetuous commander was never in real danger of anything but heart failure and a slap or two from the monster’s tail. Concerning the terror that the imminent pre- sence of a shark can inspire in the human breast, I am able to testify from a little incident which occurred during a recent yachting cruise through the South Pacific. We had been told in Samoa that Suva Bay, Fiji, was a shark’s nest, and graphic verification was furnished on the morning following our arrival. It had been the practice of the men of the- party in all the harbours we had visited up to this point, both in the North and South Pacific, to begin the day with a morn- ing plunge over the rail, a practice which, though not recommended by the old residents, we had never deemed sufficiently hazardous to warrant denying ourselves the refreshing pleasure of. No one had been threatened by a shark, and only three or four lurking black fins had been seen in the course of the voyage. So it was with no misgivings that I, drowsy with sleep, pulled on WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “* An instant later the pen was © vortex of foam, in the midst of which whirled the white shoulders my bathing-suit the first morning in Suva and plunged over the rail in a deep, eye-opening dive. I will let the diary of my friend, Com- modore S——, tell what followed, my own recol- lections being somewhat confused. “Three or four seconds after Freeman dived I saw him come sputtering up through the water, gain the starboard gangway in a succession of wild lunges, come clambering aboard, and col- lapse, speechless with consternation, on a cock- pit transom. Simultaneously, a great shaft of greenish white shot like a meteor under the stern, and an instant later a chorus of excited yells broke out on the deck of the Wanaka, the Australian mail-boat which had come in during the night and anchored half a cable’s length beyond us. The commotion was caused by the hooking on a line dangling from the steamer’s stern of a huge ‘tiger’ shark, a monster so heavy that it required lines from two steam- winches to land its floundering twenty feet of length upon the deck. “Freeman could never explain anything beyond the fact that, on approaching the surface, he suddenly became aware of a round, greenish blur, lighter in colour than the water, increasing

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THE SEA-TIGER. 443 of the commander, and through which cat the black dorsal and tail fins of the threshing shark.” in size at a prodigious rate, and forthwith, being seized with terror, he got back on deck with the loss of as little time as possible. We have always supposed that the shark, baulked in his rush for a bite of man, sought solace in bolting the hunk of salt beef on the end of the Wanaka’s line, as not five seconds elapsed between one event and the other. A sailor on the poop of the Wanaka, who was about to shout a warnirig to us regarding the danger of bathing overside, followed the course of the shark ftom where it shot under the stern of the yacht to the hook which brought it to grief.” The fact that popular observations of the ways of sharks is largely limited to their dilly-dallyings around baited hooks is responsible for the very general belief that it is necessary for them to turn on their backs before taking food into their mouths. Eating from pieces of meat suspended ona line does not represent the normal condition under which the shark feeds, and to regard as characteristic the attitudes he assumes in such circumstances is as unreasonable as to class similarly the antics of a man trying to take a bite from an apple on a string at a Hallow- e’en party. Even when a piece of meat is free from the hook, and the shark is satiated or sus- picious, he will oftenroll overand let it settle down gently into his mouth. But this is not because he is physically un- able to do the trick otherwise. Throw a piece of red beef between three or four hungry “ tigers,” and you will be pretty sure to see the quickest of them snap it out of sight with only the slightest list- ing of his body to one side or the other. Sharks turn slightly in feeding for exactly the same reason that people tip their heads slightly in kissing —because their noses would get in the way if they didn’t—but to claim that the one must turn on its back to eat is as absurd as to maintain that the other must stand on his head to kiss. Shark skin, shark teeth, shark oil, shark meat, and several other by-products of the dead shark are articles of greater or lesser utility, but I have never heard of but one instance where the living shark was put to a practical use. This was when they used him as a prison guard in the old days when British ‘convicts were transported to Australia, the monsters serving this purpose for many years at the Port Arthur settlement, ten miles south of Hobart, the present capital of Tasmania.* The prisons at this point, some of which may still be seen, were situated upon a peninsula whose only connection with the mainland was by a long, narrow strip of sand called, from its configuration, the “ Eaglehawk’s Neck.” The convicts were allowed considerable liberty on the peninsula, but to prevent their escape to the mainland half-starved bloodhounds were * Sharks figure as prison guards in much the same way at the San Juan de Ulua fortress, in Vera Cruz Harbour, Mexico. See our issue for last month.— Ev,

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444 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. chained all the way across the narrowest portion of the ‘ Neck.” Several prisoners having avoided the “bloodhound zone” byswimming, the authorities adopted the effective but gruesome expedient of feeding the sharks at that point several times a day. In a few weeks the place became literally alive with the voracious man- eaters, and from that time on the only convict who ever escaped accomplished his purpose by rolling himself up in kelp and working along. inch by inch, timing his movements to corre- spond with those of the other heaps of sea- weed that were being rolled by the surf. There are still a great number of sharks to be found in the vicinity of “ Eaglehawk’s Neck,” and it was here, a couple of years ago, that I witnessed the phenomenon of a number of these monsters, like so many warships, going into “dry dock,”’ as it were, to have their undersides scraped. Like all other leviathans of the deep, animate and inanimate, the shark occasionally suffers from barnacles and other marine parasites that attach themselves to his hide. On the upper side of the “ Eaglehawk’s Neck” is a flat reef of sandstone, washed at low tide by only a foot or two of water. To this place the sharks are wont to resort, and after picking out a spot where their bodies are just awash, lie for hours while the gently-moving waves rock and rub them back- wards and forwards against the rough rock of the reef. This ‘nature treat- ment” is said to be most efficacious, and the spec- tacle of a dozen or more big “ tigers’ dozing contentedly as the warm waters sway them lazily to and fro—every now and then squirming in a pleased sort of way, as a dog does when his spine is rubbed —is something calculated to awaken, for the moment, at least, a feeling almost akin to sympathy for these most univer- sally dreaded and detested of all God's creatures, Sharks have been known to perform most extraordinary gastronomic feats, and the most remarkable instance I recall in this connec- tion is that of an enormous man-eater that the sailors of our steamer hooked one morning when we were lying off the Ecuadorean quarantine station in the Gulf of Guayaquil. Besides a The jaws of a “man-eater'’ caught in Sydney Bay, Australia. From a Photograph. very considerable assortment of other “ indiges- tibles,” we took from the stomach of this monster the skull, still bearing the stubs of horns several inches in length, of a full-grown steer. The grisly object had undoubtedly come from the slaughter-house dump farther up the river, but how the act of swallowing was accomplished was more than we could figure out. The sailors even went so far as to cut away the jaws of the monster and carry them along when we sailed, and all the rest of the voyage to Panama they spent most of their time “ off watch” in vain endeavours to force the skull between the shining rows of back-curving teeth. The jaws broke and fell to pieces at the joints without the puzzle being solved, but the consensus of opinion, in the fo’c’sle, at least, appeared to be ex- pressed by the ship’s carpenter when he said that the “blessed head must ha’ bin swal- lered when it wuz a calf and then growed up inside!" In the West Indies the spot of most sinister reputation as regards sharks is the famous ‘* Nido de Tiburones,” under the outer wall of the famous Moro Castle of Havana. Built into the seaward wall of this _ historic structure, and leading down into the “shark’s nest,” is a stone chute down which the garbage is thrown, and tradition has it that the Cuban prisoners of the Spanish régime, after they were executed in the gloomy “Laurel Ditch’? of the neighbouring fortress of Cabanas, also took their corporeal departure by this route. The “ shark’s nest” is by no means lacking in tenants at the present day, and a Havana paper commenting on the academic opinion of a learned Chicago professor to the effect that the dangers to swimmers from sharks was a myth, and that he himself had no fear whatever of that “cowardly fish,” suggested that the bathing privileges of the “ Nido de Tiburones ” should be extended to the bold savant to allow him to complete his education.

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SHORT STORIES. A BATTLE WITH A PYTHON. BY JAMES HOGG, OF SALISBURY, RHODESIA. ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY EVISON. How two cyclists, endeavouring to rescue a dog, came in for a life-and-death struggle with a big python. BNAKE stories, like fish stories, are sometimes flavoured with a certain amount of imagination. The fol- lowing strange and stirring adventure with a python, however, is absolutely vouched for. To anyone who is familiar with Rhodesia, where the incident occurred, it is common knowledge that the boundless tracts of veldt, alternated with wooded patches and rugged kopjes, afford excellent breeding-grounds for the python, the ever - dangerous puff-adder, the treacherous boom-slang, and several other varieties of snakes. During the winter of 1912 (about July) two friends of a Mr. Morgan had occasion to visit him at his farm, called Bitton. The homestead is situated about thirty miles from the township of Salisbury, the capital of the country, and in the Lomagundi district. The gentlemen referred to had cycled to Morgan’s homestead, and were accompanied by a very active and pugnacious Scotch terrier dog, the property of one of the men. After transacting their business with Mr. Morgan they mounted their cycles and started slowly on their return journey, along an improvised road or track which led to the homestead. After covering a distance of about five or six hundred yards they were surrounded by bush-land or veldt, which is generally covered with long, coarse, stalky grass, eight or ten feet in height. The terrier had run on some distance in front of the cyclists, and was seen to enter the grass which adjoined the track. It was then heard to ‘bark furiously. On reaching a point opposite the dog’s location, its owner dismounted with the view of ascertain- ing the cause of its persistent barking. His friend also dismounted on the track, and remained there, awaiting results, while the owner of the dog passed on into the grass. After going a few yards he observed a. large python in close proximity to, and facing his dog. The python took one look at the new intruder; then, with lightning rapidity, it advanced upon the dog and wound itself round its body, at the same time biting it on the shoulder. The howls of the dog were heartrending, and its owner, in deepest despair,- hurriedly ran forward and planted his foot on that part of the snake immediately behind its head. At the same time he loudly shouted to his friend, ‘‘ Come in, ——, quick.” The call was obeyed at once ; it also attracted the attention of a native “ boy ” who was at hand, making his way to Morgan's homestead. The curiosity of the “boy” was, of course, aroused, and he, in turn, hurriedly entered the bush. On the approach of cyclist number two the python released its hold of the dog and promptly coiled its body around one of the legs of the gentleman who, strugglingly and only with the greatest difficulty, kept his foot on the monster’s neck. The extraordinary strength which was now exerted by the snake caused intense pain to the man who was thus entangled. By good luck, however, he was wearing stout leather leggings, which, to .a certain extent, protected him. The snake’s crushing grip grew tighter and tighter, and in his suffering he called upon his friend to seize the reptile by the tail. ‘Though the position was most terrifying, his companion proceeded to comply with his friend’s urgent request, and at last took hold of the tail, while at the same time he cast watchful eyes on the head of the snake. The snake- bound captive next ordered the ‘“ boy ”—who

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440 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ih WH | stood gazing in amazement at a respectful distance—to run quickly to Mr. Morgan’s homestead and bring a gun and cartridges. Natives, of course, are not allowed to carry firearms in Rhodesia, but in unusual circum- stances, such as those described, exceptions must be tolerated. At all events, the “ boy ” was only too glad to undertake the order, and rushed off towards the homestead. Meanwhile, the cyclist, who still—though with the utmost difficulty—maintained his footing on the snake’s neck, found that, by the strenuous efforts of his

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SHORT STORIES. 447 friend in holding the snake's tail, the pain in his enveloped leg was less acute. Nevertheless, the minutes dragged horribly, and all the time the snake made persistent efforts to throw off the foot that held him down. Only those who have observed the terrible strength of these creatures can realize the danger and difficulty of the situation which confronted the captive. Undoubtedly, but for the handicap of having its tail held up, the snake would have accomplished its purpose —thrown the man off and seized him in a death-grip. What with the pain and suspense, the first man presently began to stagger under the tremepdous efforts of the snake to free itself, while his friend experienced the utmost diffi- culty in maintaining his hold of its tail. It was, however, a case of life or death, so each held on tenaciously. Though the position was most terrifying, his companion proceeded to comply with his friend's urgent request, and at last took hold of the tail. At last the “boy” arrived with gun and cartridges, but stood back in great terror, for the natives have an extraordinary fear of snakes. The semi-dazed cyclist, however, his limbs racked with pain, vehemently ordered the “boy ” to hand him the gun and cartridges. Gingerly the native approached, and at arm’s length handed over his burden; then he instantly ran back to a safe distance, his face a picture of abject fear. Mechanically the cyclist placed two cartridges in the gun, lowered the muzzle, and at close quarters blew the snake's head into pulp. In its final death struggles the brute threw its captive to the ground, some yards away, and also shook off the tail-holder. . Both men were exhausted after their trying ex- perience and glad to get a rest. Afterwards they measured the dead reptile, and found it thirteen feet in length, and, unex- tended, averaged nearly six inches in thickness. They skinned the snake as evi- dence of the plight in which they had been placed, and to-day its outer covering may be viewed in Salis- bury. The dog fortu- nately recovered, and to-day is as as vivacious and pug- = nacious as before. On news of the encounter being communicated to Mr. Morgan, he re- called that, while passing the same place a few days previously, he had heard a rustling sound among the grass near the roadside, in close proximity to a small stream. At the time he con- cluded it was caused by a buck which had been startled, but now believed it was occasioned by the self-same python. : Thus ended an episode which, in less favourable circumstances, might well have been fraught with fatal consequences.

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448 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. CROSSING THE DESERT. BY C. L. McCLUER STEVENS. ILLUSTRATED BY P. B. HICKLING. How two men set out to cross the terrible Yuma Desert. Something happened that upset their plans, and only the author got through. PSIHAT is, perhaps, the most frightful desert in the world is to be found in @| the extreme south of the State of California. From Fort Yuma on the Rio Colorado westward to San Bernardino, a distance of two hundred miles, there is nothing but sand and salt — burning hot sand mixed with caustic powdered salt. Nothing lives there. nothing grows there. To the Indians it is known by the suggestive title of the “ Desert of the Valley of Death.” The whitescall it the Yuma Desert. The Southern Pacific Rail- way crosses this dried-up ocean bed—for such it really is—and at every twenty miles along the single straight line of rails a section house has been built to accommodate about a score of Chinese coolies. These keep the track in repair, under a white over- seer, and also clear it of the sand that is continually drift- ing over it. Along this track, across this desert, I started to tramp one moonlit August night a good many years ago, travelling westward. I had with me a companion, a sort of semi-professional tramp, or “ hobo.” known as ’Frisco Jim. Each of us possessed a water-bottle, a blanket, and a few dollars in money, and we anticipated no very great difficulty in getting to San Bernardino. Our plan was to march from one section house to the next each night, resting during the heat of the day, when travelling is usually considered to be practically impossible. As a general rule, of course, the American hobo disdains walking when going from one place to another ; he prefers stealing rides in box cars. This plan was impossible on this occasion, however, for the following reason. At Fort Yuma the Southern Pacific Railway crosses from Arizona into California, and the Legislature of the latter State had passed a Bill compelling the company to seal the doors of its Mr. C. L. McCluer Stevens, who here relates his terrible experiences when crossing the desert of Southern California. From a Photograph. cars with leaden discs; at the same time it decreed that to break one of these seals was a felony, punishable with fifteen years in the State Penitentiary. Now a hobo will go to almost any length to get a free ride. and thinks little or nothing of jumping a freight train when it is travelling at anything up to twenty miles an hour. But he draws the line at breaking into a sealed car, for the penalty is too terrible, for one thing, and. for another, detection is cer- tain to follow, because the brakesmen and conductors can tellat a glance, by merely walking alongside the train whenever it comes to a halt, whether any of the seals have been tampered with. The idea of the Californian .«kislature in adopting these measures was to stem the influx of tramps into their State by way of the Southern Pacific Railway. It was thought that the two hun- dred miles of waterless desert would act as a barrier which very few amongst them would either care or dare to cross on foot. And to a certain extent the authorities were right. Hun- dreds of hoboes got as far as Yuma, on the eastern edge of the desert, and there stuck fast, ulti- mately to return the way they had come ; for the one thing necessary to get across to San Bernar- dino was money, and money was just the one thing that for the most part they had not got. ’Frisco and I were amongst the few exceptions. He had been working in the mines at Tombstone. in Arizona ; I had been cow-punching in Texas. We each of us had some of our earnings left. although not sufficient to pay our fares to San Francisco, whither we were bound. Our first night’s march into the desert was delightful. We started at twelve o’clock by the light of a rising moon, and found ourselves in a land of silvery enchantment. The level plain of snow-white sand, quite still and entirely devoid of life, seemed to my eyes supremely beautiful.

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SHORT STORIES. . 449 The temperature was just about right for walking, for, although during the daytime the heat in the desert is frightful, a chill seems to fall from the sky at sunset, so that the nights are almost always comfortably cool. The air, quite dry and absolutely pure, acted as a tonic, being bracing and invigorating to an almost inconceivable degree. We arrived at the first section house, twenty miles from Yuma, soon after dawn, and found the Chinamen busy cooking their breakfast of bacon and beans and fresh white rolls. They readily agreed to allow us to share their repast on payment of twenty-five cents (about one shilling) apiece, and the same expenditure in the evening procured us a similar substantial supper. During the day we dozed and rested in the shade of the stockade surrounding their compound. Within an hour of sunrise it became stiflingly hot, and continued so throughout the day. We did not suffer unduly, however, for we were sheltered from the direct rays of the sun, and we had water in plenty to drink. But the shadeless desert all round us shimmered like the mouth of a furnace. “It’s Hades with the lid off,” remarked ’Frisco about noon. “ Perhaps you don’t realize quite how hot it really is out there. Look here, I’ll show you something.” So saying, he took from his blanket pack two long rashers of lean bacon, and going down to the railroad track laid them end to end on the top of one of the stcel rails. In ten minutes they were crisp and curled, cooked to a turn by the sun’s rays beating on the hot metal. I expressed the astonishment I felt. “Oh,” replicd ’Frisco, carelessly, “it’s an old hobo’s trick. I’ve done the same thing before in summer-time in the Mojave Desert. and that’s not so hot as here, being farther north.” A few minutes after midnight we started for the next section house, after filling our water- bottles at a big iron tank of the kind attached to all the compounds, and which are fed from artesian wells worked by windmills. Our march differed in no respect from the one of the night before, and we arrived within sight of our destination just as the sun was rising above the edge of the desert. Here, however, a surprise awaited us. Instead of the gate of the compound being open, allowing a view of the bustling life inside, it was closed and barred, while at each corner of the stockade stood an armed sentry. A_ strange silence brooded over the place. Evidently something was seriously wrong. Our first thought was that the section house Vol. xxxi.—32. had been raided by hostile redskins, for there still lurked in the mountains that rimmed the desert a few bands of wild Apaches, and these occasionally gave trouble. We hurried forward, speculating as we went, until we were within hail of the nearest sentry. Then we got another, and greater, surprise. The soldier brought his rifle down to the “ready” position, and called out to us not to come any nearer, or he would shoot. We halted at once, of course. and ‘Frisco called out to him to ask what was up. He answered us in one dreadful word :— “ Smallpox.” A minute or so later the sergeant in charge appeared on the platform where the sentry was, and explained matters more fully. The disease, it appeared, had broken out the day previously amongst the coolies, and a guard had been hurried to the spot by special train from San Bernardino. It was intended to isolate the section house and everybody in it. No one was to be allowed to leave it, and no one could approach it. Here was a pretty fix! We had no food: and, what was far worse, we had no water, having emptied our bottles during the night. One can march without food in the desert, but water one must have. ‘Frisco joined his entreaties to mine, asking that we might at least be allowed to fill our bottles before resuming our journey ; otherwise. we pointed out, we should almost assuredly die of thirst. But the sergeant was adamant. © Better that you two hoboes should leave your bones in the desert than that you should survive to carry the infection all down the line,” he said. ‘* You can either turn back or go pn. whichever you please, but if you attempt to approach the stockade, either to procure food or obtain water, or for any other purpose, you will be shot.” After this, of course. there was nothing more to be said. ’Frisco turned to me, and gazing into his wide-open eyes I saw there a look of horror and despair quite indescribable. “Tt means death,” he whispered, huskily, licking his dry lips. “Oh, nonsense,” I cried, affecting a confidence I was far from feeling. ‘ We must push on at once to the next section house.” To this suggestion, however, my companion- turned a deaf ear. “It can’t be done,” he kept repeating, doggedly. ‘‘ No man can cover twenty miles in the salt desert without water.” “ Well, I’m going to try, anyhow,” I replied ; “ come along.”

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450 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. But ’Frisco shook his head determinedly, and I left him there, sitting dejectedly by the side of the track in the blazing*sunshine. For the first three or four miles I did not suffer unduly, but after that the heat grew greater and greater. The burning desert wind got up, moreover, and blew the salt sand into my mouth and eyes, choking and blinding me. By the time I had covered half the distance I was reeling and sprawling about all over the “He answered us in one dreadful word : ‘Smallpox.’” place like a drunken man. My lips cracked and bled. My brain seemed on fire. Horrible stabbing pains came and went all over me. Again and again I dropped by the side of the track and lay there exhausted. Then, after a while, summoning all my will power, I would struggle to my feet and stumble along a little way. When I could not walk, owing to the horrible faintness that kept coming over me, I crawled painfully from one wooden sleeper to another, using my fingers to drag myself along. Presently the, rails began to sing, then a rumble behind me became a roar, and I rolled off the track to let the west-bound express go by. I caught a fleeting glimpse through plate- glass windows of well-dressed people lolling back in their comfortable arm-chair seats, with iced drinks before them. Did they see me? I do not know. I hope not—for the sake of our common humanity. Night came. The moon rose. The stars drew near through the thin, clear air. Still I crawled along the interminable track, with its endless procession of sand-covered, white sleepers, and its twin ribbons of rails. I could see the section house now, but it took, I judged, fully two hours to cover the final mile of the twenty. I got there at last in the small hours of the morning when nobody was about, and drawing myself up to the trough beneath the spigot of the water tank I drank—and drank—and drank. Then I slept the sleep of utter exhaustion ; to wake presently still thirsty, and drink and drink again. I was saved. I had accomplished the seemingly impossible. As regards ’Frisco, I never heard what became cf him, nor have I ever set eyes on him from that day to this. My firm belief is that he ultimately perished of thirst in the near vicinity of that horrible pest-house that lay hidden, like some unclean thing, in the depths of the salt desert.

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VALLEY. By THOMAS B. DONOVAN. Though Switzerland is over-run every year.by tens of thousands of tourists there are still parts of it which are quite unknown. One of the most remarkable and picturesque of these “unspoilt” regions is the Lotschen Valley, where the peasants have preserved the manners and customs of centuries ago, tending their flocks and living their simple lives entirely unaffected by modern civiliza- tion. This article describes and illustrates some of the curious customs of this mountain Utopia. IN THE LOTSCHEN Ancient Napoleonic uniforms worn by the villagers on ceremonial occasions—Nearly From a) every family owns one of these uniforms. HE axiom that one-half of the world does not know how the other half | lives can be nowhere so well ex- emplified as in Switzerland. Here, in the playground of Europe, which is overrun every year by armies of tourists numbering their tens of thousands, there are still, astonishing as it may seem, beauty-spots unknown to all but the few, _ where century-old customs and manners have been preserved until the present day despite the foreign influences which have cosmopolitanized the major por- tion of the country. It is even more astonishing that such a spot is to be found in the high Alps, where the tourists from a hundred nations congregate. Such is the case, however, and those in search of new experi- ences have no need to- go far afield; they may find them within a stone’s throw of the beaten track, in the Létschen Valley, divided only by a mountain range from some of the most-frequented Swiss resorts. One of the greatest living authorities on the Alps, the Rev. W. A. B. Coolidge, in con- versation with the writer, has described the Létschen Valley as the most unique district in Switzerland. Certainly it would be difficult to find anywhere in Europe a community leading such a primitive and picturesque life in such close proximity to the haunts of fashion. The natural beauties of the valley bear comparison with those of any of the Swiss valleys whose names are house- hold words, and render even more incomprehen- sible the neglect which it has suffered, or, as some would say, enjoyed. | Photograph.

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452 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The reason for the immunity of the Létschen Valley from the influences which have “civilized” interesting and picturesque Swiss customs out of existence elsewhere may be briefly stated. A beneficent Providence surrounded it and enclosed it by mountains and glaciers in such a manner that it was, if not actually inaccessible, to be reached only with considerable difficulty. Its walls are formed by lofty, snow-clad moun- tains ; one of its gateways is a mighty glacier, the other a wild rocky gorge several miles in length, as often as not obstructed by avalanche falls, Until this year the only means of communica- tion with the outer world of the Rhone Valley centuries, and there are one or two buildings, no longer used as human habitations, which bear inscriptions showing that they were erected in the fifteenth century. Dwelling in the houses which have served their families for many genera- tions, the people live an idyllic pastoral life, differing little from that of their forbears for several hundred years past. The chief village, Kippel, is typical of all of them. Stately wooden buildings, burnt a deep rich brown by the sunshine of centuries, are grouped in picturesque disorder on the hillside, the road passing casually past the front door of one house and through the rear premises of another. Odd-looking barns raised on “ stilts” The “ square” at Kippel, the chief village of the valley—Many of the chalets are hundreds of years old. From a Photograph. was the mule-path leading through this gorge. Through this wild, inhospitable ravine all the stores not raised by the inhabitants had to be brought—a journey of four to six hours. For- tunately the needs of these simple people are few, and they are practically independent of outside supplies. Their sheep supply them with meat, besides wool, from which the women weave the black cloth which forms the clothing of young and old. Their cattle provide milk and cheese, and timber is abundant for building purposes and fuel. Some thousand persons inhabit the four tiny villages of brown wooden houses, roofed with shingle, which dot the green pastures. Many of these wooden dwellings have withstood storm and avalanche since the sixteenth and seventeenth are attached to many houses. A space of several feet is left between the floor of the barn and the ground to prevent the entrance of mice. The communal buildings number three—school, wash- house, and bakehouse. The bakehouse, which is used by all in turn, would probably be con- sidered the most important of these, for bread, with potatoes, forms the chief article of nourish- ment. Potatoes are planted in every available spot, and plots not larger than a table-top are seen, their produce being dug up with as much care as if it were gold. A communal stud-ox is another important feature of the village, for the cattle form the chief source of income. The wealth of the community is reckoned by the number of cattle, sheep, and goats which it possesses, and the life of the villagers centres

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IN THE LOTSCHEN VALLEY. 453 work. This means a tramp of two hours each way. perhaps, but the pious peasant girls are never in such a hurry that they omit to say a prayer at each of the way- side shrines. The life led by these “Sennerinen,”’ as they are called. is even more _ primitive than that in the vil- lages, and the quarters are generally shared with the cattle, which are housed on the ground floor of the huts. A picturesque One of the streets of Kippel — Notice the barn on the left, raised on stilts ta prevent the depredations of From al rats. (Photograph. ceremony known as the ‘ blessing round the herds. In spring a cross is marked of the pastures,” takes place soon after the on the foreheads of the cattle, with charcoal migration to the higher mountain slopes. The saved from the Holy Saturday ritual before they priest comes up from the village and blesses the are driven to the high mountain pastures. Early in July the herds move up to the moun- tain pastures, and there the women of the community make their homes for more than two months, tending the cattle and making _ butter and cheese. Thosewith small children remain here the whole time, but the younger women and unmarried girls in many cases return daily to the vil- lage to do the necessary house- From a) The communal bakehouse, which is used by everyone in turn. [Photograph

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454 : THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Lite Lotschen girls wearing the curious arrangement used for carrying loads. From a Photograph. huts and their inhabitants, the cattle, and bread, salt and water, which are grouped round a large’ wooden cross. Wood-charcoal is also blessed, and used to mark a cross on the backs of the cattle. For this service the priest receives as fee butter made on that particular day on all the pasture-lands. Each particular pasture district has its own customs, and one of these, which has been prac- tised since the sixteenth century, is of peculiar From a Photograph, Three Létechen girls ready to start for the mountain pastures. interest. Every drop of milk obtained from the cattle of three adjoining pasture-lands on three consecutive days is made into cheese, none being diverted to other uses, and the cheese is kept until Easter Monday in the communal cellar. It is then divided amongst the poor of the valley, the distribution taking place on a meadow adjoin- ing the village. The many customs and traditions with which the lives of the Létschen peasants are bound up so intimately start on the very day _of birth. Children are christened on the day they are born, and the godfather and godmother each bring as a present a huge loaf of bread, weighing about eight pounds, which must not cost less than three francs. This peculiar gift is richly coloured with saffron. The cere- monies of the occasion further include the presenting of the god- mother by the godfather with a glass of wine, she in her turn giving him a handkerchief. The patriarchal nature of the valley's government is illustrated by the fact that young men are forbidden to smoke until they have reached the age of twenty. On the death of a Létschen peasant two of his best friends perform the last duties, each re- ceiving for this service one of the best articles of clothing left by the deceased. According to the preva- lent tradition, should anything but

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IN THE LOVSCHEN VALLEY. +55 income. being made up in kind by gifts of butter and other articles, Two of the most important seasons of the year are those of hay-making and sheep - shearing. While thewomen are with the cattle on the upland pastures the men attend to the hay- The ‘Blessing of the Pastures” — For this service the village priest receives by way of fee the whole of the butter made on From a) that particular day (Photograph. the best clothing be presented, the unfortunate ghost is attired only in rags on the occasion of the ghostly processions which are supposed to take place in the autumn. Black are erected over the graves of married persons, the colour of those placed on the graves of the unmarried being blue. In this miniature Utopia money is almost unknown, and there are people who do not handle coin from one year’s end to the other. It is, in fact, all but superfluous, the peasant providing his own milk and cheese, meat and potatoes, while his wife spins the cloth for their clothing on the antiquated - looking weaving machines found in nearly every house. Taxes, too, are rare, and the only local tax for “church and school a kind of death duty of slightly less than two pounds, which has to be paid on the death of any adult possessing land or goods. The scanty proceeds of this tax suffice to pay the parish priest, the remainder of his From a) Peasant girls at a wayside shrine, (Photograph. crosses

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456 godfather, with the cus- loaf which always figures christening. From a@ P otograph. making, and starting with the fields in the neighbour- hood of the village, gradu- ally move upwards until every wisp of hay on the highest and most inaccessible meadows has been gleaned. At this time the only per- sons left in the villages are the priest and the storekeeper. The sheep-shearing takes place in autumn, and the whole community devotes itself to this task for a couple of days. The writer was fortunate enough to visit the Létschen Valley at the time this was taking place, and found the villagers, young and old, from the president of the parish down to the postman, assembled on a large meadow, busily en- gaged in stripping the wool from the hundreds of sheep, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, which had been washed on the previous day. While the children caught the animals as they were required, the parents sat in pairs and accomplished the shearing with shears of a primitive pattern that has been used for generations. The sheep are invariably marked by a puncture or slit in the ears, and as there are some two hundred different sheep-owners it is remarkable that mistakes are so infrequent. There are no wheeled vehicles in the Létschen Valley, and ploughs are unknown. The peasants are also without the luxury of a doctor, so that Insurance Acts do not worry them. The priest supplies simple herbal remedies, and one of the peasants has acquired a local reputation as a bone-setter. Cold winters do not dismay the people of Létschen, the commune supplying firewood from the neighbouring forests. Most of the festivals and holidays celebrated in the Létschen Valley are of a religious character. The processions which take place on these occasions are chiefly remarkable for the presence of a military guard of honour attired in uniforms reminiscent of the Napoleonic wars. Almost every family owns one of these picturesque uniforms, which the head of the family dons four or five times a year. In many cases they are genuine old Napoleonic or Neapolitan uniforms, The Létschen peasant’s love of the pic- turesque is likewise manifested by the fact that One of the primitive weaving machines in use in the valley. From a Photograph.

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IN THE LOTSCHEN VALLEY. quite a large proportion of the young men go to Rome and serve in the Papal Zouaves for some years, The amusements of these people are marked by the same simplicity that accompanies their | \ daily life. Theatrical performances which bear the character of Passion plays take place in t 457 Valley, which has with- stood the changes and innovations of several centuries, will be trans- formed within the next ten years or so. The world, which has been From a) the spring in the open air, while in summer the Kippel, the largest village in the valley. (Photograph. kept at arm’s length so long, is now at its very chief distraction is afforded by the meet- gates. The great Létschberg Tunnel of the new ings of the rifle clubs. These rifle clubs are, curiously enough, cor- porations owning land whic is cultivated by the members. The pro- ceeds are devoted to the purchase of wine, which is drunk on the occasion of the shoot- ing matches. An old custom which used to be followed on Shrove Tuesday has now been forbidden on account of abuses. Men dressed in sheep- skins, with terrifyingmasks, proceeded through the vil- lages, frighten- ing the young folk and impart- ing lusty thwacks with their sticks to the adults who came in their way. The fear is ex- pressed in many quarters that the Lotschen Létschen pessants in their Shrove Tuesday masks. Fron a Photograph, Alpine railway, to be opened this summer, emerges in ‘ the rocky gorge men- tioned at the beginning of this article, and within an hour’s easy walk of the chief villages. The _ Létschen Valley is des- tined, thanks to the new interna- tional highway, tobecomeaplace of pilgrimage for thousands of curious sight- seers and tourists ; but the old priest who has spent nearly half a century in this tranquil spot sighs as he speaks of the changes which the new con- ditions will effect in the characters of his beloved people.

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TWO THRILLING BRITISH CLIMBS. By ASHLEY P. ABRAHAM, Ex- President of the Rock-Climbing Clab. A breezy description of two rock- climbs in Cumberland—one of them quite new—that are both difficult and dangerous, or, in the language of the mountaineering text - books, “exceptionally severe.” Mr. Abra- ham’s account of these nerve-trying scrambles will probably set other climbers wishing to test their skill and pluck on the Cumberland mountains. ea OUNTAINEER- ING in Switzer- Mi land is some- times difficult, " in the Caucasus it is often dangerous, but mountaineering as_prac- tised in Cumberland is both difficult and dangerous.” Thus spoke the greatest climber the world has ever seen— the late A. F. Mummery. . His dictum was promp- ted by his climb up the Great Gully of the Screes, the first ascent of which he made many years ago. It is somewhat singular that the only man who could dispute priority with Mummery as a climber, O. G. Jones, should have made the first ascent of A stern pull—Scaling the newly-discovered Abbey Ridge on Great Gable. the neighbouring and much From a Photo. by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. more difficult Central Gully

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TWO THRILLING BRITISH CLIMBS. 459 of the Screes. Singular also is it that both these two men should have lost their lives on the moun- tains—O. G. Jones in the terrible accident on the Dent Blanche, when he and three guides were hurled to their doom over the great western precipice, and A. F. savage recesses of the Himalayas. “ Backing up” & typical pitch—By this method it is often possible to climb very dificult places. and exclaimed, “ That’s_my eighth accident. Like the proverbial cat, I believe I have nine lives, and my next fall will be my last.” Alas ! his jesting words came but too true, for the following August saw him on the Dent Blanche for the last time. Tt was with thoughts of these two giants in From a Photo. by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. Jones made a second attempt upon the Central Gully, but in essaying the difficult Ninth Obstacle a ledge gave way, and he was precipitated down the cleft until pulled up by the rope. Bruised, shaken, and defeated, he and his party returned to Wastdale Head. I well remember his white and rueful face as he stood at the hotel door our minds that a party of four of us left the comfortable hostel at Wastdale in the spring of 1912, intent upon trying conclusions with the famous (or, as some would write it, infamous) Central Gully. As we rounded the foot of Wastwater we had a magnificent sight of the great rock bastion of the Screes. ‘An idea of its

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460 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Far below we could see the end of Wastwater tramed in magnificent portals of black rock.” From a Photo, by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. vast proportions will be conveyed when I recall the fact that a mass bigger than the Manchester Town Hall fell from it the other day, and made only an almost invisible scar. As we arrived directly opposite it we saw that a black perpendicular rift clove it from top to bottom. This was the Central Gully. In places it was blocked and spanned by huge fallen boulders, over the upper edges of which poured a thin stream of water. So uninviting did it appear that one of us suggested another climb as more fitting for sedate married men. The idea was scouted by the others, however, and we scrambled up the rough screes to the foot of the gully. Here we put on the rope and displayed that modesty so common on the part of climbers when the question arose as to who should carry the large camera, which was an im- portant member of the party. Being a peace- loving man the apparatus fell to me, and a great incubus it proved. In climbing gullies in Cumberland the ‘ backing-up” method is always greatly in evidence (see previous page), but with anything on one’s back this becomes quite impossible.

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The gully was fairly easy at the outset, but far above us we could see difficulties in plenty, so that we began the scramble with a sense of excitements to come that some- what detracted from the present enjoyment. We passed up the left-hand side of the Pirst Fitch—a steep bulge in the gully bed, over which poured a small waterfall. Above this the rift narrowed to a steep gutter which left us no alternative but to climb up through the water. We could use small ledges on either side, but the moisture rendered them slippery tothe hands. The feet had to do most of the work, At one place the only handhold avail- able was secured by clenching the fist inside the crack so as to form a wedge—a somewhat painful process for the back of the hand. Two more pitches succeeded this, and then it became evident that we had dispensed w:th the preliminaries and that the gully was ge‘ting really “ stiff.” The great Seventh Pitch, of which we had heard most alarming accounts, loomed high above us. Far below we could see the end of Wastwater framed in magnificent portals of black rock. Altogether it was truly an imposing situation, and one that only the cragsman can enjoy. Ten minutes later we were disposed on the steep slabs below the difficult pitch. Here a “breather” and some photographs were taken, after which the leader climbed up to a small cave about forty feet below the great boulder that dominates the obstacle. He was then joined by the second man, who braced himself firmly amidst the ferns and paid out the rope as the leader slowly traversed across to the left, and thence up the vertical buttress, well shown in the accompanying photograph. It was an exciting moment as he stepped across on to the top boulder, and “the ranks of Tus- cany,” as represented by three wet and shiver- ing climbers, “‘ could scarce forbear to cheer.” After photographing the pitch, my brother and I ascended a steep rock buttress and joined the other two higher up the gully. We were now at the foot of the Ninth Pitch, the one from which poor Jones had fallen. It consisted of a narrow wet groove which Jones had avoided by climbing up the left wall, whence he had crept along a tiny ledge back to the top of the difficult part. His accident was caused by this ledge falling bodily away under him, so it is nowadays a matter of climbing up the groove direct. The rocks were slippery and wet, the hand : and foot holds of an elementary description, Mateees” Biren tn the ferred Gin ee eee and the general inclination oy, the ely The “Great Pitch” in the Central Gully of the Serees—The rope froma Messrs. Abraham, Keswick.

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verged upon the vertical. gether the difficulties of this pitch quite justify the inclusion of the gully amongst the “ exceptionally severe” courses in the standard books. This means, of course, that it is just within the bounds of human possibility. With a heavy camera upon my back, I found it just outside these bounds, and the rope, held tightly by the leader from above, more than a little comforting. Even so, it was very hard and exciting work. Its “ lingering Sweetness ” dwells in my mind to the present time, also the memory of its moisture and discomfort. 1 recalled a little doggerel I had heard some time before, and was struck by its truth :— On Cumbrian faces, in perilous places, More safety we all of us find— True sportsmen and shoddy—in absence of body Than even in presence of mind. Thence to the top the angle of the gully eased off somew hat, and ere long we were seated on the summit of the Screes mountain with its most difficult climb in our “bag.” The sun was setting over the sea, and we enjoyed to the full the sight of its level rays as they traversed the water and countryside beyond. There followed a lazy hour, as we lay stretched on the heather, smoking and thinking of nothing in particular until the afterglow had faded from the sky. A chill nip in the air prompted a move, and ere long we were skirting the top of the mountain, whence we descended its glacis to our hostel, A climb of a very different The difficult obstacle “in the Screes Gully from a ledge high up on the . G. Jone From a Photo, by Messrs, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It was ft wall that the late U ty Keswick, sort is that of the newly - discovered Abbey Ridge, on Great Gable. —In- deed, the two courses are just the antithesis of each other, and the party that accom- plishes both will gain an excellent idea of the varying joys that steep rocks have to offer. The Abbey Ridge, the sheer unbroken buttress of the Great Gable rocks overlooking Wastwater on the south, is one of the newest of our home climbs. Those who know with what minuteness every rock face and cleft in the Wastwater vicinity is searched out and climbed will conclude that those left until nowadays must be difficult indeed, and their conclu- sion would be more than justified in this case. The ridge or buttress in question rises al- most vertically from the screes at its base for fully three hundred feet, when its angle decreases some- what, but it con

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TWO THRILLING BRITISH CLIMBS. 463 tinues to offer exhilarating climbing. Its chief difficulties are the smooth- ness of the rock, the general steepness, and, above all, the fact that the leader must climb from the small platform near the foot for quite seventy feet before he can relax the tension or take in the second man’s rope. This means that if the leader should become fatigued or flurried he can expect no help from his com- rades, and, unless he speedily pulls himseif together, a fall, necessarily fatal from that height, must result. A steady nerve and dauntless confidence, therefore, are essmtial in the leader. The climb starts from behind a detached pinnacle, which I found useful as a foothold in getting well on to the nose of the but- tress. Hereabouts the holds are small but firm, and I mounted quickly for about thirty feet. Then the rocks became quite vertical, and, moreover, presented no holding for the hands. A small ledge led round to the left, however, and after sidling gingerly along this for about ten feet, in a most exposed situation, I found that it gave out over a sheer drop. Immedi- ately above it the rocks looked hopeless at first, but a closer inspection revealed two small On the rocks handholds (the lowest figure in the illustration Of ae era aie on this page is standing upon them). ‘There ture shows the for- were just these and nothing more, as far as bidding, unbroken Y { could see. My view downwards was SES tie delightful. The steep rocks beneath were first. man must climb YN outlined against the top of my companions’ seventy feet without re- heads, immediately beyond which, but a Jaxation or possibility of help from his comrades. couple of hundred feet below, was 4 snow von Photo. by Messrs. Abraham, Keswick,

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464 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. patch at the foot of the crags, then, two thousand feet beyond, the shimmering surface of Wast- water. Grasping the two small handholds firmly, I succeeded in pulling myself up until, by letting go with the left hand, I could quickly reach another small ex- crescence. It proved sufficient, and after a strenuous struggle I attained a position where one could take a short but much- needed rest. The situation was magnificent and exhilarating to a degree. The feeling that one’s life is literally carried in one’s hands, that the least carelessness or inattention must be attended with the direst results, induces a wonderful feeling of lightness and joy of living. At the time one does not stay to analyse these sensations, but they are ever present, and no doubt account in very great measure for the fascination the crags exercise over their votaries My position did not warrant a protracted stay, and in a few seconds I traversed back to the right in an endeavour to regain the crest of the ridge. Once there I knew that upward progress, although still difficult, was quite feasible. When about five feet away from it, how- rill i ever, the hand and foot holds i fi bs Ir ssential—the ed Where, © pirady nerve and dauntless confidence are absolitey nuick ceased. I could see a handhold 2 =F eas oe

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Vol, xxxi.—33. TWO THRILLING BRITISH CLIMBS = -_ 465 The final difficulty on the Abbey Ridge. From a Photo, bv Messrs. Abraham, Keswick. about six feet in front of me, but, after a desperate attempt to stretch across, found that it was still about a foot beyond my reach. The difficulty was solved by climbing upwards about three feet, and then a narrow ledge for the hands enabled ‘me to swing myself along on their support alone until I could drop down with my right hand on the desired knob of rock. A sensational and airy swing across, and a stiff pull upwards on the arms, landed me at the top of the “ mau- vais pas,’ ‘whence a_ short scramble led to a wide ledge where the rope could be held for my comrades. Ere long we foregathered on the platform, and tackled the upper part of the ridge with a will. Its airy situation, combined with good - but not too large holds, rendered © it a most inspiring bit of climb- ing, with one really difficult stretch just before we reached the easier angle of the moun- tain. It is not necessary to en- large upon the beauties of the views from Great Gable’s summit or the joys of the stroll down the easier side of the mountain in the cool of evening. These are appreci- able by all, but I hope that a description of these two homeland climbs may convey some idea of the reasons why thé rocks attract such great numbers of cragsmen every year; why, brain - weary and fatigued by the worries inci- dental to earning their livings, men feel the call of the mountains and _ willingly answer their summons; why they seek renewed health and strength in the noblest sport that has yet been discovered —the sport that gives the finest training both mentally and physically, the sport that fires the blood !

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THE VOYAGE OF THE “ SNOWDON RANGE.” BY E. EMMERSON. ILLUSTRATED BY W. B. WIGPULL. The safe arrival of the steamship ‘Snowdon Range” after she had been given up as lost in mid- Atlantic, and the heroic conduct of her captain and crew, who were later publicly féted and honoured by the underwriters at Lloyd’s, attracted a great deal of attention. Below will be found the first authoritative narrative of the vessel's eventful voyage, compiled under the superintendence of her commander. In_ straightforward language the writer —the ship’s steward, who rendered most valuable assistance when the officers, one by one, were incapacitated—describes how the vessei became disabled, the succession of terrible storms that drove her out of her course, the perils and privations that all on board had to endure, and the plucky fight they made to save their vessel. Finally, by what seemed like a miracle, the gales that had so nearly made an end of the ship took her in their charge, brought her through all the outlying dangers of Queenstown Harbour, and left her safe, though sorely battered, on a sandbank. No more stirring story of the sea has been told during recent years. | HAVE been asked by Captain E. J. ! Dickinson, commander of the Snowdon Range, to set down, for the benefit of readers of THE WIDE Wortp Macazine, a full and com- plete record of our remarkable voyage across the Atlantic. In doing so I would add that Captain Dickinson has rendered every assistance in the preparation of this narrative, having made the charts that accompany it, and corrected all technical points regarding the navigation of the ship; he has also read and approved the final draft of the story. It was with light hearts that we put out from Philadelphia on November 22nd last, with a general cargo, bound for Leith. The passage The Author, Mr. E. Emmerson, who. * of the remarkable voyage of the “Snowdon Range,” under the supervision of the captain. From a Photograph. should have occnpied us twenty days, and we expected to make port in that time. Little did we dream then that seventy-two days—never- to-be-forgotten days of anxiety, adventure, and suffering—would elapse before Leith was reached, and that we should have been given up as lost by owners and underwriters, thereby causing the utmost distress to our relatives and friends. Indeed, the news that the Snowdon Range had not foundered in ‘mid- -Atlantic, as it was fully believed she had done, sent a thrill through the whole shipping world, and made her eventful voyage, with its manifold happenings and the heroic conduct of her captain and crew, one of the most remarkable and daring in the annals of the sea. For weeks we were tossed about in mid-ocean by the fiercest of storms, rudderless and helpless. One by one officers and men became incapacitated through injuries received during their Herculean attempts to repair damage inflicted upon our vessel by the gales, making the task of the survivors doubly arduous. Then at last, when land was sighted, and we were nearing port, with

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THE VOYAGE OF THE every prospect of our trying ordeal being brought to an end, a sudden storm made it impossible for the tuys to take us into harbour. We were left helpless at the mercy of the storm, expecting moment .rily to be dashed against the rocks or to founder upon the dangerous shoals. We were driven hither and thither, anticipating the end at any moment; but, as fate would have it, the elements, which we thought would be our undoing, actually drove us into the harbour, and we were finally saved. My official position on the Snowdon Range was that of steward, but sixteen years’ work at sea had taught me something of the art of sea- manship, so I was enabled to render some very necessary help to the captain and officers during those terrible weeks. Our vessel was a steel screw cargo steamer of just over three thousand tons gross register, and classed 100 Ar at Lloyd’s. She was in command of Captain Dickinson, one of the ablest of seamen, and I know every member of the crew will agree with me when I say that it was through his daring, indomitable courage and wonderful seamanship that we ever managed to reach port. There were, in addition to the captain, two officers, three engineers, six petty-officers, six sailors, and six firemen, a total of twenty-four hands all told. Like the captain, I had served just over four years on the Snowdon Range. With the exception of the chief engineer, it was the first trip that most of the other officers and the crew had made in the vessel. We loaded up at Philadelphia with a cargo of grain and oil, and set sail for Leith on November 22nd, following the North Atlantic track. Nothing unusual happened until we had been out thirteen days, when, on the morning of December 5th, in lat. 56 N. long. 35 W., we were struck by a violent north-west gale, accompanied by heavy seas. The ship commenced to labour somewhat, so everything was made fast, and we fully expected to weather the storm safely. At half- past one in the afternoon, however, the fierce wind and mountainous seas broke our rudder loose just below the couplings. We were now _ about nine hundred miles from land and in rather an awkward predicament. With a useless rudder we were unable to steer, so were abso- lutely at the mercy of the storm and liable to be blown out of our course. Moreover, the loose rudder was a menace to our safety, for it was continually being dashed by the powerful waves against the sides of the vessel, which might start her plates and cause a serious leak ; it was liable also to damage the propeller. : To prevent these catastrophes occurring we at once set to work to lash the rudder with steel wire. With considerable difficulty, on account “SNOWDON RANGE.” 467 of the high seas that were running, this was done ; but unfortunately it did not last long, the lashings breaking loose through the continual buffeting of the waves. Then, for four or five days, we could do absolutely nothing owing to the mountainous seas. The waves drove clean over the decks, sweeping our gallant steamer from stem to stern. In the meantime we were drifting helplessly about, it being virtually impos- sible to keep the vessel on her course. The captain now gave orders for a large jury- rudder to be made, on the principle of a sea- anchor, cone-shaped, and to be used as a drag. It was quickly rigged up out of wire and canvas, bound together with stout ropes, and was about twenty feet in length. The object of such a contrivance, of course, is to prevent a vessel from drifting and keep her head to the seas. Unfortunately the weather was too bad to get the jury-rudder out, so an effort was made to keep the vessel’s head to sea by setting sails. The two mainsails and two try-sails were set, but the next day, in a furious gale, they were blown to rags, the torn sails and ropes falling upon the deck, where they were washed by the sea from one side of the ship to the other. Finally they caught in the steam-pipes, and so strong was the force of the water rushing over the decks that the steam-pipes were carried bodily away. Next morning, to our great relief, the broken part of the rudder disappeared. Caught by a tremendously heavy sea, it snapped with a loud report and sank. Everybody breathed more freely when it had gone, as we had come to regard that dangerous dangling object as a veritable mill- stone round the vessel’s neck. Before it went it badly damaged the propeller, dashing pieces right out of it. Unfortunately after this the storm increased in violence, and there appeared little prospect of its subsiding. ‘The sky was dark and overcast, and the weather bitterly cold. We had continual heavy squalls, accompanied by snow and hail. On the sixth day of the storm the engineers repaired the deck steam-pipes at the peril of their lives, while the mate, sailors, and myself yot the two bunker derricks unshipped. These we carried to the poop, where we placed them in position ready for launching the jury-rudder. It was an exciting and anxious time, for great, roaring seas were continually breaking over the vessel. At four o’clock that afternoon, amid a chorus of cheers, we launched our first jury-rudder, which we christened the “ Go'den Ho e.”’ We hoped it would have the effect of preventing the ship from drifting out of her course, and also keep her head-on to the waves ; but luck was against us. At eleven o'clock that night the storm grew worse and carried away the port derrick.

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468 I was asleep in my bunk at the time, but the noise woke meup. The broken spar was banging against my port and threatening to do serious damage. When I discovered what was the matter I hastened on deck, without even stopping to dress, made my way to the bridge, and reported the incident to the captain. He at once sent the second officer, two sailors, and myself to cut the steering wires that held the jury-rudder. It was decided to cast the latter adrift before it got entangled in the propeller, which would seriously endanger the safety of the ship. This was no light task, but eventually we succeeded in severing the wires; and the jury-rudder, upon which we had expended so much energy, hoping it would prove our salvation, was presently sinking in mid-Atlantic. When morning dawned our battered ship presented a sad spectacle. Most of the iron rails had been carried away from the poop, and every- where we turned we saw evidence of the strength of the wind and waves which had harassed us so ceaselessly. We were now rudderless once more, and without our jury- Tudder it was necessary to do something so that we could at least partially guide our ship and keep her head-on to the mountainous waves ; if she once fell into the trough our end would come very speedily. Up to the present no fewer than three jury-rudders had been made, all of which had either been washed away or found useless. It was now decided to make a fourth rudder, larger and stronger than any of its predecessors. Accordingly No. 4 boom was unshipped and carried to the poop. In, the meantime, the engineers had been ordered to take a couple of plates off the engine- room floor and drill holes in them in order to bolt them firmly to the spar. After getting the boom safely on the poop the captain sent the watch below, as it was dangerous to remain on deck with the heavy seas that continually poured over the labouring vessel. Whilst the rest of the sailors were engaged in making wire spans to fix and hold the boom, the captain and myself cut down the spar so that no time should be wasted. Unfortunately our carpenter was a German who did not understand a word of English, and, as none of us knew German, his Captain E. J. undoubtedly From al Dickinson, of the ‘Snowdon whose fine seamanshi destruction. [ THE WIDE: WORLD MAGAZINE. services were of very little use at this critical time. A day or two afterwards the unfortunate Teuton was rendered completely hors de combat through being knocked down by a wave. By Herculean efforts we managed to get our rudder finished, and launched it at noon on the following day. We had hopes now of the weather moderating, but it changed for the worse ; there seemed to be no end to the succession of storms that dogged our track. Anxiously we watched our latest device, but it was soon apparent that it would be of little use, and it was not long before we made the alarming discovery that, instead of us having control over it, it had the mastery over us! We had no option, therefore, but to hoist the rudder on board again, and decided that this must be done as soon as possible. The best way to accomplish this was to heave the contrivance in by means of No. 4 winch; but in trying to do this we broke the big steering-wheel and damaged some of the poop fittings. The jury- rudder, however, was too much for us, so we were com- pelled to leave it for the night. Next day the wind was blowing a hurricane from the north-north-west, and great green seas were breaking clean over us. The captain gave orders that no one was to venture on deck, and all day long the Snowdon Range tumbled and tossed, helpless as a log, her hull trembling under the impact of raging seas. Next morning things looked a little better, and again we tried to retrieve our troublesome rudder by means of the winch. Once more we failed, so we finally had to hoist it aboard by main force—a very hard task, for the ship was rolling heavily and shipping tremendous seas. For thirteen days now we had experienced terrible storms of rain, hail, and snow, accom- panied by fierce winds and mountainous seas, which shook our steamer from stem to stern. The result was that we had been driven many miles out of our course. On several days no one dared venture on deck, and all of us got our food as best we could in the galley, eating out of the pan-lids and old beef-tins. With the exception of these occasional visits to the galley, the captain never left the bridge. He remained there, despite and never-failing his from aph. saved

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THE VOYAGE OF THE ““SNOWDON RANGE.” 469 “We finally had to hoist it aboard by main force.” the terrible seas that swept over the ship, calm, collected, and alert, ever ready to give orders when unforeseen difficulties arose. Now and again he snatched an hour or two of sleep in the chart-house, and for days at a time the only food he took was a cup of tea and biscuits, which I carried to the bridge for him, waiting my chance to dodge the waves. It was on the night of the thirteenth day of the storm—namely, December 18th—that the captain called everybody on deck, as he had sighted a light. We fired six rockets and sent up blue lights, and at last attracted the other vessel’s attention. She proved to be the Swedish steamer Vesterland, and it took her two and a half hours to get up to us; for, though the weather was fine, there was a heavy swell. Through the megaphone the captain explained our predicament, and asked the master ot the Vester- land to tow us to Queenstown or Belfast. He

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470 . THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE declined to do this, but offered to take us all on board the Vesterland. Our captain replied that, though we were rudderless, we were not in a sinking condition, and he could not, therefore, conscientiously leave the ship. Now, by law any member of the crew could have accepted the Vesterland’s offer and gone over to her ; but we had great faith in our captain and the ability of our ship to weather the storm, and accordingly declined the Swedish captain’s offer to take us. I cannot say that we even felt sorry when the Vesterland sailed away ; we did not like her captain’s suggestion that we should abandon a ship with a valuable cargo, simply because she was rudderless and had experienced some severe buffeting by the terrible storms. Still, there was no disguising the fact that we were in a sorry plight. Our lifeboats and our two small boats had been smashed in by the waves, and we had drifted far out of our course. Our clothes were in ribbons, and they were always wet through, being continually drenched -by the waves. More- over, we were perished with the cold and exhausted from lack of proper food and sleep. For days afterwards we did not see another vessel, so determined to make for the Irish Channel track of trans-Atlantic liners, as our salvation lay in finding a ship that would take us in tow to the nearest port. We accordingly made yet another jury-rudder, using a short boom and anchor for the purpose. It took us all day to rig it up, and it was only by desperate efforts that we managed to get it over the side on account of the rolling of the ship and the heavy seas that were still breaking over us. When at last our task was accomplished the device seemed to avail us little, so far as keeping the vessel on her course was concerned. Soon the weather became worse, and we had to slack the rudder well astern and make it fast until the gale moderated. Then we sadly hove it in, for it had been knocked all to pieces by the force of the tremendous waves. On December 24th the captain ordered still another jury-rudder to be made. This time No. 3 boom was unshipped and brought on to the poop. While this work was being carried out the ship gave a sudden and violent lurch. The big boom—a spar about forty feet or so in length and very heavy—-fell over, broke the wire runner, dropped upon the mate’s face, and smashed his nose. There he lay, helpless and bleeding, on the wave-washed deck, more dead than alive. We carried him to his berth, where I doctored him as best I could. As soon as he regained consciousness the plucky fellow begyed me to leave him, saying, earnestly : “Man, you are wanted above. You can do more good there than you can here.” It was six days before he was about again. The same afternoon the chief engineer, while cutting a hole in the iron deck, met with an acci- dent which incapacitated him for some days. A piece of the iron flew up and cut one of his eyes, rendering it useless and causing intense pain. After this category of accidents we had to leave off, as it was getting dark and the storm was at its height. Next day we got this latest rudder finished, but it was impossible for us to fix it on account of the weather. It was at this period that the chief engineer reported to the captain that our coals were getting low, and also the supply of lamp oil. The captain at once gave orders to use a little of the cargo with the coals, and to stop burning the lamps at night. Accordingly grain was mixed with the coals, and both burned together. We only had ten pounds of candles on board, so it was necessary to economize as best we could. We accordingly only lit one candle at meal-times ; as soon as the meal was over it was blown out and we sat in the dark. It was any- thing but a pleasant experience—sitting in the dark with a couple of feet of water washing about the floors of our cabins and berths—but we had to put up with it. Christmas Day broke with a dull and leaden sky, huge’ seas breaking right over us, and nothing but a wilderness of angry waters all round. None of us will ever forget that Christ- mas upon the Snowdon Range, tossing about help- lessly in mid-Atlantic. The weather was terrible —so bad, in fact, that it was dangerous to venture on deck. The wind was from the north-north- west, and it was bitterly cold. As the day wore on the weather, if anything, got worse. The vessel began to roll dangerously and ship huge seas. Once or twice, as she shuddered under the fearful blows, we thought the end must be near. The captain remained on the bridge, never once leaving it during the whole of that terrible day. He stayed there, just keeping the engines going sufficiently to enable him to keep bow-on to the sea. I am convinced that he thus saved the ship from foundering, as she surely would have done if a strong and capable hand had not “ nursed ” her Continually. Fortunately the weather moderated on the following day, so we launched the rudder ; but fate was again unkind to us, for it would not work properly ; the blade was not large enough to bring the ship up to starboard. We had no option, therefore, but to heave it on board again and lengthen it. This was done by taking two more plates from the engine-room floor and bolt- ing them firmly to the spar. We had to abandon our task, however, before we had completed it,

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THE VOYAGE OF THE as the ship was labouring heavily, and it was unsafe to be on deck. While making my way to the galley I was knocked down by a wave and washed along the deck. Fortunately an iron rail prevented me from being bowled over the side of the vessel into the sea,. otherwise nothing could have saved me. Next day, too, it was impossible to work on account of the weather, and, worse still, the cook reported that our fresh-water tanks had run dry. This was a serious matter, but we had to make the best of it, and be content with engine water. It was horrible to drink, being very dirty and having a distinct taste of oil through standing in the engines. Fortunately we were not short steering-whee! of provisions in the way of tinned stuff, though our stock of potatoes and other green food had been consumed some ten days ago. It was a case now of opening a tin and eating its contents as best one could, washed down with tea brewed in engine water. On December zgth the wind changed to the south-west, so we went three-quarter speed, and at noon that day the captain was able to take a sight, and found we were only a hundred miles from the south track and some four hundred miles from Queenstown. We had drifted about five hundred miles since we broke down. Next day we put out rudder No. 6, but the seas buffeted it about so much that we ni ind the broken “SNOWDON RANGE.” 47t could not get it into position, and as it was likely to do serious damage to the ship we had to take it in again. In doing so, three of the sailors got knocked down and more or less injured, while much damage was also done to the spare steering gear. It was a case of one misfortune after another, and it seemed to us that oor trials would never end. On the last day of the year, however, the weather moderated, so we started to repair the damaged rudder. At noon the captain took another sight, and discovered we were only thirty miles from the south track, but some six hundred miles from Queenstown, having drifted west again. That night the wind changed to » the smashed er her ar id twisted rails. north-north-west once more, so we could do nothing but go dead-slow with the engines, just keeping the vessel’s head to the sea. At three o’clock next morning the man on the look-out reported a light on the starboard quarter. To our joy it proved true. Once again we fired rockets, and after the fourth had been sent up our signal was answered. The ship, which proved to be the Dominion liner Welshman, was quickly upon us, and her captain asked if he could be of any.assistance. We replied that we wanted to be towed to Queenstown, and our jubilation may be imagined when the flags went up signalling ‘‘ Yes.” : For the greater part of the day heroic efforts

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472 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. were made to get a rope on board, but they failed on account of the high seas that were running. Then the Welshman signalled to us, ‘“ Try to- morrow ; will not fail you. Stand by you.” We felt thankful that we had at last found such a friend. We had now only four days’ supply of coal left, no oil, no potatoes, and, worst of all, no pure water to drink. We had been forty-six days out, twenty-eight days adrift, and had only seen two ships during that time. Early next morning the Welshman signalled, “Cannot do anything ; but will stand by you until weather moderates.” Just after midday, however, came the more welcome signal, ‘‘ Get ready ; will cast barrel overboard with lines.” The sailors of the Welshman accordingly cast a barrel overboard with lines attached to it. When this floated past us we picked it up with hooks, and hove in a hundred fathoms of rope before we got hold of the wire hawser. Just as we were about to shackle it on to our chain cable, up went the flags, “ Let all go ; sea getting too high. Will stand by you till weather moderates.’ There was nothing to do but drop the rope, and once more we were at the mercy of the storm. : All next day a fierce gale raged, which by noon had stove in our bunker hatch, a large quantity of water getting into the ’tween decks. Several of the crew were knocked down and dashed about before the hatch was secured again. Still the Welshman pluckily stood by us. She steamed round and round us several times, pouring oil upon the waves. Next day, January 4th, we were again greeted with the signal, ‘ Get ready,” and once more the barrel with the lines attached was sent adrift. We managed to pick it up, and after desperate efforts were delighted to find ourselves connected with our gallant friends. We got five lines aboard, bent on to each other, four being of stout manila rope and the fifth a wire one. At first, when the Welshman began to tow us, our vessel went all over the place, but after an hour or so we were under better control and making about four to five miles an hour towards Queenstown. That night the weather again turned black, and next morning, just as we were going to have breakfast, thankful that we were now, as we imagined, out of danger, the ropes parted, and we were once again adrift. We had to pass the Welshman’s ropes and barrel back to them, and as‘they were fishing them up they caught on that vessel’s propeller, so had to be cut adrift. This meant that our friends had to send us another barrel, and we had the work of heaving another set of lines on board. This we accom- plished at last, but it meant that none of us got anything to eat till six o'clock that night. Next day we were rolling heavily, though still in tow, and making about three miles an hour. At half-past two that afternoon we were pooped by a big sea, which washed out the -saloon and all the berths. The mate’s bottom drawer was washed out of its chest, and all his clothes drenched, but he slept through it all. We were now beginning to feel the effects of the terrible and long-continued strain. We had no clothes left except those that we stood up in, and these were continually being drenched, so we were always wet and cold. They were now reduced, moreover, to mere bundles of rags, having been ripped and torn through contact with twisted iron and broken pieces of timber. The oilskins of the captain and mate were decidedly “‘ holy,’ and their heavy sea-boots in a leaky condition. The cook and myself had lost our boots, so we had to go about with bare feet. My trousers were hanging to my legs in threads. We had been in this condition for »twenty: days. Finally we were as black as Digitized by Goc ¢

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THE VOYAGE OF THE niggers, none of us having had a wash for many days. On the morning of January 8th we got another signal from the Welsh- man, saying that they wanted some of their wire in, as it had started to wear. Unfortunately the wind and the seas increased, and at five o’clock that afternoon we were informed that once again it would be neces- sary to cast us adrift on account of the sudden gale that had sprung up. Our oil had now run out, and we had not even a candle left. This was unfortunate, because the Welshman was unable to see us all through that terrible night, and we feared we might drift out of her sight. At noon next day, however, we were picked up once more by our gallant friends, and again saw the welcome signal, “‘ Get ready.” We asked for a drum of oil, which was sent to us attached to the barrel. The oil was very acceptable, it being anything but pleasant to toss about in mid-Atlantic on a disabled steamer without lights. Having made the connection, things went as well as could be expected until January rith, when the storm again increased in violence, and both vessels commenced to roll heavily. Then once again the hawsers parted, and we were cast adrift. The wind now changed to the south-west, which enabled the captain to keep the vessel’s head to sea. We steamed dead-slow towards the Fastnet, and picked up the light at two o’clock next morning. But the wind and sea were against us, and by daylight we were about five miles from Brow Head. Inthe meantime the Welshman had sighted a light, and had gone off to requisition its services, whatever craft it might “SNOWDON RANGE.” 413 “We got the ‘Welshman's’ lines fixed by two o’clook in the afternoon, when that vessel commenced towing us.” be. It turned out to be the fishing-boat Salome, and it was not long before we discovered that in her skipper and crew we had true and faithful friends, willing to stand by and render every possible assistance to those in distress. We had now two boats to make fast to, so there was a good day’s work before us. We started at eight o’clock with the Welshman’s lines, and got them fixed by two o’clock in the afternoon, when that vessel commenced towing us. We had then to make ourselves fast to the Salome. To do this it was necessary to haul the ropes from forward to the poop, whence we slackened out two towing-lines to the Salome, which were made fast to the big deck winch of that vessel. It was six o’clock before this work was finished. Surely now, we imagined, we should reach Queenstown without further mishap. We had not proceeded for many hours, however, before the two towing-lines of the Salome snapped. They were both six-inch manilla ropes and virtually new. We cast two other lines over for the fishing-boat to pick up, but this was not easy, for it was now pitch dark. The gallant fisher- men, however, worked with might and main, and in about four hours we were again made fast to her. Once more the strain proved too great, and the ropes again broke. We had no option but to leave the Salome for the night, and follow

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474 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in the wake of the Welshman, which had us under perfect control. By eight o’clock next morning we found ourselves abreast of the Fastnet lighthouse, but while we were being towed round this point the ropes again parted. We blew our whistle for the Salome to come up and get hold of our stern, as we were in danger of drifting upon the rocks, and it was necessary to act qui kly. As luck would have it, we had now no ropes of our own left. The captain, cook, and myself got the fishermen’s trawling wires and made them fast to,our own bitts, while the mate and sailors took in the cable chain and the broken part of the hawser. Meanwhile the Welshman ran in close to the land, and reported us as “ All well,” and pro- ceeding to Queenstown. Although we were kept as busy as Trojans, and were by no means out of danger, we thought of the joy it would give our friends to know that we were at least safe, and the satisfaction it would give the owners to learn that our gallant little ship had weathered all those fearful storms in mid-Atlantic and was coming safely into port. We had now been out fifty-two days, and so far as we knew no tidings whatever had been received as to our safety or whereabouts. In a short time the Welshman returned, and once again there came the signal, “ Get ready.” We accordingly put his barrel and lines over the side again, so that they could drift ‘towards him. But luck seemed to have deserted us once more, for the lines got entangled in the vessel’s propeller, and the sailors on the Welsh- man had no option but to cut the ropes. This was unfortunate, as it meant, of course, that the Welshman now had to pass the rope to us, and we had the job of heaving them on board again, which, in our exhausted con- dition, was very trying work. In due course, however, it was finished, and we weré once again in tow. The weather was now fine, and everyone was delighted at the prospect of an early termination of our trials. About nine o'clock next morning tugs arrived from Queenstown and offered assist- Chart showing the course of the “ Snowdon Range” during her long battle with the elements. ance. The Flying Fish, being the first to arrive upon the scene, spoke the Welshman, and was at once engaged to tow us into Queenstown Harbour. We were now off the Old Head of Kinsale, and nearing our journey’s end. Given ordinary luck, a few hours would see us in the harbour. We hove-in our seventy-five fathoms of cable chain, unshackled the Welskman’s towing hawsers, and took the tow-line of the Flying Fish, which we made fast to the bitts on the forecastle head. Then the tug began to tow us, but unfor- tunately made very little headway on account of the wind being dead against us. The sky now became overcast, and at two o'clock a gale was raging. The tug, realizing our danger, made every effort to raise more speed. Slowly we crawled abreast of the Daunt Rock lightship, the gale increasing in violence, with a strong

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THE VOYAGE OF THE “SNOWDON RANGE.” 475 Dec7, Lost Rudd H “Oecd. ec “” ~Dec6 & Deca. ¥ a peerigg ng 70” ob. Oo Ps ws ec 5, Py ‘3 Jan6 Jen4 4 Commenced Towing Bo wind from the south-east. It was clear we which I did. The fishermen could do no more were making very little headway now, and the for us, and we did not want to drag them on strain upon the ropes was severe. Then, to _—‘to the rocks with us. Their pluck was mar- our dismay, the tug backed down upon our port vellous. After I had cut two wire ropes adrift side and slipped the towing-line, shouting to us I slipped down to the spare berth and brought to drop our anchor. Then she slipped away, out =: UP our remaining rockets and blue lights, also of danger of the storm. We at once let go our the bag containing the ship’s papers. At the anchor, but found that we were drifting, and in captain’s orders 1 strapped the latter tomy body, great danger of being driven upon the rocks, for we did not know but that at any moment We were, however, still held by the tow-line the ship might be dashed to pieces, as the fierce of the plucky little Salome. As it was impossible wind and mountainous seas were now driving for this vessel alone to prevent our drifting, us fast towards Graballs Bay, very near the land. and also dangerous to her, the captain warned Just when things looked blackest, however, the men on the Salome of the position, and asked Fate was, for once, kind to us, for our anchor them to slip their rope. 1 was then sent to gota grip and held. But the wind was still tell the mate to try and hold the ship with increasing, and the seas lashed us furiously, sixty-five fathoms of cable, and if this would __ breaking right over the ship. This, needless to not do, to try seventy-five fathoms. This was S@y, made the task of the mate and the brave done, but found to be of no avail, and we slowly = men forward who were working at the cable very drifted nearer and nearer the breakers, whose difficult. Great waves perpetually swept them roaring we could hear above the raging of the off their feet and washed them along the deck, storm. It was a terrible time for all of us, and if they had not been roped they would have for it looked as though, just as port was in sight, been swept overboard and drowned. As it was, our vessel was to be lost, after all we had suffered = many of them got nasty knocks and bruises. and endured. When we turned to the captain, Presently the gale shifted to the south-east. however, we found him as cool and alert as ever, We were now abreast of the harbour, but still and his very presence put fresh heart into us. in the track of the storm, helpless and entirely He promptly ‘ordered the spare anchor to be at the mercy at the wind and waves. Being taken off the bulkhead and shackled on to our rudderless, we were unable to steer, and our port chain. This was done as quickly as possible anchor once more failed to hold us, so we knew and proved no easy task, for it was pitch dark § we were bound to be carried forward by the and the seas were breaking clean over us. storm. The possibility of our getting into the Meanwhile the heroic little ‘Salome had taken harbour without running upon the rocks was no notice of our warning, so the captain told me certainly remote. The captain now ordered the to take tte cleaver and cut their wires adrift, spare anchor to be left where it was, and to heave

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476 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 0 The “Snowdon Range™ lying in Queenstown Harbour- The plucky little “Salome,” which rendered such useful ‘service, From a) up the port anchor. He then rang down for the engines to go at half-speed for a few moments ; the port anchor was then let go with the idea of bringing the vessel up. ‘The wind was too strong, however, and carried us towards Harbour Rock, where the port anchor caught. Fortunately for us, at this critical moment the cable broke, and we passed over the dangerous rocks in safety. Our escape from destruction at this point was nothing short of miraculous. Nevertheless, we were still drifting, and herein lay our peril. Acting on the captain’s instruc- tions, I fired our remaining rockets, as we re- garded our position as absolutely hopeless. We could do no more. Our gallant ship had put up a brave fight, but now we thought the elements would conquer. Suddenly, out of the darkness, land loomed ahead right over us. Instantly the captain rang down for half-speed astern. Just then the harbour fort lights shone upon us, thus giving us a better chance to con- tinue what we believed to be a forlorn fight against the pitiless seas. A moment later we struck a buoy which marked the dreaded shoal abreast of the harbour fort. The engines were sent full speed ahead, and this manceuvre again saved our ship. Now we were in danger of destruction from the rocks on the other side, but the captain’s quick eye, sound judgment, and cool nerve saved us by working the engines astern. Then, all of a sudden, as if caught in some mighty vortex, our ship swung right round. We thought we were being dashed upon the rocks, but pulled up with a jerk, and found the ship stationary. We had run upon the Curlane Bank, off Spike Island. No sooner had we ascertained our position than the lifeboat, which had seen our rockets, came out to render assistance, but its services were not needed. We asked them, however, to stand anchored astern. . is (Photograph. by us for a few minutes while we got the spare anchor out and sounded the tanks, which we found to be dry. We then thanked the men on the lifeboat ‘or coming to our aid, but explained that we were now out of danger, and should remain on the ship. Truly it was a wonderful and even miraculous escape. We had actually been blown by the gale right into the harbour, avoiding all its outlying dangers by the skin of our teeth, and finally grounding upon a soft bank. In our-drift we had passed over several treacherous shoals and narrowly escaped being dashed to pieces upon the rocks. We had been buffeted from one side of the harbour’s mouth to the other, had struck three times, but got off again, drifting sometimes broadside on, at others steaming a little ahead or astern, and continually lifting and dropping our anchors. It was all owing to the clever seamanship and sound judgment of our brave captain. During that anxious and terrible time we had escaped destruction over and over again by a matter of inches. Naturally, when we discovered we were now indeed safe we could hardly realize it. It was the fifty-fourth day of our eventful voyage. We had brought the ship home safe, though badly damaged. Tea and biscuits were served out to the crew, but although the men had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours, they were too exhausted and worn out to care much for food. They simply lay down where they were and slept. At daylight three tugs came to our assistance, as well as our plucky little friend the Salome. The moment the latter hove in sight we gave her three rousing cheers. We got off the bank unassisted, and were towed up the river to Passage West for repairs. Here we met with a grand reception, crowds lining the quay’ and cheering, while rockets were fired and whistles

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THE VOYAGE OF THE sounded. Then telegrams of congratulation began to arrive from all parts. One of the first the captain received was from Sir Stephen Furness, M.P., chairman of Messrs. Furness, Withy, and Company, the owners of the Snowdon Range, saying, ‘“‘ We are very proud of you and all members of the crew.” After remaining at Passage West for some three weeks, we proceeded to Leith with our cargo, where we arrived exactly seventy-two days after we had left Philadelphia. Here again we had a grand reception. ‘The first to board the vessel was Provost Malcolm Smith, who invited us to a banquet in honour of our safe arrival. Our captain and officers were later ordered to London, where they received gifts from the underwriters and owners in recognition of the plucky way in which they stuck to their ship and brought her to port, while the crew, of course, were not forgotten. The vessel, with her cargo, was valued at over seventy thousand pounds, and only ten days before our arrival at Queenstown the under- “SNOWDON RANGE.” 47 writers had abandoned all hope of our safety, and the vessel was withdrawn from the re- insurance market. When the news came that we were safe, the old Lutine bell at Lloyd’s was rung in our honour, amid the cheers of the underwriters. But as Captain Dickinson said when he acknowledged the ovations we received, “We only did our duty.” In making the salvage awards in the Admir- alty Court, Sir Samuel Evans said that “ the whole story was an extraordinary one, the like of which might yarely be heard of again, for it seemed that the elements did their worst without success and repented at the last moment by blowing the vessel into a place of safety in Cork Harbour.” The award to the Welshman was nine thousand five hundred and fifty pounds, divided as follows : Owners, seven thousand eight hundred and fifty pounds ; master, five hundred pounds; and crew, twelve hundred pounds. The Milford Haven trawler Salome was awarded four hundred and fifty pounds. From a) The officers and crew of the “Snowdon Range”—The ladies are the wives of the captain and obief enaincer res sir husbands, [P. came to meet th vely, who "hotograph.

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From a) The Authoress crossing a river in her machila. (Photograph. Across the Congo. A LADY’S JOURNEY IN CENTRAL AFRICA. By MARGUERITE& ROBY. The story of a very remarkable expedition—a ten-month journey right across the Belgian Congo from Boma to Blizabethville, a distance of about three thousand five hundred miles. porters, Mrs. Roby Alone, save for black netrated into remote districts where a white woman had never been seen before, braving cannibals, fighting fever, and meeting with numberless adventures. The following articles have been specially written for “The Wide World Magazine,” and will be found particularly interesting. various pieces of luggage were laid in a line outside my house, and each porter had carefully looked them over, deciding in his own mind which he intended to carry, the idea being for every man to try and get the lightest possible load. I knew this, and watched with interest to see what would happen. Presently my boy Mokassa gave them the word to pick up the luggage, upon which the whole sixty made an immediate rush for my Burroughs and Wellcome medicine chest. It was certainly small, and so they thought it was light, but here they made a grievous mistake. It was very heavy, and the look of disgust upon each man’s face as he dropped it was very funny to see. Mokassa now called them up in ones and twos, and showed them which loads they were to carry, and we then went down to the river bank, but only to find that a native had taken the boat into mid-stream, where he was now fishing in a leisurely manner. We stood on the bank, calling, shouting, and swearing at him, but that man was out for fish, and evidently he meant to get them, for he took not the faintest notice

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ACROSS THE CONGO. : 479 of the commotion. I threatened him with all sorts of punishment during the course of the next hour, and feeling that he must eventually return the boat, I looked forward to “ getting my own back” in the end. I was quite out in my reckoning, however, for as soon as he had caught half-a-dozen fish the fellow crossed to the opposite bank, gave the boat a push back in our direction, and calmly walked off with his catch ! The boat grounded on our shore in course of time, and I then turned to one of my porters and told him to go across, follow the fisherman, and take his fish from him. The man, however, shook his head, and explained that the other sportsman was his brother. My poor old Jock was down with distemper now, and had to be carried in a basket by two porters. The men did not relish their job at all, especially when Jock put up his head and showed his teeth ; but I explained to them that they would be quite safe so long as they did not touch him. 2 Getting the luggage over that river occupied an hour, and then I started on my march through the forest upon the other side. There was only one narrow path, which had evidently been used for many years, for it was trodden as smooth and hard as asphalt. For two hours we tra- velled through the forest, and on leaving it arrived at the native village of Kikwit. I could tell that we were approaching a village long before any sign of it was visible, because of the overpowering smell of palm-oil which hung in the air. The natives cover their bodies with this oil, instead of washing; they also treat their clothes in the same way, with the result that their odour is extremely unpleasant—at any rate, to European nostrils. When we approached the village there was a great jabbering from the women, who lost no time in taking to their heels. Their houses were built of thin strips of bamboo, plaited together with grass and plastered with mud. There were no doors, but each one had a small opening about three feet from the ground. From one of these little square openings I now saw the leg of a man protrude, then out came another leg, with a long coat flapping against it, and while I watched the man himself appeared. He was the chief, and a truly remark- able spectacle he presented as he came towards me, with outstretched hands. On his head was a peaked German army cap, and he also wore a long German military overcoat. This garment had been plastered with palm-oil to make it waterproof, and it was now so stiff that as he walked it flapped against his legs with a queer clapping kind of sound. His skin was also covered with palm-oil, with the inevitable result as regards odour. He evidently meant to shake hands, but I really could not face that honour, and as he came nearer I drew back, telling Mokassa to explain that white women never shook hands with chiefs. He told Mokassa that they had been expecting a white man, not a woman ; then he shouted an order, and soon women came hurry- ing up with baskets of monkey-nuts, which they placed at my feet. The nuts were as big as new potatoes, but as they had been boiled I did not care to sample them, whereupon the women placed them before the chief. In ten minutes he was surrounded by the men of the village, and they fell to upon what was evidently their evening meal. I sat and watched them while my tent was being put up, but they were still at it when my own dinner was ready. In fact, that meal lasted about two hours. As soon as J sat down to dinner outside my tent, the chief brought his chair over and came and sat beside me, but I really could not stand this, and I had to send him away. He looked at me reproachfully, and moved off about ten yards, where he remained until I had finished my dinner. Mokassa now called me to have a look at the tent, which I had not had time to inspect before. It had no window, one end was sewn up, and it slanted so much that there was no room for the bed except in the very centre. This meant that when I wanted to take off my clothes I had to stand doubled up under the sloping canvas, since there was scarcely room to move with the bed in the middle. For- tunately, the chief had prepared a little hut for the white man whom he had been expecting, and in this I decided to sleep. Mokassa said, “It looks like rain,’ so he spread my waterproof floor-sheet over the roof of the hut, and lucky it was for me that he did so. Hardly had I begun to undress when a terrific thunderstorm burst over us, with wind and rain galore. Soon I heard a crash and a yell, and, peeping out, saw my wretched tent lying ina heap on the ground. Wondering what I was going to do for sleeping accommodation during the rest of my trek, I went to sleep and remained undisturbed until morning. I rose early and was just ready to start when half-a-dozen natives came racing into the village, each one beautifully clothed in beads and a handkerchief. One man was over six feet in height, but all of them were splendid specimens of manhood. They had a long talk to Mokassa, and I discovered that they had been telling him there was a broad river which I should have to cross presently, so they had come in to have

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, 480 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Mrs. Roby’s porters about to cross the river on rafts. From a Photograph. the honour of accompanying me thither and carrying me acro: These men were superb specimens of the Kasai native, unspoiled by contact with the white man. They were kind, courteous, and fearless, with noné of the in- intricacies and tricks of civilization. As I cycled forward they ran by my side. Several villages lay between us and the river, and at each village I had to stop in order that the people might have their first glimpse of Mrs. Roby at the door of her tent A group of villagers—Many of them had never seén a white From a Photograph. From a} woman before.

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ACROSS THE CONGO. 481 a white woman. All the villages were composed of little beehive huts, made of grass, with a small opening through which the occupants crawled to get in or out. The women would come rush- ing out at a signal, accompanied by dozens of little children. They were covered with white ashes, which had been rubbed’ into the palm-oil on their bodies. They looked for all the world as though they had white vests on, their arms, legs, and heads being left untouched. The country through which I now travelled was open, but overgrown with high grass, while here and there clumps of palms rose up. Under the palms there was always a village. The natives were very shy, and whenever I tried to approach a woman, to look at her beads, she would run away, followed by her children, bellowing with fright. If I sat still and smoked a cigarette they would come up fairly close to me, but a movement on my part was enough to send them scuttling off again. After a march of about two hours we came to the banks of the river, and as the porters plunged in with their loads I watched and wondered whether they would get across without dropping anything into the water. Luckily for me, they accomplished this feat, and then it was my turn to cross. I got into my machila, and my six natives raised the pole. Then, before I realized what*was happening, they had plunged into the water, and I felt myself being pushed up right against the machila pole. They were carrying not only the pole but me on their heads, so I clung to the pole and lay on theif heads as they walked steadily forward with the water almost up.'to their shoulders. When I looked out at the bank opposite the rushing stream made the trees look as though they were racing past us, and I felt so giddy that I closed my eyes, wonder- ing if we would ever get over. The very tall native evidently guessed my feelings, for he patted me on the arm reassuringly during our progress, which lasted for nearly ten minutes, when we at last reached the farther shore in safety. Here I offered my escort a present of beads in return for their kindness, but the big man A village High Street in the Kasai. From a Photograph. A picturesque bit of the Kasai River. (Photograph.

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482 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, refused to take anything, and the others followed his example. They said they would never forget having had the honour of carrying the first white woman from over the waters, and then they left me. My porters had gone on ahead, and I rode slowly after them, feeling all the while as though I were in fairyland. For about three hours I rode thus, through a country of long grass, palm-trees, and huts, and then I reached camp, where Mokassa had been proving himself a boy of resource. He had put up my wretched tent, supporting the canvas with a couple of tree-trunks, fastened together in the shape of a T. This made a very secure enclosure, but the tent was so small that there was a slit about two feet deep between the bottom of the canvas and the ground all the way round. This could not be helped, and as they had dug a trench all the way round outside, in case of rain, I retired to bed with every hope of a good night’s rest, even though it was the rainy season. All was peaceful until eleven o’clock, when a flash of lightning was followed by a terrific crash of thunder, and then came the rain. Alas ! they had put the tent on a slight incline, and soon the water came rushing in like a small ocean, Jock crawled out of his basket and scrambled on to the bed, while I got out and, wading through the stream, gathered together a few of my possessions which I did not wish to lose. Getting back to bed, I lay and wondered whether the whole of my happy home was going to be swept away, for it was now a real tropical downpour, and things were getting very lively. Chairs wandered to and fro and knocked against each other ; my little washing-table fell over with a splash, sending the jug and basin into the rising tide. The whole place seemed alive, with the furniture waltzing about as though it were bewitched. This went on for a couple of hours, then it stopped as suddenly as it had commenced, and I went to sleep. In the morning when the boys called me, I asked them how they had got on, and they said “All right,” as they had put their clothes into one of my baskets. Then they went out to hunt for the things that had been swept from the tent by the water, and after a patient search of half an hour they returned with jugs, basins, and the rest. My bath, which was standinz outside, had been filled by the rain, which saved them the trouble of bringing water from the river. When I dressed they set about the task of taking down and folding up the tent, but as none of the porters had ever seen such a thing before, Mokassa had some difficulty in getting the work done. As soon as he folded up one end of the tent and went to the other, some clever Kasai women who came in to see the Authorese—They were intensely interested, and brought even the babies to behold the wooderfal From a) stranger. (Photograph.

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ACROSS THE CONGO. 483 All these natives appeared, as though by magic, from out of the long grass- From a Photograph. porter would undo what my boy had just done, and so it went on, much to Mokassa’s wrath and my secret amusement. Half an hour after- wards they set out on the day’s trek, and, having fed Jock and had breakfast, I followed them two hours later. I rode for miles and miles without seeing a village or a single native. I was crossing a big bare plain, but in the distance I could see some palm-trees, which always meant the presence of a village. After a time I came to a great expanse of very high grass, through the middle of which ran a single narrow path. The grass must have been quite seven feet high, and as I rode through it the breeze set it waving over my head, so that it bent across the path I was tra- versing, forming a closed passage and shutting out all sight of the sky above. The effect was extremely weird, and as I cycled on through the burning heat, with the grass whispering mysteriously to me all the while, a new sensation stole over my nerves and set my heart beating unaccountably. I suddenly felt that I was no longer alone. Although I could see nothing but the grass, hear nothing save the wind, yet some subtle instinct told me that there were human beings near me, quite close to me, though invisible. I tried to throw off the feeling, but it was useless. The farther I went the more certain did I become that I was being watched and followed, and the knowledge unnerved me, I felt the hair rise on my head, and beads of perspiration trickled down my cheeks. I tried to hum a tune to break the spell, but my throat and tongue were parched, and no sound escaped my lips. For one hateful hour I rode on in this way, and then I saw ahead of me an opening in the grass, which, I found on approaching it, formed a great bare square, with a solitary mango-tree in the centre. With a sigh of relief, I hastened forward, and had just come to the edge of the open when, with an absolutely terrifying sudden- ness, the whole square sprang into life. From the waving grass on every side of me leapt natives—hundreds and hundreds of them— presenting one of the most fearsome spectacles that I have ever witnessed during my travels. Their bodies shone with palm-oil, and they were painted in streaks of bright colour, red and blue and white and black. In their hands the men carried spears and clubs. Their women carried babies, and as I rode straight for the mango-tree they pressed around me, staring at me in amazement. I reached the tree, dismounted, and sat down with my back tothetrunk. Then I lita cigarette, and looked up at them as calmly as I could, for the fear that seized upon me in the long grass had now left me. I could at least see them now, and that came as a relief after the tension through which I had just passed. We looked at each other for several seconds,

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484 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From al then I saw two of my porters coming up, carrying Jock in his basket. They placed the basket at my feet, and Jock lifted his head and looked out, with his teeth showing. The natives at once fell back, and immediately afterwards a lane was formed through. the crowd before me, and a fine-looking man advanced towards me. He wore a small loin-cloth, his arms were covered with beads almost to the shoulders, he had beads round his ankles, and a fine head- dress of long waving feathers. This was the chief, and when he started talking I signed to him to move the people back, which he did. At this moment my other porters began to arrive, having evidently taken another route. I now noticed that the chief was stopping my porters, and Mokassa told me this was because he wished me to camp in the square, which was the meeting-place of the village, the huts being placed all round in the bordering grass. I had not the slightest intention of camping in the middle of a native village, and insisted that my tent must be erected farther away beyond the huts. I produced my revolver to support my arguments, and the chief finally gave way, allowing the porters to pass on to the place I wished. My camp was erected on a hill some distance beyond the square, and the boys pre- pared my dinner while the rest of the porters went back to the village. I had only just commenced dinner when the sound of a drum from the village below brought Mokassa hurrying up. “Madam, it is the war drum,” he said. “T think there will be trouble.” “Will you take a gun and stay with me?” I asked, and he said, “ Yes.” I sent him to the tent for my guns, which I loaded and placed on the ground beside us. Then I went on with my dinner, the big drum still booming away in the distance. After a while it stopped, and another drum began to sound. At this Mokassa gave a sigh of relief, and remarked, “It is all right, madam. They are summoning the chiefs from the neighbouring Typical natives of the Bas Congo. (Photograph. villages.”” The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a third drum sounded, and for the first time since I had known him Mokassa smiled. “They are summoning the chiefs to come to a big dance to see the white woman,” he explained. While we talked a native woman came in with a couple of chickens, which she offered to me as a present from the chief. Now, I had been told that a small present like this from a chief was no better than an insult, and I therefore refused the chickens without hesitation. The woman retired, and a native now appeared on the scene and began talking to Mokassa. The chief, it appeared, wished me to go down to the big square to see the people dance, an invitation which appeared very unattractive to me just then. But Mokassa strongly advised me to go, so off I set down the hill. It was then about nine o'clock, with a fine moon shining from the sky, and as I looked down ahead of me I could see hundreds of natives flocking in from all directions to the big square. When I arrived a fearful yell went up from the throats of the thousands of natives already assembled. As the chief advanced his followers dropped on their haunches. He was followed by half-a-dozen women, carrying beautifully- carved stools, which they placed on the ground in the form of a crescent. I sat on the central stool, with the chief next me and the other chiefs on either side. Then the dance began. Fifty men performed first. They carried sticks and danced in circles, each one beating on the stick of the man in front of him, while drums were banged by certain members of the audience. For about an hour they danced, stopping every now and then for drinks of palm- wine. Then the chief gave an order, the men retired, and half-a-dozen women stepped into the circle and began todance. They were young and good-looking ; their faces were painted red and white, and each wore a small loin-cloth, which clapped against their legs as they danced, having grown stiff from constant applications

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ACROSS THE CONGO. 485 of palm-oil. ‘They circled round, displaying sprinkled witch medicine on her dog, and who- wonderful suppleness, and as the drums played —_ ever eats him will die on the spot.” faster they twisted about in time with the music Before Mokassa had finished this explanation until my head swam to watch them. From time the villagers ran off, crying out that the white to time the men applauded by placing their = woman was indeed a great witch doctor, and so fingers in their mouths and emitting the most I left my pet. deafening noise. The audience also clapped in Mokassa now told me that there was a big time with the lilt of the dance. Finally, with | swamp ahead of us, so I had better get some a great crash of drums, each dancer flung herself men from the chief to carry my machila (called prone on the ground, and the dance of the in these parts a tipoy). When approached, women ended. however, the chief refused, saying that ‘All this time the natives had been drinking I had sent back the present he had offered quantities of palm-wine, so I thought this was me. a good opportunity to retire. I therefore got “Tell him that I have heard he is a great up, bowed to the chief; and walked back to my chief, and I am a great chieftainess. He knows tent. Mokassa assured me that there was well that it was an insult to send two chickens nothing to fear now, so I turned in, and was | asa present. But let him send twenty chickens soon dreaming of weird and wonderful native and six machila boys, and I will give him a dances. I was roused by another big thunder- matabish, according to the custom of his storm, accompanied by torrential rain, but the country.” trench round my tent proved equal to emer- On hearing this, the chief showed considerable gencies, and I got to sleep again after the storm surprise. He evidently had not thought that was over. 1 knew anything about his country’s customs. Next morning I looked for Jock, who had been The result was satisfactory enough, for he not sleeping under the flap of the tent, but he was only sent me twenty chickens and some new- not there, and only after a long search did we laid eggs, but also a goat, and all within fifteen find him. The poor old chap had wandered minutes. I refused the goat, and was about to down to the square, apparently in search of pay himin beads, when he said he would prefer me, and there he was, lying dead on the spot salt, a sack of which I had with me. I gave where I had sat during the dance. Iwas very him what he wanted, and then we resumed much upset at losing my faithful friend, and our march. ordered my porters to dig a deep hole. They I rode my bicycle, and presently came into looked at me in surprise ‘and asked why. On = an open country which was freely sprinkled with hearing that it was for the dog they said they palm - trees, some of them being an enormous would take the dog, but I shook my head, and size. As usual, the native huts were placed the hole was dug, much to the interest of several near the palms, for it is from these trees that the villagers who native gets his had by this time living. With athered round. palm-wine,palm- “When you oil, and palm- go they dig up nuts, he is fully dog and eat equipped for the him,’ said battle of life. Mokassa. The trees are “will they?” at once their T queried. wealth and their Opening my means of sus- tenance,chickens and a few goats being their only other posses- sions. Living under such con- ditions, the rid- dle of life is medicine chest, I took out some chloroform and morphine, and sprinkled it over Jock’s body. “Now,” I said to Mokassa, “you tell them reduced to its that the white simplest possible woman has = /rem a) ‘A group of chiefs and headmen- [Photograph form (To be continued.)

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CHEATING DEATH. By H. P. WOODEND, M.E. ILLUSTRATED BY F. PATTERSON. A terrible experience underground, related by a veteran mining engineer. As Mr. Woodend says, a man does not have two such escapes in a lifetime. =y) UARTZ mining, even its most simple ZO , 8 ¥ Pp G4 forms, is a hazardous calling, as the 7 ) N 6) writer has had demonstrated to him eq} on more than one occasion. Were T asked which of the many adven- tures that have befallen me during my thirty or more years of mining came nearest to ending my life, I should answer unhesitatingly that it was the one that befell me while engaged as “ shift-boss ” in the L—— L. Mine, on B— Hill, near the mining town of Arequa, Colorado, in September, 1896. A friend of mine, who was then superintendent of the mine, came to me one afternoon, as I was standing at the street corner, and asked me if I would help him. He was badly in need of a good “‘shift-boss,” he said; would I take the job? I was not particularly keen on it, but he begged so hard that I finally consented to assume the duties of “ shift-boss”” or foreman on the “ graveyard” shift, reporting for duty at the mine at twelve o'clock midnight, lunching at four a.m., and knocking off at eight o’clock in the morning. This shift covers the most lone- some and dreary period of the whole twenty- four hours, and is well named the “ grave- yard.” Twelve o’clock that night found me at the mine, where the superintendent met me with a hearty greeting, saying he would now show me round the mine and indicate my several duties. “T tell you, Herbert,” said he, as we were making our way through a long drift, “I have had goodness knows how many bosses on this shift during this last six months, but somehow or other they didn’t suit me at all. I want you to take full charge, and see to it that every man under you does his duty. If you can do that, I will make it well worth your while financially.” Then, turning rotind, as we were now at one of the many landings, he rang for the bucket, wished me good-bye and good luck, stepped on the bucket, and was gone in a jiffy. I had “ bossed” at this mine once before, when it was not much more than a “ prospect hole.” Now, however, it had branched out into a full-fledged mine, taking out ore to the value of sixty thousand dollars per month. There was only one place in the mine just then where we were doing “dead work ”—that is, not breaking or shipping ore —and this was in the main or hoisting shaft, which, at the time I write of, was about three hundred and sixty-five feet deep. I had four men working in this shaft, sinking still farther. Elsewhere I had men working on the ore in pairs. At six o’clock every morning I visited these men, and also, last on my rounds, the men in the shaft, making a note of what powder (dynamite) and fuses each pair of workmen needed for their “ holes ” or shots in blasting out the rock. On the particular morning when the adventure happened, I had made my round two hours earlier than I had been in the habit of doing, as I wished to spend some little time with the men in the shaft. So, after delivering the necessary powder and fuse to all the men in the drifts and cross-cuts above, I rang for the big bucket, which was lowered to me at once to the lower level upon which I now stood. Then, giving the signal to be lowered to the bottom of the shaft, where the four miners were at work, I was soon in their midst. Looking at my watch, I perceived it was just five minutes past five a.m. “T have just two hours to spend here before shooting time (seven-ten a.m.) comes along,” I told myself. Before seating myself I gave the engineer my private signal, to see if he was on the alert and attending to his duties. He answered this by raising the “ bale” of the bucket three times, letting it fall back each time with a loud clank. I then gave him the “ O.K.” bell and settled down for what was to prove the most thrilling period of my life. Before proceeding further with my story, I must explain that the shaft was equipped with a fifty-foot chain-ladder, but as several of the links had almost been severed by flying frag- ments of rock, and many of the cross-bars or rungs badly bent, it had for the past few days been in the blacksmith’s shop, undergoing repairs. Even if we had had it on this particular morning it would have been of no avail, as we could only have reached it from the bottom of the shaft. In preparation for blasting the men had put

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CHEATING DEATH. 487 in, up to this time, six holes, four feet each in depth. They started the other two just as I was getting out of the bucket. At six-fifty-five they had finished the holes, and were ready to load them, which they next proceeded to do, putting five sticks of giant powder in each hole, making a total blasting charge of forty sticks of dynamite. After look- ing round to see if everything was as it should be, I ordered the men to “spit” their holes, which means lighting them with a small piece of fuse. Meanwhile I gave the firing signal to the engineer, which he answered, and directly the men had finished I ordered them into the bucket and gave the signal to hoist. We started to ascend, but soon noticed that we seemed to be going slower than ever before. “Taking his time over it, isn’t he ?” growled one of the men, looking rather uneasily over the edge of the bucket. Before anyone could answer, without the slightest warning we came to a dead stop not more than fifty feet above the bottom of the shaft. “Good heavens ! what’s the matter ? ” gasped somebody, and I felt a curious sensation, think- ing of what would happen if the engineer didn’t start us moving pretty quickly. Staring up the shaft, I shouted again and again, trying to attract the attention of the man above, but there was no response. Mean- while the acrid fumes of the fuses, which were now burning merrily, rose to our nostrils, almost choking us. “Tt looks as though something has gone wrong up there,” I told the men. “ There’s nothing to be done, I’m afraid, but to hold on and trust to Providence. Hang on tight, all of you, for those forty sticks of dynamite will give us a rare shaking, even if we’re lucky enough to survive.” One man—Barney Whalen by name—was the only occupant of the bucket, the remainder of us standing on its rim. I cautioned Barney on no account to touch the sides of the bucket, but to stand upright, thus minimizing the effects of the concussion as much as possible. The men, in spite of the awful position we were in, said very little; they had the usual pluck of the veteran miner. How slowly the seconds went by! It seemed as if we had been there for an eternity, waiting for death, for I had very little hope that we should escape when that inferno of destruction upheaved itself, a bare fifty feet below us. Still the fuses burnt viciously, still the choking fumes rose to our nostrils. It was too late for the engineer to help us now, even if he were able— too late for anything. So my reflections ran, holding on there to that swaying bucket. Then, with a roar like a hundred cannon fired all together, the first charge exploded. I thought my ear-drums had burst, but before I could analyse my sensations another and yet another explosion followed, until the whole of the eight shots had gone off. Great showers of rocks, large and small, fell around us on,every side after each explosion, but fortu- nately none of us were more than slightly injured, with the exception of Barney. He, poor fellow, broke his right ankle and knee, having, despite my orders, pressed that leg against the inside of the bucket, which, as a matter of course, had been struck by a huge fragment of rock just at that particular spot. Had it not been for the fact that we were suspended in mid-air, at the end of the long cable, we should doubtless have been shaken to death by the concussion. Looking up, I now perceived a new danger awaiting us, for the rim or collar of the shaft was enveloped in steam, which was fast rolling down upon us. Before it reached us, however, it had —fortunately for us—lost much of its heat through coming in contact with the damp, cool atmosphere of the shaft. Nevertheless, it did not add to our comfort. All the men in the upper workings had by this time reached the surface through the many upraises, and were congregated in and around the shaft-house in wild confusion, all shouting and talking at once, for they thought, of course, that we had all been. blown to pieces. I shouted at the top of my voice for them to hurry up and get us out, which they eventually did, but only after two long hours of waiting. We were like birds in a cage, for we could not leave the bucket, as the shaft was seven feet by ten and not timbered farther down than three hundred feet, so that reaching the timbers and scaling them was out of the question. There we hung, therefore, shaken and_ half dazed, while the minutes slipped slowly by, poor Barney all the while groaning with the pain of his broken limb. Finally, we were pulled up bodily by man-power. By this time the morning or day shift had arrived, and they, coming to the assistance of my men, tugged at the cable and by main strength safely landed us once more on Mother Earth. Immediately on getting out of the bucket I started for the shaft-house; to have things out with the engineer who was responsible for our terrible experience. I had not gone ten steps, however, when I fell on my knees beside this same engineer, who was in reality our deliverer. At a glance everything was plain to me now. There he lay in a heap under the work-bench,

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488 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. that he was, he raised us as far as he could, in spite of the awful agony,and then applied the brake. Having done this, he got up from his seat to seek assistance, only to fall over unconscious to- wards the work-bench, where we eyentuahy found him. Medals for civilian bravery were not com- mon in those days, but if ever a man deserved one, that noble fellow did. He recovered, but only lived for a few years, sadly crippled. I remained at the mine until they sold out to a foreign syndi- cate, but I am glad to state that no accident of a similar character ever happened again. I trust I shall never renew my acquaintance with such an experi- ence. A man does not have two such escapes. with one arm broken and his face and chest —// almost cooked to a jelly ( by escaping steam. At \ the very moment when \ he started to raise his ( human freight from the Kes bottom of the shaft, one of the side-plugs, of which there were several, had blown out of the boiler, letting out great volumes of superheated steam right in his face and chest. Brave man “The Gret charge exploded.

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THE FUR- THIEF. Told by A. T. PETERSON, . And Set Down by R. P. LINCOLN. ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK GILLETT, R.I. A trapper’s grim tale from the great north-western wilderness of Canada. After enduring all sorts of hardships, he and his partner got together a most valuable lot of furs—only to have them stolen by a villainous stranger. It is the unwritten law of the wild that the fur-thief, if caught, pays for his crime wit his life, and the two trappers set out on the fugitive’s trail be it on vengeance. How and in what terrible shape Nemesis overtook him is told in the story. lal middle of September of the year « 1903 found Jimmy Duer and myself, PSs | with two canoes, making our way 2 toward our trapping grounds for ~ that winter in the Peace River country of North-West Canada ; we had a good stock of traps and provisions, and were prepared for a long winter among the fur-bearers. We were entering a country where only men of grit and courage survive; a region where Nature smiles her coldest, where snow and ice and bitter winds all combine to test a man’s grit. I had chosen that region wherein to lose myself for a very good reason—I was young, and I had had an unhappy love affair. “Tf you want a place where you will hardly ever see a human being, and where there is good trapping,” said Jimmy Duer, whom I met and chummed up with in Edmonton, “ let me take you into the Upper Peace River country. If, as you say, you’ve got something to forget, you'll forget it right enough there.” Jimmy mapped everything out splendidly, with the result that, as already stated, the middle of September found us penetrating the promised land of forgetfulness, where you are so busy keeping warm that you have little time to think of anything else. Jimmy had a pretty wy > [Ax good idea of the country we were entering, but he had made up his mind to penetrate still farther this time ; he had a region in his mind that answered all the requirements of good trapping country. It was with the utmost eagerness that we drove the canoes over the rapid waters of the northern stream. All went well, and our progress was steady from the time we set out. Game was more or less in evidence all along our route and we promptly made use of it ;_we also had our lines out and caught some whitefish, which went well with our other supplies. Day succeeded day ; many a time we struck rough waters, but we were prevented from capsizing through Jimmy's skill and knowledge. Finally we came to the tributary—the Tobique —designated by him as the one where we were to make our camp. This stream was treacherous in the extreme, and we had to beach one of the canoes, cache the provisions, make the voyage in one canoe, and then come back for the other. At last, however, after much hard work, we reached our destination—an open space in the silent pine woods. Jimmy looked it over and decided that it would be an ideal place for the home cabin. We still had the month of October before us, but we knew we must work hard

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490 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. during that time, for the snows would come in a hurry afterwards, and the snows of the north are no respecters of persons. Early the next morning Jimmy swung his axe and a chip flew from the first tree ; I followed suit, and presently we were up to our necks in work. The building of a cabin, with only two men to do the work, is no joke, as we speedily discovered. Since comfort was concerned, however, and not looks or style, the work progressed with sureness, and we made good headway. Log on log was niched and fitted, and day by day our home took shape. I went at the work with all the spirit of youth, and I lay down to sleep in my blankets at night by the fire and slept the sleep of utter content- ment, my whole body hardened and healthy. While we were finish- ing off the cabin, I set out the first traps of the season for muskrat, and was amazed to find how easily they were to be taken as compared with the ex- perience I had had in the States. Ina couple of days I was the proud possessor of fifteen splendidly- furred rat pelts and two dark brown mink. Eventually the cabin was completed and everything stored away in readiness for the relentless northern winter. We were now able to look around lessons of my youth and found that they were now coming in very useful. One morning Jimmy came running in, greatly excited. ‘Take your gun, and creep down to the river very carefully,” he said. ‘‘ Peep round that rock there, and if you are not rewarded by the sensation of your life, then I have missed my guess.” Wondering vaguely what it was, I grasped the gun in my hand, slid a cartridge into the chamber, and hurried away. Cautiously making my way along the route indicated by Jimmy, I finally reached the rock, and with bated breath lay down, removed my cap, and peered round the boulder. There, standing on his haunches, engaged in eating a dead fish, was a splendid speci- men of the black bear. I looked him over for a moment, and a flutter of nervousness crept ‘through me. At last ! Here was a real live black bear ! Drawing back, I lay for a moment collect- ing my wits, and then, drawing back the ham- mer of the rifle, I shoved out the barrel, rested it on a projec- tion of the rock, drew a bead on the heart, and let fly. The bear died on the spot, slumping down like a sack of flour. We en- joyed bear -chops in the days that followed, and as a sideline to our —— a bit and get our bear- daily fare they were a ings. Westward lay the hills, and eastward the forests—pine and many other varieties of trees. With our rifles in hand and our packs on our backs, we set out on our initial tour of investiga- tion. We penetrated into the woods to the eastward and found ample evidence of fur- bearing animals. Accordingly we built on the eastern trail, at a distance of about five miles from the home cabin, a rudely-constructed shelter. Some distance farther on, at the extreme end of the circle, we built another shelter. This work consumed quite a lot of our time, but in between I had my traps out and was well rewarded. I had not forgotten the trapping Mr. A. T. Peterson, who here tells the story of his adventure with a fur-thief, and its tragic sequel. From a Photograph. splendid feature. Having built the shel- ters on one of the trap- lines, we now crossed the river and inspected the territory to the north of the home cabin, It had been practically settled that we should each have a line to take care of. With this in view, and with axes and supplies on our backs, we set to work, We located and marked out the second line without much difficulty, and built a like number of shelters to those on the first line, with the result that before the first hint of cold weather made its presence felt we were quite ready for business. We now started trapping in earnest, and our success was such that prospects were of the brightest ; muskrat and mink we

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THE FUR-THIEF. 4g At last! Here was a real live black bear.” found in abundance, and I was lucky enough to specimens of the valuable silver fox—the goal catch two splendid specimens of the valuable of every wilderness trapper. Jimmy told me fisher. Jimmy, on his line, also pulled in three that the country we were working in was just fisher and some very beautiful mink, one of the place where one might expect a find of this which was the finest I have ever laid eyes on. sort, and thereafter I looked forward eagerly to Soon we were running our lines in a mechanical the day when luck would visit us. and systematic manner. It was our ambition, During all this time we had not seen the when winter set in properly, to get one or two slightest sign or presence of human beings. We

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492 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, seemed to be alone in a virgin wilderness, and so we were. We had that strip of country to ourselves ; and we had a prescriptive right to it by first entrance—the law of the trapper. One day, toward the end of the third week in October, there was a sudden change in the weather and we knew that winter was at hand. There was a spirit of unrest in the air, and before evening the winds were booming down from the north; by nightfall, which fell sudden and ominous, the snow was coming to earth so thickly that one could not see six feet ahead. Winter was upon us; that night we plied the fire with fuel, and sat listening to the roaring and sobbing of the wind outside as it tore around the corners of the cabin and lost itself among the pines. Next morning we looked out upon a new world ; the snow was still coming down fast, piling higher and higher around the cabin, closing us in more and more from the outside world. “It's a bad storm, this,” said Jimmy, giving one sweeping look ere the door was closed. ‘‘ All we can do is to wait for it to ceas Directly the snow stops the cold weather will set in and the real test of your grit will come. For a time it will seem like a dog’s life, but you will soon get used to it and like it. We shall have to whittle out snowshoes meanwhile, for it is absurd to think of making the trap-line on foot.” Jimmy, with the thoughtfulness of the wilderness man, had already selected four suitable lengths of wood, and that day we began the work of modelling the shoes. Under his direction the work went smoothly along, and sitting there before the fire we were busy far into the night. The snow had_ alternately stopped and started again all through that day. We worked on, however, unmindful of what was going on in the outside world; the cabin was firm and staunch, and it ‘vas so well closed up that not a trifle of cold could creep in. Our making of the snowshoes progressed splendidly, and I was amazed at the skill Jimmy showed in turning them out. A moose that he had killed during the second week in October furnished us with the means of providing thongs with which to make the network, and while Jimmy whittled at the frames, I stripped the moose-hide, and cut it up into the right lengths for weaving. As Jimmy had prophesied, after the ceasing of the snowfall the cold set in with a vengeance. It was so cold that the logs of the cabin cracked sharply ; a biting, bitter cold that penetrated to one’s marrow. The heavy frosts, coupled with the biting winds, hardened up the snows somewhat, and finally, warmly clad and with many pairs of stockings on our feet, covered by moccasins, we set out, making our début in the world of ice and snow. We found that the fur-bearers had been out in search of food, and immediately began setting traps along the route to the south— Jimmy’s line. Lynx and marten we found, and any number of the snow-white ermine. The craze for ermine in the world of fashion was then at its height, and we by no means despised them. As day succeeded day our catch of fur became greater, and we went along our lines ceaselessly. The colder it got the less there was for the wild animals to subsist upon, and many times I stood in fear of being followed by the wolves, but my apprehensions never bore fruit, for they stayed at a distance. Our trapping continued in the same steady routine, and although I had seen no signs of any foxes, I had it from Jimmy that they were to be found in that country, so I kept close watch. One day, three weeks later, I was out on my line. There had been a slight fall of new snow, and presently I came upon a half-eaten partridge which had been surprised in its bed under the snow by a fox, as the tracks plainly showed. Instantly I was caught up in the whirlpool of a great excitement, as can well be imagined. I doubt whether a man divining the presence of gold after a long and tireless search would have been more eager than I, as I went over that trail. As luck would have it, the trail was plainly written on the face of the great white blanket before me, and it led on into the timber. I followed it triumphantly, with visions of a great ptize uppermost in my mind. On and on it led, down hills and through woods ; I was puzzled that it did not come to an end, but this it finally did as abruptly as I had first come upon it, right in the midst of a heap of rocks, where there was a good-sized den. Now, I had no idea as to what sort of a fox this was ; I hoped, of course, that it would be a silver fox—and so it proved to be. Thanks to the fact that the animal was by no manner of means so educated as those found around civilization, where the fear of man makes them “ wise” to all the trapper’s tricks, this one knew nothing of man and his devices, so the set I made for it, while more or less inge- nious, would have been utterly shunned by his “civilized” brother. The trap having been baited with a fresh-killed partridge, and all signs of my visit erased as carefully as possible, I left the scene. That night I stayed at the farthest shelter on my trap-line and in the morning set out once more for the den in the rocks. It was some distance to the place in question, but I made good speed. I felt, somehow, that the fox was mine, and this I knew for a certainty when, drawing within sight of it, I saw him lying there, caught by a forefoot,

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THE FUR-THIEF 493 awaiting me. It was no common fox to dash my hopes ; but a sure-enough silver fox, and as the sun shone down on him it seer-ed to throw back that inimitable golden sheen that gives the fur its value. It was a fine pelt, unmarred and perfect, and would fetch a splendid price in the market, and I was content. I wasted no time, but, highly elated, started at once for the home cabin, for I wanted Jimmy to know the good tidings as soon as possible. I did not loiter on the rvad to skin the animal, leaving that for later on. It was slightly before the noon hour, I remem- ber, just as I was thinking of making camp, and eating my frugal meal, when I was surprised to note ahead of me a trail in the snow. I stood still in my tracks for just a moment, and then hurried forward. Yes; there it was in the snow—the mark left by a passing dog-sled, with the snowshoe tracks of the owner alongside. The trail passed off through the wood and was lost from sight. This was the first sign of human presence other than our own that we had seen that winter, and it can well be imagined that it surprised me somewhat ; I wanted to know what the fellow looked like and where he was bound for. But I remembered the silver fox I was carrying on my back and realized that by all the laws of common sense I should not waste time on the road. Accordingly I left the trail and took my own path. A mile farther on I was again surprised to see that the dog-sled trail fell in with my general course and that the stranger was making in the direction of the home cabin. He had evidently found signs of our occupation of that section of the country and was eager to know who we were. As I had thought, he got into the run of my trap-line, which swung around to the cabin, and was following it with a keenness that spoke of a thorough knowledge of where he was bound for. The trail was not very old ; I judged it had been made only three or four hours before, and in this I was borne out later. Reaching the neighbourhood of the cabin, I saw smoke coming out of the stove-pipe through the roof. I wondered if Jimmy was at home ; it was either he or the stranger. And the stranger it was, for Jimmy was not there. It was, of course, a foolish thing on my part to step into the cabin carrying with me my dearly -sought prize—the valuable silver fox. At that moment I did not think of it ; a little later, however, I knew I had done a foolish thing. Stepping inside the cabin I saw the stranger sitting at the table; he had just finished eating. Strangers in the wilderness are perfectly welcome, upon reaching a cabin, to stop there and make themselves at home, and this stranger had availed himself of the trapper’s code, and was sampling our stores with a ready hand. We surveyed each other for a second ; then he smiled and held out his hand. “T was on my way south of here,” he said, in answer to my look of inquiry, ‘‘ and stopped to rest. You see, I have helped myself.” Yes, I had seen. I did not like the looks of the fellow ; somehow he went against my grain, and, perhaps, there was a trace of my thoughts depicted on my face. He was tall and thin, nationality uncertain, but he was dark, with dark hair and black, bead-like eyes over which the lids narrowed to mere slits—and his look was as cold as ice. His face, too, was thin and hatchet-like ; the lips settled in a thin, cruel line, revealing only too well the character of the man. When he spoke there was the suspicion of a sneer curling his lips. Suddenly his eyes lit upon the burden I carried; there was a lightning change of countenance ; then his.features fell into their former expression. “ You are lucky,” he said, pointing to the fox. “ Let me see it.” Keeping my eyes on him, with the gun in the crook of my arm, I let the body of the fox down from my shoulders. “Tt is a perfect hide, I should say,” he remarked, running his fingers, in what I thought a miser-like way, through the fur, and searching for defects. ‘‘ What will you take for it ? ” “ Nothing,” I said, reclaiming the animal and laying it on a bench. ‘“‘It is not for sale; my partner has an equal share in it, and I should like to know what he thinks about selling it before I make a price.” “Of course,” he said, as though abandoning the topic. ‘‘ Well, it is a fine fur and they are not too common. You are lucky.” He would tell me nothing about where he came from or where he was going, though I tried to pump him. I knew that this forsaken country was the hiding-place of criminals who had fled from justice, and if he had told me he had committed some questionable deed in the States, and was here seeking safety, I should not have been surprised. I did not quite know what to do. I wondered when Jimmy would return, but calculated that he might not be along till nightfall, or perhaps not come home that day at all. I abandoned thought of him for the time being, and after getting myself some lunch, fell to eating it, joining in a desultory conversation with the stranger. Ina way I felt safe, yet I had a sort of feeling that something was wrong. I was angry with myseli for my feeling of nervousness, for while it was to be admitted the stranger looked rather menacing,

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494 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ He lifted the gun, and I had a lightning vision of it descending upon my head.” it might after all be just his natural-born manner. But the idea would not leave me. Soon, however, I found that my instinctive fear was only too well justified. No sooner had I got out of reaching distance of my gun, than the stranger suddenly seized his own, threw it to his shoulder, edged cautiously backward and drew back the hammer. I did not move; what I dreaded had happened. “You expected it, didn’t you?” said the fellow, sitting down on the edge of the rough table, with the muzzle of the gun staring at me. “Since you will not sell, I will take. Yes, I will take—not only this fox, but also some of the other furs you have within. Now listen to me. Show any signs of attempting to resist and it will be to your sorrow. I want these furs; I have a sled outside waiting for them. and I must have a good start south by nightfall.”” I caught my breath. He was going to rob us of our hard-won furs! Never was I more dumbfounded ; the very thought held me speechless for a brace of moments. Then my mind became normal and began to work again,

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THE FUR-THIEF. 495 “You understand, of course,” I said, evenly, “that by robbing us of these furs you are committing an unpardonable crime, repaid only by death in this country ? ” He laughed, and his black eyes took on a dangerous glint. ‘*T know all that,” he snarled, “and I am fully able to take care of myself and mine. Now, just tie this thong over your right wrist—tie it hard and tight—and throw it over your left wrist.” He handed me a thong for the purpose. The gun still kept its sinister eye on me, and I despaired. 1 watched him closely as I took the thong, hoping I might catch him unawarcs, but he was keenly on the alert, and a move would have spelled my death. I slipped the thong over my wrist and bound it as he had ordered, then put it round the left. The next move on his part happene1 in a twinkling. He lifted the gun, I had a lightning v.sion of it descending upon my head ; then I knew no more for the time being. When I came to I found myself trussed up in a most thorough fashion, I could barely move. The stranger had made use of a bunch of thongs we had hanging on the wall-hook, as a glimpse told me. I heard him in the fur room, bustling around, and saw him throw out bundle after bundle of our winter’s earnings in fur. A black hatred of the man and an intense desire for revenge swept over me. When he had finished he came over to my side and looked down at me. _ ‘Remember this,” he said, ‘if you follow me there will be only one thing for me to do, so use a little judgment. Good-bye—and good luck!” One by one the bundles were carried out ; then the door was banged to; I heard a whip crack in the cold, still air outside, a crunch in the snow, and then suddenly all was still. My first action was an endeavour to release myself, but it seemed next to impossible, and after many futile efforts I gave up in despair and sank down on the floor to bide my time and wait for the coming of Jimmy. My blood grew cold as I thought of the consequences should my partner fail to appear. After I had exhausted myself in vain efforts to unloose the thongs I lay still and thought. My rage against the robber knew no bounds. It seemed as though some evil fate had directed the villain into my path at the very moment when things seemed brightest. I wondered vaguely what Jimmy would think - and what he would do. In a way I deemed pursuit of the thief an impossibility. Night would come and obliterate everything till morning, and then the fugitive would have a great lead. Again and again, as time crept by, I tried to tid myself of the thongs, but it was no use ; they clung to me like the tentacles of a devilfish. In the midst of one of these attempts I paused, for I heard steps outside. The next moment, before I could shout, Jimmy burst open the door and stepped into the darkening room, his gun pointed before him. In a moment, after he found out who was within, he was cutting my bonds and was listening to my brief story of what had happened. He sat upright in his crude chair, motionless, as though frozen or petrified, and for a long time he did not say a word. Perhaps he, too, had seen the mental pictures I had been reviewing—day after day of cruel, beating winds on the trap-line ; day after day of teeth bared to the gales, winning from this desolate region those hard-earned furs, often paid for in suffering without name. No wonder the unwritten law of death exists for the thief! I knew Jimmy held but one end in view. It could be guessed. “It is too late now for pursuit,” he said, as he rose to his feet and walked about. ‘(In the morning we will take up the villain’s trail. We'll follow it to the end of the world, if need be, but we are going to have those furs back.” It was just as the first streaks of grey were showing clear in the eastern heavens that we set out, with provisions on our backs sufficient. to last many days. Jimmy took the lead, and I followed. On and on the trail of the pursued took us, over the forsaken places, through timber and across the more open country, but always leading southwards, as the compass showed us. The thief was heading for the nearest outpost of civilization—the Hudson Bay Company’s station—and was journeying at his best possible speed. With the additional load of furs on his sled, however, it made hard pulling for the ten dogs. It was, of course, certain that he would do no travelling by night, but would camp and get a good start in the morning. Suddenly we came upon the place where the thief had camped the first night ; there were the still-glowing embers of the logs that had composed the fire. Here we stopped for a few moments to rest and eat a bit, and then again started out on the silent trail. No word passed between us ; there was no need of speech. Our eyes were glued on the trail and our thoughts were far beyond it. Jimmy seemed tireless, but the same could not be said of me; the exertion was beginning to tell on me and my body seemed tired through and through, but I doggedly clung to my partner and vowed I would not falter. So, all through that day, we kept to the tell-tale trail, and the falling shadows of the early

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496 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. night found us encamped between a cluster of pines, resting our tired limbs. The night was bitter cold, with the wind howling down upon us like a thousand demons. Should the trail be obliterated by the drifting snow our chances of ever finding the way to our furs would be practically gone, but luckily this did not happen. We were up in the grey of morning again, and away, with our snowshoes creaking, heading always southward. In places the drifted snow had covered the tracks, but we could follow them easily in the timber. We noted that the fugitive kept on without stopping for a great distance, which showed that he had travelled at the topmost speed of the dogs. Looking about me at the endless snows, a feeling of despair seized me, but a glimpse at my partner’s set face, with determination written all over it, braced me up, and I swore I would see the thing through. What would be the end of it I did not know; I could not even tell whether we were gaining or not. At noon that day, when we hit the trail again, Jimmy pointed to a patch of blood on the snow. “It’s telling on the dogs,”’ he said, with a note of hope in his voice. ‘“ He is not taking good care of their feet, and is running them to the limit. It will be his downfall.” All the morning we had gone at a fair rate, but the pace was telling. I had begun to lag and looked forward to each stopping-place as my only hope. Jimmy, too, began to show signs of distress. Emerging from a strip of timber in the afternoon of that day we found ourselves looking down upon a rugged and unpromising country. The trail we were fol- lowing had now begun to show fresh before our eyes—we were steadily gaining on the thief. His stops had become more frequent, and we could easily see that he had been forced to drive the dogs blindly, against their will. This looked promising indeed for us, and we set out with fresh hope. But our pace also was growing duller and slower ; I felt as though I could sag down to the snow at any moment. Jimmy was showing the strain more and more, but his eyes never left the trail before him, and his grip upon his rifle was fixed and certain. The blood-marks along the trail became more frequent as we kept on; every foot of the way showed the laboured effort with which the unfortunate dogs were driven by the cruel whip in the hands of the relentless man behind. “Tf the dogs are of the true breed, half-wolf and half-dog,” said Jimmy, as we paused for a moment to ease our weary legs, “‘ the time will come when they will rebel. And when a dog rebels—the game is up. You watch!” The trail was continually growing fresher in appearance, and the farther we went the clearer the tale was written. Here were places where the big lead-dog, the malamute, had stopped. The poor beasts had been over-driven, and their blood was up; it was now man against brute. If the great lead-dog showed fight, and was not speedily quelled by the master mind, then our pursuit would soon end, for the climax would be swift and certain ; the other dogs would follow their leader’s example. The stops had now become very frequent. Fool that the man was ! He had failed to reckon with the endurance of his team. Well, he would have to pay the penalty. That night we entered some timber into which the trail had led us. How far beyond our destination lay we did not know ; we were, however, confident that the next day would witness the end of the chase. Early next morning we were again on the seemingly endless journey. The winds of the night before had blown the snow over the trail to such an extent that it was almost entirely obliterated. It was now more or less of a task to follow it, but thanks to the fact that the thief had hugged the timber for protection, we were able to make our way. Barely a mile and a half from our own camping-place af the previous night we came upon the stopping-place of the pursued. There were signs about the spot that showed only too plainly that disaster was looming up for the fugitive. A little way farther on we found one of the dogs, lying stone- dead and stiff beside a tree. Jimmy nodded his head and smiled wanly. “That means the cold truth,” he said.‘ Look at the expression on that dead brute’s face, and you will know what is up.” We were travelling very slowly now, hardly making any progress, it seemed. Emerging from a strip of timber again, we were able to get a good view of the country beyond and ahead of us. The feeble sun lit up the scene, and, shading our eyes with our hands, we looked forward. In the far distance we could readily make out a speck that seemed to move. It was our man and his dog-sled. No need now to watch the trail ; our quarry was close at hand. Ascending a rise Jimmy suddenly brought his rifle to his shoulder and fired. ‘The thief was far out of range, but the shot would serve as a warning to him that we meant business. On and on we plodded, and though the fugitive seemed to progress at a snail's pace, he still kept ahead of us. Farther on we found another dog dead and cold—a mute reminder of the coming end—but the lead-dog had not been killed. Noon of that day found us a good deal closer to our quarry. Far ahead, from the dog-sled, a rifle cracked,

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i ! t L r THE FUR-THIEF 497 and we knew that the thief had turned upon us. We answered back, but we were still out of range. It seemed an eternity before we reached another stretch of timber into which the trail led. And there, late in the afternoon, we came upon a scene I shall never forget. Our man had camped at the noon hour to rest and warm himself, and the fire was still burning. Drawing near we saw moving figures, some crouched down and others lying silent on the snow. Coming yet nearer, we made out the details. On the form of the man, stretched out on the snow, “ The half-crazed brutes had attacked and killed him.” were gathered the few remaining dogs—probably the leaders. The half-crazed brutes had attacked and killed him and so mangled the corpse that he could not have been recognized. The dogs were savage and absolutely ravenous, and we were forced to shoot them for fear of being attacked ourselves. They were, moreover, in a miserable plight, with their feet completely ruined. } A hasty examination showed us that the furs were intact; the precious silver fox, still un- skinned, lay at the bottom of the sled, wrapped in two blankets, telling only too plainly of the dead man’s determination to protect it with his - life. Vol. xxxi.—35. Utterly exhausted and worn out, we sat stiffly by the fire, one blanket wrapped around us ; another hung up as a shelter on the windward side. We camped on the spot for some time, debating on what to do. We had no wish to return to our cabin at the headwaters of the Tobique, and firally made up our minds to finish the trail by going down to the fort and disposing of the furs, after which we would decide on a plan for the future. We had a plentiful supply cf provisions, and although the journey was long we slipped southward over the snows by easy stages, taking our time and recuperating as we went. Arrived at the Hudson Bay fort we disposed of our furs satisfactorily, and then returned to the Tobique for the last month of trapping. From that day the wilderness has claimed me ; it is a hard life, but it is a clean one, and I do not suppose I shall ever return to civilization.

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ODDS anp ENDS. The «Human Bomb”—A Venerable Vessel—Flowers That Look Like Stones, etc. “The Human Bomb,” newspaper, describes his conduct in jail. Strange craft have from time to time cast anchor in-the calm waters of San Diego Harbour, California, but the strangest of all came to anchor when the Chinese ex-pirate, HE DOESN'T LIKE WORK. Dynamiter Warr Pinds Things Les Agreeablo Than He Foncled tn San Quentin Prison, | © Carl Warr, ho of the dynamite an | Many oliages, Ig decidediy dint’ . | with Life. The principal reason a) _to be that ho fs in San Quentin for and that twenty years to them. According to his jailers, . man who leaped inte the national eye a few months ago as the “human- bomb” is one of the most troublesome De 3 Sam Browne, formerly of the Dis- trietAttorney’s office and now head of ® private detective bureau in the In- ternational ‘Bank bullding, yerter: received the first photograph of War? in his. prison gurb. Browne has kept a fatherly eye on th “hurnan bomb” ever since he was. caited to grab the infernal machine» fram Waren hands as the #at and threatened to blow up the every one ta at Picture, re- mrogcem herewith, shows tho dyna- in welrd the police, farce tame a Ja fi y ms, Ee Hag, Hon Maan at A cutting from a Californian newspaper re= ferring to Warr's conduct in jail, smuggler, slaver, and rebel junk Ning Po (Peaceful Wave), after a long voyage across the Pacific, finally swung with the tide on her cables. “This ancient craft, with a dark and sanguinary record, and énveloped in the mystery of the Orient, is a hundred and sixty years old, having been built in the year 1753. It is constructed of teak, iron-wood, ebony, and other Oriental woods. At present it is a floating historical museum, and contains as gruesome a collection of Chinese torture instruments, weapons, and devices as ITH reference to the striking story we recently published, accompanying photograph and newspaper cutting speak for themselves. The picture shows Warr as he appears in prison, while the paragraph, taken from a Californian Carl Warr, th From a) A Chinese junk with a wonderful history. (Photograph. could be wished for, such as starving-cages, beheading-swerds, bone- breakers, and the like. This ancient vessel was used in succession as a pirate, smuggler, and slaver. She is equipped with several small cannon, mounted on tripods, that can be carried to any point on the ship. These curious pieces of ordnance are said to be two hundred years old. The masts of the vessel are of iron - wood, and local carpenters and mechanics were invited to come on board and try to penetrate them with augers and gimlets. The vessel's record is given as follows : 1753, built at Fu Chau, China ; 1796, used in a_ revolt against Emperor Kea King (dunog this event over one hundred and _ fifty prisoners were be- headed at one time on the deck) ; 1806, seized for piracy and smuggling ; 1814, set on fire; 1823, smuggling silk again resulted in its seizure ; 1834, con- fiscated by Lord Napier for acting as a slaver and smug- gler, and was later captured by “Chinese Gordon ” WE ’ Cahas Geo Spencer, Alt A Jaris, Car} “Riedel beueh) Moe 34 FOV. diettnneni,© in the Taiping ’ f a7 4 rs, Rebelliguisaid ngehke —Nat: Germany VA Ra 1-~429-/943 1864, took part in the Battle of Nan- “Human Bomb,” as he appears in prison. king; 1911, cap- "rom a Photograph. tured by the rebels

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5 MANCESs Cos © ik ates Vilage / O feak Ve U3. _/ THE MAN OF MANY SHAPES ‘THE RUNAWAY~ fe AFishernae ne, o r TEA of Palerqa Cease & 7 ty; ‘ TheWaterbottle 7 % Po a RF a a Mien * Kye? (Ae 3 | Corio Manis : ey ARs pousty THE "Aya. MANS ADVE AND OF , . y ; “ NINVUCATAR RES ITCHORAFT, dtl ee | ACROSS THE CON, | eae JIKIRIS LAST FIGHT 8 EVEN-THOUSAND-MILE * | Race | FOR A GOLD MINE >. “A BATTLE WITHA STAG | “ . STALKED! Te macontet of "The Wide Word Maden” which shov. a dane th oat of a aril ed ara adventure in this nomber. sb Google

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“THE BURGLAR‘ WAS FOUND ON A LADDER, QUITE STIFF AND INSENSIBLE.” SEE PAGE 506.

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TAE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. XXXI. OCTOBER, 1913. No. 186. THE DOG WITH THE IRON JAW. By WILLIAX SHAW. ILLUSTRATED BY FP. HOLMBS. Exciting experiences do not often come the way of assistants in country stores, but here is an adventure quite stirring enough for most young fellows starting life in the “dry goods” trade. ‘It is absolutely true,” states the author, ‘‘and happened in 1877 or 1878.” [N my early days in the “ dry goods ” business in the United States I was Ga) stores were conducted ; of the many ups and downs of the clerks employed in them ; of long hours and low wages; having t> sleep in the store at night and act as watchmen ; and many other little troubles too numerous to mention. While I listened to these stories I never imagined that it would ever be my lot to go through one of the most thrilling hours of my life, and that in a little Western store where I worked for a time. How I came to drift out to that particular place—Ansonia, then a small town—would be of no interest to the reader, but when I arrived there, in 1877-78, I heard that two Scotchmen Vol. xxai.— 36 told many stories of how the country _ in the dry goods business required a clerk. 1 called and saw the partners, and after a chat we found that we had mutual friends, and I was engaged. It seemed it was necessary for protection that two clerks should sleep in the store at night, and a portable bed was provided for this purpose. Previously one of the partners and the clerk, Frank Deans, had taken this duty, the young man being unwilling, or perhaps afraid, to stay alone. I was instructed that for the future I was to relieve the partner of this obligation and spend my nights at the store in company with the other clerk. Ansonia was then a small country town of about fifteen thousand inhabitants. The main street had stores and houses on one side only ;

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on the other side were open lots, with a factory or workshop here and there; the railroad ran at the back of the houses. Our store had four large windows and two doors at the front and two windows at the back. The heating furnace was right underneath the store, in a large cellar, reached by a trap-door. We had a good bed, and as the place was well heated my fellow-clerk and I were quite comfortable. The business closed at eight o’clock in the evening, and we had to be in again for the night by ten, except on one evening a week, when we were allowed to remain free until half-past eleven. On these nights the partners were generally in the store. In addition to those mentioned, the staff also included three lady clerks and a cashier, making the total of employers and employed eight in all. My fellow-clerk and I made a number of friends, and always had a social cngagement on our evenings out. The “‘ bosses ” were very particular about the . closing of the store. Sometimes they came back after we were in bed and tried the doors to see if everything was all right. Even the two back windows had to be shuttered inside. These windows were large, about eight feet high, and the shutters had a strong iron bar right across them about half-way up. It was rather a troublesome matter to close them, as there were generally goods of various kinds piled up on a counter that ran right along under them. One night we did not close the shutters, and one of the “‘ bosses,” happening to come back for something he had forgotten, noticed that the windows were unshuttered, and upbraided us for neglecting this duty. I pointed out to him the difficulty there was on some occasions to get the shutters closed; also that there were two of us in the store, and that the windows stood ten feet off the ground. Nevertheless, he insisted on the shutters being fastened, and afterwards they were always closed even before business was finished for the day. Trade prospered at the store, and everything went along smoothly until Christmas Eve. On the morning of that day Frank Deans received a letter stating that his mother was seriously ill, and about noon a teleyram arrived asking him to come home at once. We were very busy at the time and he could not well be spared. The lady clerks, however, said they could get two or three friends to assist, so Frank started for home, a distance of over eighty miles. It was eleven in the evening before the last customer left, and half an hour later the “bosses” took their departure. Before leaving one of them remarked that it would be a bit dull for me all alone in the store, but I said 504 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I did not mind, as I was tired out and should soon be fast asleep. I saw them out, and then, after closing the front door, got my bed ready, raked out the furnaces below, and saw everything right for the night. Finally I sat down for a quiet smoke. It would be about half-past twelve when I turned in. There was a gas-jet just within my reach, but I had turned it out by accident, and did not bother to light it again. I was not left in total darkness, however, as there was a lamp in the street right opposite the far-off front window, which threw a faint light into the store. My eyes had become quite accustomed to this feeble light, and at times I could get up during the night to alter the heat regulators without striking a match. The last train, a freight, passed along the line behind at one o’clock in the morning, and I was still awake when it rumbled by—no doubt owing to the excitement and bustle of the day. I reached for my pipe and had another smoke, meanwhile wondering if Frank Deans woud get back in time for a Christmas party to which we had been invited. Presently I got drowsy and began to doze, but a few minutes afterwards woke up with a start. Looking at my watch, I saw that the time was exactly two o’clock. 1 remember quite well that as I put my watch underneath my pillow again I heard a slight noise, but put it down to mice, with which we were troubled. Suddenly I started up in bed; I could have sworn that I heard someone speaking close by me. No! It must be my imagination, I thought, or it might have been some belated people passing along the street. But again I heard a sound—this time as if a hole were being bored in wood. I lay down on my back, listen- ing intently, for this seemed suspicious. Silence followed, but ere long yet another noise reached my ear, and this time I could swear it was a saw at work. The sound came from the direction of the back window, on the other side of the store. I rose and, after slipping on my trousers and socks, stepped quietly over to the window. At first 1 could see nothing in the gloom, but by and by caught the glint of steel high up in the back shutter—a bright blade moving rapidly in and out. I knew at once that burglars were at work and that they were sawing out a hole in order to reach the iron bar which fastened the shutters. The bright little blade fascinated me, as it moved ceaselessly and quietly backwards and forwards. The longer I looked the more distinctly I could see it, working in a circular direction, When the circle seemed complete the saw stopped and was withdrawn. I drew back alittle, and when I

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THE DOG WITH THE IRON JAW. 505 looked again I saw a round hole in the shutter about six inches in diameter. I wondered what I ought to do. There was no one living in the block, and the nearest nearly a foot deep. As I stared at the hole 1 could almost see the dim outline of a face, and an eye peering in. How I came to think of it I never could explain, but I imitated the growl of a dog and gave a short bark. Then I heard a husky voice exclaim : “ There’s a blooming dog in- side, Charlie !° Another voice replied, and a minute or two later a hand was pushed through the hole and what looked hke a lump of beef dropped on to the floor— "Suddenly I started up in bed; I could have sworn that | heard someone speaking close by me.” persons would be the night shift at the brass mill, a hundred yards down the street. The railroad depot was about the same distance away, but there might be someone watching the store in front, and the snow—it had been coming down heavily — was probably drugged or poisoned, without a doubt. I imitated the bark again and also emitted a growl, while the parties outside waited, evidently to see the result. I had no firearms or weapons of any kind, and looked around for something that might

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505 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. serve as an implement of self-defence. Suddenly I remembered a large pair of blacksmith’s tongs, about four feet long, which we used to draw the damper from the furnace. They had been re- paired the day previously, and were now lying underneath the back counter. I lost no time in securing them, and looked up at the shutters again, This time I saw the whole arm of a man reaching down, evidently feeling for the bolt. I barked again, but no attention was paid, the hand still groping around. Presently it just touched the bar. Like a flash I saw my opportunity, and, reach- ing up the tongs, with a handle in each hand, I closed the jaws on the middle of the intruding palm and held on like grim death. “Oh ! It’s got me!” was all I heard from out- side, and a violent pull was made to get the hand free. It was of no use, however, for the big jaws held like a vice. Evidently the man thought that the “ dog ” had jumped up and seized him by the hand, for I heard another voice say: ‘‘ Shake him off!” Meanwhile the victim was cursing and groan- ing, making every effort to free his hand. From the position of his arm, however, which was thrust into the hole up to the shoulder, -he could not exert his full strength, nor could he by any means see into the store. Presently the struggles grew weaker and weaker, and the arm hung limp. By this time blood was flowing down the tongs, and I began to think the man had fainted from the intense pain he must have suffered. I heard no sounds outside, and was getting stiff and sore from the cramped position in which I was holding the tongs. Catching them round with one arm, I bound the two handles together with string to keep them closed, and left them suspended. I knew the poor wretch could not now drag his arm out. Stepping back, I lighted the gas, made for my bed, and got my coat and boots. Just then I heard voices singing in the street, and though the noise was discordant, it was sweet music to me. I lost no time in making for the door. As I passed the store clock I noticed that the time was ten minutes past three. When I opened the door I saw seven or eight men, some carrying lanterns, walking up the street on the opposite side, singing a Christmas carol. I knew them to be Englishmen employed on the night shift at the brass mill, going home from work. I whistled and shouted, and they crossed over. Two of them I recognized as customers at the store, and as rapidly as possible I explained the state of affairs, and we all went back to the window. The foreman of the squad took in the situation at once. One man was sent to the hotel to call the “ bosses,” another to the police-station, and a third to get some of the railroad'men. The rest of them went along the street and down a lane to the track. Meanwhile I got the store fully lighted up and the other back window open. The burglar was found on a ladder, quite stiff and insensible. Two ladders, one on each side, had to be put up to get him down. At first he was thought to be dead, but after being taken to the lock-up, put to bed, and given medical aid, he began to revive. He was recog- nized as a well-known cracksman, and bore the reputation of being a desperate character. who never scrupled to use his “ gun.” He and his accomplice, who for the time being had dis- appeared, were badly wanted by the police. At the foot of the ladder was a square of glass with a lump of putty attached to it and a disc of wood with a gimlet in the centre. The man’s hand healed long before he rose from his bed, for his exposure to the intense cold brought on pneumonia, and he lay for nearly six weeks in the prison hospital. One of the first questions he asked the attendant was if he knew what breed of dog it was that had hung on to him. The attendant replied that he believed it to be known as the “ iron-jawed ” variety. “ And a jolly good name, too!” growled the burglar. His naming of his accomplice “ Charlie” in my hearing was the means of leading to the * latter’s capture. The two were later tried together and each sentenced to eighteen months in jail. On Christmas Day I was presented by my “ bosses” with a bank bill and a handsome “ shooter ” for future use, while a month later a fine dog—not of the “ iron-jawed” variety, however—was added to the staff.

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THROUGH THE LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. By P. AMAURY TALBOT. In these remarkable articles the author gives 4 most absorbing account of his experiences and discoveries while travelling as 4 Government official through the haunts of the “ju-ju,” in the remote and little-known “ bush ” districts of West Africa. The people are steeped in superstition ; witchcraft and the fear of evil spirits dominate ev-ry act of their lives. Secret societies, whose members claim uncanny powers and strike at their enemies in mysterious ways, flourish on every hand; and some of the stories of “ju-ju” magic are so strange as to make one wonder if there is not something more than mere coincidence at the back of them. I: 7 ESIDE that described in my first A | WW article, another tree is always to be : found in an Ekoi town. This is the “Tsinn,” a slip of which is brought to every new settlement from the parent tree in the old home. P In both, the natives believe, dwell gentle Genii, whose office is to watch over the townsfolk and bring them prosperity. Outside, in the vast mys- terious forests which press so closely round the little clearings as to seem like an advancing army, ready to overwhelm and sweep them out of existence, great trees are to be seen, inhabited by malignant spirits ever ready to seize on the passer-by and im- prison him within their rugged arms. Of these forest giants, the cotton trees are not only the : | largest, but the most \ | dreaded. By means of u 7 ad offerings hung round the os Ccathieabil Bone buttress-like roots, or laid 2 i Pe in a clearing before it, the |] , spirit of such a tree may be won over to wreak vengeance on an enemy or pte te ‘A giant cotton tree — These are greatly dreaded as being the abode of malignant demons. From a Photograp'. The “ Isinn” tree, which is always to be found in every Ekoi town The natives believe that sood spirits dwell in these trees and watch over their prosperity. From a Photograph. grant wealth or power to petitioners. For those too poor to provide the usual offerings there remains a yet more dreaded way of enlisting the services of the spirit of the tree. Aman may offer himself as a sacrifice, and, after enjoying the results of his prayer for a few years, must go, when the spirit calls him, to sufferimprisonment within so long as the tree shall endure. One such tree stands, hung round with votive offerings, near the Lake of the Dead, not far from the town of Nsan. A rumour concerning this oddiy-named lake had reached us, but when we

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The base of a ju-ju tree near the "Lake of the From a) Dead [Photograph. asked where it might be found every- one professed the most profound ignorance of its v te A struggle through dense bush, in what seemed the most probable direction, brought us to the edge of the water— shrunk then, at the height of the dry on, till it was scarcely bigger than a large pond. Not a ripple stirre the surfa later we learned that nothing m allowed to trouble The uncanny little “Lake of the Dead.” discovered by the Author. From « Photcgraph. the water, otherwise its guardians would be en- raged, and bring disaster in some dire form, such as famine or pestilence, on the whole country-side, The place is a sanctuary for all wild things, for no hunter would dare to pene- trate the belt of fern in search of wounded bird or beast which had fled thither. Iking round we expedition Kameruns. From a Photograph. came upon no fewer than five crocodiles’ holes, and the tracks on the soft mud showed theowners to be at home. These crocodiles are regarded as manifestations of the guardian spirits of the place,

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THROUGH THE LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. 509 and therefore as special sacred. Hither by night come the ghosts of long- dead Ekoi, to drift in sad companies, hopeless and wailing, over the surface of the water. Even in the bright sunlight the place has an uncanny look, and one can easily imagine that at midnight, when white mists shimmer ghost-like in the light of the moon, people with the terror and mystery of the bush in their blood would rather sit chatting round the fire or dance by torchlight in the open spaces of the towns than seek out this spot on the chance of holding communion with the spirits of their long-dead kin. As we stood at the edge, gazing out over the water, its quiet was suddenly broken by a broad ripple, and little fish were seen to spring agitatedly above the surface. A great python was crossing, and this, we learned, shared with the crocodiles the guardianship of the Sacred Lake. A still more beautiful example of a Lake of the Dead is to be found in the Kameruns. This was discovered by the German Commissioner, Dr. Mansfeld, who most courteously ir.vited us to pay a visit to its shores. The way thither led through beautiful country, the rivers spanned by excellent suspension bridges of native work, some of which had been specially made for our convenience. These are con tructed, -at infinitesimal cost, from the creepers which grow javoy Hotel ‘The Author at lunch in the Kameruns. From a Photograph. everywhere in the bush, and are made fast to tree-trunks on either bank. They sway slightly as one crosses, but are so strong as to last for several years without repair. Some houses had been built for us in full view of the beautiful lake, together with a little erec- tion named by our kind host “ Savoy Hotel,” on the posts of which the menu for each meal was displayed. This took the form of skulls and wings of-the “ bag’’ which supplied the various courses. It is indicative of the jealous way in which primitive peoples guard their secrets that a Government station had existed for years within a few miles of this spot, yet no hint of the existence of the lake had reached German ears. It was only through noticing the recur- rence of the word “ Ijagham ” in the phonograph records of folk-songs which he was collecting, and the fact that no translation could be got from the people, that Dr. Mansfeld’s suspicions were aroused. After a long time, and by means of considerable bribes, one man was induced to explain that it meant a great water which existed in the neighbourhood. It was still a matter of difficulty to discover the actual situation, but in time this also was accomplished. According to legend, the centre of the lake is

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510 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of immense depth, and con tains a whirlpool into which all who venture to bathe in its waters or attempt to cross them in a canoe are sucked. No such evil fate, however. overtook the little Berthon boat in which we crossed. Per- haps the spirit of the lake was too chivalrous to harm the first white women to visit his shores ! The lake is in the shape of an oval cup, ringed round with high trees, which reach right down to the water's edge. There is no encircling belt of reed or fern, and noticeably little undergrowth. The bed is of clean white sand, which seems to stretch from rim to rim. Through the clear green water hundreds of fishes dart hither and thither, of different but only one variety. They are much like trout to the eye and taste, but need no salt for cooki The natives say, “ They have salt in their bod Possibly the fact that the lake lies in the centre of thirteen salt springs may have something to do with this peculiarity, though the water of Ijagham itself is beautifully clear and sweet. Strangely enough, the temperature of the From a) The Author's wite and sister on the great “Lake of the Dead" discovered by Dr. Mans- feld. They were the first white women to cross water at the bottom of the lake is, even on the hottest day, higher than that of the surface. On September 24th, at eight a.m., eighty-one degrees on the surface and eighty-four degrees at a depth of seventy- two feet was obtained by our host. No river enters and only one flows from it, which even- tually empties itself into a tributary of the Cross River. The bush on both sides of the border is very thick, almost uninhabited, and teeming with animal life. Elephant roads lead in every direction, and several times we came across baths and playgrounds only just deserted by these colossal pachyderms. Near the falls of the Akwa Yafe River, dear to many through its memories of Mary Kingsley, we were fortunate enough to happen on an interesting discovery. Less than a mile from the bank, on the British shore, a bush-path leads down a cup-like depres- sion, at the bottom of which, in the wall-like side, looms a vast cave. From the blackness within countless bats shrill ceaselessly above the dull rush and boom of water, for just beyond the [ Photograph. From a} The river flowing from the big “ Lake of the Dead.”

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- 3 8-o w ee oe oe The EE ah THROUGH THE. LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. sur The falls of the Akwa Yafe. From a Photograph. opening two underground rivers join. Save for the heavy odour of swarms of bats, disturbed by our approach, the air was clear and pure, showing the presence of many openings. This system of underground halls and vaulted tunnels reaches for miles, in many cases with roofs smoothly curved as though hewn by the hand of man. The caves are said to extend up to the first falls, but time did not permit of thorough exploration. They are the property of the Ododop people, and much valued on account of the bats, which inhabit them in vast numbers, and which are looked upon as a delicacy. The method of capture is as follows :— At each known entrance stand men armed with long sticks, with which to strike down the escaping bats. The principal hunters then enter the caves, accompanied by lan- tern-bearers and carrying triangular nets fastened at the end of long poles. With these they sweep the roofs, enmeshing hundreds of the dusky denizens, and driving the rest towards the entrance;. A aoene in the bush where it takes hours to out a pathw: From a} When first disturbed, the din caused by the screams of the startled bats and the whirr of their myriad wings was indescribable. Great clouds of them made for the exits, to fall, line after line, under the blows of the beaters outside. It is, above all, during long “bush” tours that one comes nearest to understanding the minds of primitive peoples such as the forest folk of these regions. In the whole land there are no open spaces, save those which have been cleared for villages or farms. The heavenly bodies play but little part in their lives, for, as one of the men remarked, ‘“ We do not trouble ourselves about the stars, because the trees always hide them.” Everywhere the foliage presses round one like a solid wall, while creepers with stems like giant cables, often two and a half feet in circumference, hang in festoons from tree to tree, so tangled together that hours may be spent in cutting a short way through. Such bush, with its soft green twilight, its dark shadows, and ay, for a short distance. (Photograph.

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WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. quivering lights, is peopled by many terrors, but among these that of “ Ojje”’ (witch- craft) reigns supreme. Some people, indeed, believe that there are good ju-jus which are r this river the Author discovered a remarkable series of undergro: nd halls and om a) tunnels extending for miles. Wonderful forest creepers — Some of these From a) in stronger, but most think that none but Obassi himself can give pro- tection against this ever - present terror, which walks by day or night, and may manife elf in the least expected way or sweetheart may be witches in disguise. The bird which flies in at your open door in the sunshine, the bat which circles round your house at twilight, the small bush beasts which c! your path while hunting —all may be familiars of witch or wizard, or even the latter themselve: 1 to do you The entrance to the wonderful bat-infested caves of the Akwa Yale hurt. In this world of magic shape- From a Photograph. shifting is an everyday occurrence

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x{st THROUGH THE LAN and it seems scarce harder of belief that a man should be able to change into leopard or crocodile than that tiny flowers, no bigger than a pin’s head, should become huge fruits, hang- ing from tree and liane, ready to fall and stun the hapless passer - by. To those who know the depths of virgin fores s, with their strange solitudes filled by the thousand unexplainable sounds, which together make up one vast silence, such beliefs eem not only natural, but inevitable. RS 2 \ Pp Reon antic natural cables were over two feet ais [Photograph girth: Should witches wish to kill a man, the people believe, they gathe together at night time in front of his town and dance, not upon the ground, but a lew feet above. they often grow to se can be heard, all who Pe-haps While dancing giant size. No noi and they are invisible to have not second sight. the most terrible power pos*¢ sed by witch or wizard is that of «sucking out the heart ” of a man without his knowledge. They sit on the roof of the victim’s house at night and draw out his heart while he sleeps ; and, without the aid of some strony ju-iu, he will 1s D. OF WITCHCRAFT. 513 never know what is killing him. A man wasting away {rom consumption or beri-beri is usually thought to: have been bewitched in this way. When a witch knows that her victim’s last hour draws near she sends the giant bat (Hypsig- nathus monstrosus) in the night-time to the town of the dying man. Its dull, monotonous cry, “ Pang-pang,” sounding out of the darkness, is taken tor the blows on the nails driven into the coffin which it has been ordered to prepare for the burial of some victim. When such a sound is heard during the night it is a matter of faith that at dawn there will be one dweller the less in the little town. In the old days, if a wizard, he used to be ta! “examined.” There he was bound and a hole cut in his body just above the liver. From this the officiating ju-ju man usually succeeded in withdrawing the suspected familiar, generally in the fom ef a bird, toad, or other small creaure, but sometimes in that of a tiny man. If nothing was found the victim was cleared of all suspicion, but, alas! death invariably man was thought to be a ken into the bush to be Climbing palms in the depts of the virgin forest: From a Photograph.

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514 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. resulted- from the treat- ment. Even now the bodies of those who have fallen under the suspicion of witchcraft are examined in this way after death. Should the ceremony be omitted, and the familiar remain un- killed. it is thought that it will sally forth from the grave at night-time and bring disaster on the dead man’s town, As a precau- tion, the corrosive juice of a species of cactus is dropped into the eyes of the corpse and the mouth is filled with the leaves of the ‘‘ Egakk " tree, so that the soul shall be unable to sally forth through these apertures. Not long ago a woman died in one of the principal towns of this region. She was buried with the usual rites, and, some time after, people began to fall sick and die. This was put down to witchcraft, practised by someone in the town, but. as Government does not allow suspected characters to be tested in the way already described, the in- habitants could only seek safety by going to outlying farms. Then the ju-ju “image” declared that every night he saw the ghost of the dead woman rise from her grave and walk through the town, spreading pestilence among its people. Two native officials went down to the grave to investigate. There they found a small hole, like the entrance to a rat’s run—which it probably was. They sprinkled pepper on a piece of paper and laid it inside. On the morrow this had disappeared, which proved conclusively, they decided, that the ghost had come out by that way. All the townspeople accordingly collected together and made a great bonfire. Then they dug up the body and burnt it, and after this there was no more sickness. Some time ago, in one of the larger towns, the people were dying so fast that it was thought witches must be killing them. ‘To stop this the chief proclaimed that the inhabitants must From a) The ju-ju “ image” which professed to see the ghost of assemble together on a certain day. When all were present he ordered that the ju-ju ““ Njomm Aiyung ” (the blood ju-ju) should be practised. A cut was made in the body of each person and a few drops of blood allowed to flow into a cala- bash half full of dry corn, which had been brought for the purpose. None were exempt ; even the babies born that day gave one drop of blood. When all had been bled, each man, woman, and child was made to partake of the corn. This was done so that witchcraft might no longer be practised against any of the tovinsfolk; for, after mingling blood and then partaking of it, should one of the parties attempt to harm another, the blood ju-ju would catch them, and the evil they had tried to inflict would fall on themselves.

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THROUGH THE LAND OF WITCHCRAFT. 5ts Sometimes the terror of witchcraft will scatter the population of a whole town. Such was the case with Oberekkai, which stands on a little tributary of the Kwa River. In the old slave- dealing days this was a large and prosperous town, and its chief, Nataba, was the wealthiest man in the district. As more labour was needed to develop his great cocoa and other plantations, he sent to buy workpeople from the Kameruns. In course of time the emissaries returned with ] a band of some thirty ‘captives, whose big ‘| ‘limbs and robust ap- pearance gave promise of excellent labour material. The new-comers kept apart from the people of Oberekkai and re- ' fused to take any share in the social life of the town. When “plays” were given they hung together at the edge of the crowd, looking sombrely on, but more often gathered by stealth in the night-time at a farm hut belonging to one of them. After a while strange stories began to spread of midnight rites prac- tised before unknown ju-jus, brought by the new-comers from their own land. Then the townsfolk sickened. One after another they died, and the survivors whispered that the cap- tives were wizards from the Kameruns and were “eating out the hearts ” of those who had en- slaved them, so that soon neither man, woman, nor child would remain of the free - born folk of Oberekkai. Terror took possession of the people. Many fled, and in a comparatively short time the inhabi- tants were reduced to a mere remnant. Nataba and those of his family who still survived de- termined on desperate measures. One after another the slaves disappeared. Their “ magic” was powerless to protect them from the vengeance of the infuriated people of the town, and finally they were all wiped out. Oberekkai remains to-day, with its untended plantations, upon which the all-invading bush is rapidly encroach- ing, a mere shadow of its former greatness. (To be continued.)

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The horns of the stag that inflicted such terrible injuries on Mr. Leonard Talbot. A BATTLE WITH A STAG. . BY R. ALLBON BENNETT. ILLUSTRATBD BY WARWICK REYNOLDS. The story of a British surveyor’s terrible experience in the little-known Chaco of Paraguay —a life-and-death struggle. with an infuriated stag, which left him helpless and shock- ingly injured, followed by a never-to-be-forgotten journey of fourteen days’ duration to reach civilization and a doctor. BF vou glance at the map of Paraguay —that little interior Republic of South America with an area nearly equal to that of the British Isles— you will observe that the country is divided into two.very distinct parts by the great River Paraguay. To the eastward of this boundary you will find the map dotted over with numerous names of towns, rivers, lakes, and hills, but to the westward, stretching for hundreds of miles in all directions, the map is practically an uncoloured blank, even the few rivers that are shown being mostly marked in with dotted lines to signify how little is definitely known about them. This unmapped region is the Gran Chaco of Paraguay. a land of almost as much mystery to- day as it was when Juan de Solis sailed up from the River Plate four hundred years ago. The word “‘ Chaco’ has been said by some to mean “a hiding-place,” and although there is probably little truth in this assertion, yet it describes more or less accurately the nature of this wild tract of country, known to but few outside the wandering tribes of its Indian inhabitants. The physical aspect of the Chaco differs widely from that of Eastern Paraguay. For the most part it is a vast alluvial plain, falling almost imperceptibly from north-west to south- east, and in time of flood it is converted into a series of great swamps, though one seldom actually sees a sheet of water. In the dry season these swamps disappear and the soil becomes covered with short grass.

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A BATTLE WITH A STAG. 517 When the rains begin again weeds and other growths spring up as if by magic, and where a few.’months ago there was hard ground and parched grass there will be now perhaps several feet of water and a dense growth of tall grasses and papyrus matted to- “gether into a_ tangled and for this purpose much of the Chaco is now being taken up by private enterprise. In addi- tion to the grazing value of the country it con- tains also much valuable timber, particularly the quebracho, used so extensively in tanning. In order to facilitate the sale of the land the mass with many creepers, ‘and taller than a man’s head, so that one can with difficulty force a way through. As one __ laboriously tramps through _ this reedy forest, large flocks of wild-fowl, storks, and ibises rise on all sides, striking their wings on the hidden waters as they get up with a noise like distant thunder. These swampy ex- panses are here and there varied by patches of monte, or forest, which in reality are little more ‘than thickets of small scrubby trees bound to- gether in such a way with lianas, thorns, and cacti as to be well-nigh im- passable. Animal life in the Chaco is both plentiful and interesting, from the larger carnivora down to the peculiarly vicious mosquito. ‘Tapirs, great swamp -deer, and car- pinchos abound in the marshes, while the forests are the haunt of the jaguar, the puma, the great ant-bear, and many other species of game. No roads of any description traverse this wild land. What traffic = SSS SS SSS Paraguayan Government has divided up the coun- try into “lots” of uni- form size, each “lot” lying along the River Paraguay measuring three miles of river-frontage by thirty miles deep, while those in the Hinterland contain some nine hun- dred square miles. As each “lot” is sold it is, of course, necessary to have it surveyed for boundary purposes, quebracho posts being placed at intervals of every kilometre to mark the confines of the pro- perty. It was on one of these survey expeditions to a remote holding in the interior of the Chaco that the following adven- ture with a large swamp- deer took place. One hot day in mid- summer during the great drought of 1908 a survey party, in charge of an Englishman, Mr. Leonard L. Talbot, found itself on the low banks of the Rio Confuso, a meander- ing stream that slug- gishly flows into the great Paraguay River from the swamps of the far interior, for which it serves as an outlet. exists is carried on by means of bullock - carts, which go lumbering on through swamp and tangled grass and over ground sometimes so thickly strewn with tall ant-heaps that it is impossible to avoid one wheel or another bumping over them. But wild as is the general aspect of this region, there are, nevertheless, large areas intervening between morass and forest that make quite good cattle-grazing land, Vol. xxxi.—37. Mr. Leonard L. Talbot, the survivor of the terrible fight with a stag. From a Photograph. Besides Talbot the party consisted of an Argen- tine friend of his, out for adventure, two Para- guayan foremen, and ten peones. As the drought was so severe, and not knowing what lay before them, they decided to leave the cart and bullocks, as well as most of the horses, behind on the river-bank in charge of one of the peones, and to continue their journey with only two horses, one for

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518 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the surveyor sind the other for use as a pack animal. Slowly the little expedition forged its way ahead through tangled forest and open campo, surveying as they went at the rate of about three miles a day. The heat was intense, and to slake their thirst they were obliged to seek out the caraguata-u plant—that invaluable little cactus growth of the Chaco which retains the precious dew and other moisture and preserves it cool and clear in its cup-like base for long periods. Early on the fifth morning after leaving the banks of the Confuso the party reached the edge of a dense patch of monte, through which the survey picada had to be cut. Talbot, having given his men their “ line,” and after waiting to see the work commence, left his Argentine friend in charge and, with one peon leading the pack-horse, followed the fringe of the forest- patch in order to work his way round to where he anticipated the survey men would eventually emerge. Here he pitched camp and started to look for water and game for their midday meal, as their provisions were running rather short. A little distance to the left of the camp Talbot noticed a small patch of country which, by the nature of its vegetation of tall grasses and papyrus, suggested the probability of swampy ground. Leaving word with his peon to come if signalled for, he started off to reconnoitre, taking with him his Winchester and a few cartridges. When he had approached to within about two hundred yards of this island of reeds he caught sight of three ctervo, or swamp-deer, one large stag and two does, which were feeding close to its margin. Although to windward of his quarry, Talbot, by dint of careful stalking, managed to get within eighty yards before the watchful stag became aware of his presence. Instead of immediately bolting, as did the two does, the old stag stood and began pawing the ground like an enraged bull. Surprised at this most unusual proceeding, Talbot was for trying to get a little nearer before attempting to bring it down, but, as the beast looked like charging, he quickly altered his mind and fired at once. The great stag dropped where it stood. After going up and taking a glance at the fallen animal, which he found to be a full-grown eight-pointer, he marked the spot by tying his handkerchief to a small bush near by, and then took up the trail of the two does that had fled. These he found browsing at no great distance away, and bagged them both. ‘The report of these shots started up three more stags which were lying in the long grass in the vicinity. Of these he killed two and wounded the third in the shoulder, but, as he had no more cartridges with him, he was unable to follow it. . He then marked the'spot where the four dead animals lay and returned to the first stag, which had fallen about a hundred and fifty yards nearer to the camp. When in sight of the latter he mounted a tall ant-hill and waved a signal for the peon to come and help skin and cut up the game and carry it back to camp. Waiting to see that the man started before he left the summit of the ant-hill, Talbot then approached the stag and, taking off his coat, prepared to skin the animal. On closer view he saw by its eyes that it was not quite dead, although it had lain in the same spot for nearly two hours. He thereupon took out his knife and was bending over it to cut its throat when, to his utter surprise, the beast suddenly staggered to its feet. At this unexpected move Talbot jumped back out of the way and, his spurs catching in the tangled grass, he overbalanced and fell heavily back- wards. Before he had time to regain his feet the brute charged with lowered antlers. The point of one of them struck him with great force in the middle of the thigh, penetrating through flesh and muscle to within an inch of the knee-cap. A most sanguinary life-and-death struggle then ensued—Talbot, who still clasped his hunting-knife, endeavouring to stab his assailant, while the infuriated stag tried to free its horn from its fleshy entanglement. Over and over they rolled together, beating the long grass flat in an ever-widening circle of blood. Time after time Talbot plunged the knife into the body of the stag, but each time just missed dealing a death-thrust, while the animal, in its frantic effort to free its horns, made still more ghastly the fearful wound in the surveyor’s leg. Thus for some minutes the struggle continued, though each minute seemed like an hour to the wounded man. At last, as he grew weaker from loss of blood, the knife was knocked out of Talbot’s hand, and he was at the mercy of his maddened assailant. By this time, however, the stag, too, was growing faint, and in a moment or so it tottered and fell with all its weight prone on to Talbot’s chest, breaking two ribs, but fortunately wrenching its horn free from his thigh at the same time. Instead of goring its victim afresh the brute then shuffled to its feet and staggered off, sinking down in the grass a few yards away. At this moment the peon, who had started from the camp on being summoned, arrived on the spot, and, herrified at finding his patron lying apparently half-dead in the middle of a wide circle of blood-soaked ground, hurriedly tore off the woven Indian belt he was wearing and, having dragged off Talbot's trousers and

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539 A BATTLE WITH A STAG. feet the brute charged with lowered antlers.” “ Before be bad time to regain bis

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§20 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. loose drawers, applied a tight ligature above the gaping wound. As nothing more could be done without the help of others, Talbot, in a weak voice, ordered the peon to return to where the rest of the party were cutting the picada through the forest—a distance of about five miles—with instructions for them to bring on as quickly as possible what water they could collect. also some canvas to make a shelter from the scorching sun and, last but not least, some cartridges for his Winchester rifle. The peon, in his excitement and con- sternation at what had happened, quite forgot to take one of the two horses tethered near by, and, instead, made the long journey on foot as ne as the rough nature of the country permitted im. Coming up at length with the surveying party he collapsed into a breathless heap, and for some minutes was unable to make himself understood. When at last the purport of his news was delivered, the party immediately ceased work and, bringing with them what was needed, made all, haste to the scene of the combat, collecting as much water as possible en route from clumps of the caraguata-u plant. In the meantime Talbot, who was losing blood in a most alarming manner, managed to tear his underclothes into strips and, after stuffing the torn ends of muscles back as best he could into his thigh, with his remaining strength he bandaged the terrible wound, which measured fully twelve inches long. This done he fell back in the grass completely exhausted. For more than two hours he lay thus in the full glare of the tropical sun, unable to stir and wondering if he would live to see the arrival of the party coming to his rescue. The pain of the wound was not as yet intense, for the shock had tended to deaden the nerves to a great extent, but his thirst was torturing and terrible. It is well known that on occasions like this, when the body lies helpless and almost past fecling, the brain often works with remarkable rapidity and clearness. It was so with poor Talbot as he lay —dying, as he imagined—far from human aid or sympathy in the remote wilds of the Chaco. His mental agony was made still more acute by the fact that the wounded stag, lying almost within reach, would every now and again half- raise itself and glare savagely in his direction, as if contemplating another attack. Being too weak to drag himself farther away from the brute, Talbot lay as low as he could in the grass, helpless, unarmed, and entirely at its mercy, should it make a dying effort at further revenge. The suspense was nerve-racking, and the two hours during which he lay thus seemed like an eternity. At last the relief party made its appearance, crawling through the long grass so as not to attract the notice of the wounded stag. They were delighted to find their patron still alive, for they had scarcely hoped to do so after the tidings brought them by the peon. One of the Paraguayan foremen was about to give the animal its coup de grace, and had raised his rifle to shoot, when Talbot motioned to him to lower his weapon. Beckoning to one of the peones to come nearer, he told him to bring him his own Winchester, which was lying on the ground some yards away, and to load it for him. The man did so and handed him the gun. Two others carefully raised him up by the shoulders and supported him in a half-sitting posture, while he took a hurried but effective aim at the animal’s head and fired. His strength, which by sheer force of will he had called to his aid in this supreme effort, now finally gave out, and having at last settled his account by seeing his late adversary roll over dead, he sank back into the arms of the peones with an expression of great satisfaction on his pain-drawn face. An apology for a stretcher having been hastily constructed with the rough means at hand, the wounded man was gently laid on it and carried to the spot where camp had been pitched earlier in the day. Here his wound was washed with a solution of permanganate of potash—the only antiseptic available—and a mosquito-curtain was placed over him to ward off the plague of flies and other noxious insects for which the Chaco is notorious. The party then held a discussion as to what had better be done to obtain the necessary medical treatment with the utmost dispatch, and all were unanimous that the return journey should be started without delay. Not so. however, the sufferer himself, who refused point- blank to listen to any such proposal. He pointed out to them that even if this were done it would take fully nine days’ travelling before he could reach the edge of civilization again, and that, as his chances of recovery were so slender, a few days more or less would make no appreciable difference. He went on to insist that it would be a most serious and costly matter if the party were to return without finishing the survey, now within a few days of completion, as it would mean that an entirely fresh expedition would have to be undertaken—a thing which was quite out of the question. It was finally decided, therefore, that the survey was to proceed to a finish under the supervision of Talbot’s Argentine friend, who throughout this trying time was of the utmost assistance both to his wounded colleague and also to the party in general. eee

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A BATTLE WITH A: STAG. - 521 It took five days to complete the work, the camp being moved on each morning to some suitable spot situated as nearly as possible where it was estimated the party would complete their day’s labour. Talbot was carried on a stretcher in the cool of the day from one camp to the next, where, sheltered from the sun under the shade of some friendly tree and with a peon to look after him, he would await the arrival of the rest each evening. When the use of the theodolite became necessary they would carry him to the place, and there, tilting the stretcher to the right angle by means of wooden supports, enable him, with considerable difficulty, to put his eye to the instrument and give his men their “line.” Nothing but his bulldog tenacity kept Talbot going during those first few days after his terrible adventure. His wound, which from time to time started bleeding afresh, troubled him greatly and caused him continual pain, especially during the journeys from camp to camp over the rough, uneven ground, while the discomfort from his broken ribs and bruised chest added yet another drop to the cup of his misery, which was already full to overflowing. To have received such hurts as these would have been bad enough in the very best of circumstances, but it was infinitely worse in poor Talbot’s case, for medical aid and comforts did not exist, and even suitable nourishment was unobtainable. Add to this the rough camp life, the swarms of insect pests, and the scorching midsummer heat of the Chaco, and the picture of hardship and suffering is complete. Even water, a sufficient supply of which was most necessary in order to bathe and dress the wound frequently, was difficult to find owing to the long-sustained drought, and it was only by dint of considerable difficulty and labour that a small quantity of the precious fluid was collected day by day from the caraguata-u plants, which more often than not had to be sought at long distances from camp. At last the survey was finished, and the little expedition started on its return journey eastward, four peones taking it in turn to carry their wounded leader on the improvised stretcher. To Talbot this was the most trying ordeal of all, owing to the rough nature of the ground and the consequent frequent stumblings of his bearers. Time after time they would trip over stray creepers or fall into concealed holes, completely overturning the “outfit”’ and precipitating the unfortunate sufferer among the thorny under- growth and stumps of the way. At each accident of this kind the wound would start bleeding again, necessitating a halt while fresh bandages were applied. On the outward journey much of the campo had been burnt off to facilitate the measuring of the ground, and on the sharp and fire-hardened stumps that were left the unprotected feet of the litter-bearers suffered considerably, so much so that their daily progress was much hindered thereby. When long stretches of forest had to be traversed travelling was still more difficult owing to the narrowness of the picadas, which, in places, were barely wide enough for the passage of the stretcher, while the network of interlacing ground-creepers made it difficult for the peones to keep their feet. On the second day of the homeward tramp the marvellous endurance of the wounded man was put to a still more severe test. For nine hours they toiled along through an open country, exposed to the pitiless rays of a scorching sun, without a drop of water. To poor Talbot, who was in a state of high fever and intense pain, the torture was almost unendurable, and more than once he was nearly praying that death might come to his release. At last, late in the afternoon, a shout from those in front told the joyful news that some clumps of the caraguata-u plant had been sighted, and in their vicinity camp was pitched for the night. After each man had assuaged his burning thirst from the cool, clear water cont.ined in the spiny cups of this precious plant, a sufficient quantity was then collected into a vessel with which to bathe the sufferer’s leg. Without further mishap the party arrived in due course on the bank of the Rio Confuso, a fairly wide stream at this point in spite of the great drought. As it was necessary to cross to the opposite shore, and there was no boat available, the operation was one of some difficulty, especially for the wounded man. It was finally accomplished by Talbot holding a rope between his teeth and being towed across by two of the best swimmers among the peones. It will be remembered that on account of the drought they had left their cart and bullocks, together with a quantity of provisions and all but two of their horses, at a camp beside the Rio Confuso to await their return from the survey. On reaching this camp again they celebrated the event by having a good meal and a longer rest than they had been able to enjoy for many a day. The spirits of the party revived accordingly, and it was with renewed energy and more hopeful hearts that the little cavalcade resumed its journey the next morning. A big mattress of grass had been laid on top of the baggage in the bullock-cart, and upon this Talbot now travelled in comparative comfort, except when the lumbering vehicle bumped from time to time over the numerous ant-hills that in places strewed the campo. Not even a zigzag route

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ww 522 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. would always avoid these obstructions, so closely did they lie together at times. Within a day’s march of the River Paraguay an unfortunate incident occurred which might well have resulted most seriously for the invalid. It happened while crossing the dried-up bed of a small stream. By some means or other, while descending the river-bank the cart suddenly turned turtle, pinning Talbot underneath it with all the baggage on the top of him. The frantic struggles of the fallen oxen did not tend to improve the already dangerous position of the poor fellow lying helpless under the cart, and he spent a very uncomfortable time till the two drivers, arriving on the spot, cut the bullocks loose and with difficulty rescued him from beneath the mass of w eckage. From the spot where this accident occurred to the outlying puesto of a neighbouring estancia was only about half a mile, and, in spite of the fact that his wound had re-started bleeding, Talbot, with indomitable pluck, set out to cover the intervening distance on foot with the aid of two sticks cut in the form of rough crutches, leaving his men to try to right the overturned cart. By a piece of good fortune the owner of the estancia, Sefior Juan Batista Gill, a personal friend of Talbot’s, happened to be staying at the puesto at the time. Recognizing Talbot in the distance, in spite of his bedraggled and

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A BATTLE WITH A STAG. 523 blood-stained condition, as he slowly and pain- fully picked his way towards the house, the estanciero hurried to assist him in and showed him every possible kindness and consideration. He also sent men down to the river to help bring on the cart and equipment. On the following day civilization was at last reached after a lapse of fourteen days since the encounter with the wounded stag took place. Although it was some time before Talbot was “Talbot, holding a rope between his teeth, was towed across by two of the best swimmers among the ‘peones. able to walk about again, careful nursing and proper treatment at length restored him to convalescence. That any man could pass through such an ordeal and come out of it alive and smiling is little short of miraculous, and speaks volumes for his constitution and pluck. To this day he: retains two souvenirs of his desperate adventure in the wilds of the Para- guayan Chaco—the fearful scar left by the wound and the branching antlers of the stag that caused it.

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The Aocthoress with some native girls at Dumbe—The girl on the left received medical attention a) from Mrs. Roby. (Photograph. Across the Congo. A LADY’S JOURNEY IN CENTRAL AFRICA. By MARGUERITE ROBY. The story of avery remarkable expedition—a ten-month journey right across the Belgian Congo from Boma to Elizabethville, a distance of about three thousand five hundred miles. Alone, save for black porters, Mrs. Roby penetrated into remote districts where a white woman had never been seen before, braving cannibals, fighting fever, and meeting with numberless adventures. The following articles have been specially written for “The Wide World Magazine " and will be found particularly interesting. Ill. FEW T midday I reached the most picturesque village visited 4 B) during the whole of my trek ; every hut stood under a palm fd mq tree, and the whole place made a most charming picture. vOypwm| The natives had seen but few white men and no white woman ; they were absolutely wild, and ran like deer when T approached. I stopped here for lunch, and while the meal was being prepared the villagers began to creep into sight again. From a respectful distance they watched my boys’ preparations for the “The devout lover’ — making embroidery for his sweetheart. From a Photograph.

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ACROSS THE CONGO. 525 meal with intense interest, but directly I got out my camera to snap them the nearest woman gave a startling yell, and off they all bolted again out of sight. ‘ Mokassa said I should have great difficulty in getting any photographs here, as the natives feared anything new, so I sat down to lunch with my camera on the edge of the table, hoping to be able to get a picture without frightening them. While I lunched men and women began to creep up once more, and presently they got so far as to talk to Mokassa. I remember particu- larly the headdress of one woman, which was a most startling affair, decorated with the feet of innumerable chickens. Stealthily moving my hands over to the camera, I was just going to photograph this local beauty when she observed my intention, and away she flew again, accom- panied by most of her friends. However, this time one bold young man, who was talking to Mokassa, remained behind. He was busily engaged in embroidering a piece of native cloth for the lady of his heart, and I managed to take a snapshot of him as he stood in front of me, talking and working. I had told my cook to make me an omelette for lunch, and he now proceeded to do so, according to a brand-new recipe of his very own. He took two dozen new-laid eggs, broke them, dropped them into a frying-pan of hot water, and began to stir them up with a piece of dirty stick. This brilliant proceeditfg aroused the righteous indignation of the faithful Mokassa, who promptly gave him a stinging box on the ears, saying to me as he did so: ‘“‘ You send him away. He drunk on palm-wine. That is why he wastes eggs.” . T reached Atene without further incident, and was received by the manager of the post. On the following day I set out on my bi ride round the y' ce, greatly to the interest of hundreds of natives, who followed me round, inquiring loudly what I was sitting on and how I managed to move, as they had never seen a bicycle before. The climax of the performance was reached when J unwittingly ran into a heap of sand, turning a complete somersault into the middle of the heap, to the unspeakable delight of my attentive audience, who greeted the manceuvre with howls of joy, apparently under the impression that it was all part of the show. Here the manager showed me the natives preparing herb rubber for the market, and I took a couple of photographs of the men and boys as they worked. While I was at the post a cara- van of over two hundred natives, accompanied by their chief, came in, Jaden with quantities of rubber which they had gathered. I wanted to photograph them, but not until my object had been carefully expiained to them and the chief had seen some of my photographs of natives would they consent to stand before the camera. They had never seen a photograph before, and the pictures I showed them filled them with astonishment. Here I got fresh porters to take me to Biengue, and started off over the marshy country that lies between these two places. I had to be carried on the backs or porters, with the result that my clothes became saturated with the horrible-smelling palm-oil from their bodies, so much so that I could not use the garments again. The men explained that by covering their bodies with this oil they escaped catching cold, the oil acting as an effective form of water- proof. We had to stop at every village, as the chiefs wanted to see me, and in every case they brought presents of chickens and eggs. At four o'clock in the afternoon, while I was being carried over a river in my machila, a thunderstorm broke. The machila was supposed to be waterproof, and so were my clothes and boo s; but no waterproof ever invented would h.ve kept out that rain. It very quickly came through the cover of the machila and collected in the lower part, until I was lying in a perfect bath. Several of the thunder-claps were so loud that the | orters dropped their loads, and the wind was so strong that the machila swayed to and fro, making me feel as though I were at sea ina storm. Svaked to the skin, I got on to my feet at the first opportunity, and took shelter until the storm had passed. At last I reached a rest-house, where the porters wished to stop, but as Biengue was only a two hours’ march away I decided to go on, thoug’) only by the promise of an extra matabish was I able to persuade my men to resume the march. We eventually reached our destination at six o'clock. Several white men received me, and one of them, a young Italian, very kindly lent me his little house, where I slept that night, after a good dinner. The next day I made arrangements for a fresh supply of porters for my trek across the Loange Kasai to Djoko Punda. This district is inhabited by the Bashelele, a fierce tribe who gave great trouble to the British Museum Expedition a few years ago. On the second day of my stay Mokassa in here I discovered Mokassa’s a New Roie. weakness. After dinner in the evening I stepped on to the veranda of my bedroom, and was at once sur- prised by the most unpleasant odour. I went into the bedroom, and found Mokassa lolling in my long chair, very drunk, and busily smoking chauvres, the native opium, the smell of which

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526 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A red-letter day in the village—Mre. Roby exhibiting photographs to natives who had never seen anything of the kind before. From a Photograph. must be encountered to be appreciated! I shook him hard, but he only mumbled some- thing, and, seeing that arguments were useless, I pulled him up by the collar and pushed him out of the veranda on to the “round. There he remained for the night, snoring so loudly that I was awakened several times by ‘he noise. In the morning I asked him what he meant by his conduct ; whereupon he assured me that he had neither been drunk nor smoked opium over- night, and suggested that it must have been the cook! He had, he said, gone in to arrange my bed, but had been overtaken by illness, after which he remembered no more. I replied that if I caught him in my room again in a similar condition he would make the acquaintance of the chicotte. At this he was quite indignant. “T not like niggers of Congo,” he told me. “I don’t at dog or man, and if madam beat me it would be my death.” “Very well, then,” I replied, dryly; ‘‘ you had better prepare for your death next time you get drunk in my bedroom!” And at that we left it. Finding it impossible to get porters here, I determined to go to Dumba for them; but the capita advised me not to approach any village in that district after six o’clock at night, as the tribes were continually at war with one another, and anyone approaching a village at night was liable to be attacked as an enemy. It was a two days’ march to Dumba, and there was a lot of water to get through en route. Consequently it was not until nine p.m. in the evening of the first day that I reached a village of the Bapendas where T intended to camp.

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ACROSS THE CONGO, 527 As I approached the village 1 was quickly made aware of the fact that something unusual was going on ahead. A loud chorus of shouts and screams ascended into the night, and this was repeated continually at short intervals. Pressing forward, | soon reached the outskirts of the village, and there, in the clearing before me, a weird sight met my eyes as 1 peered through the moonlight. Two great bodies of natives, hundreds strong, and composed of men and women, squatted on the ground, facing eac h other. In front of each crowd sat its chief, and as the two leaders ex- changed — sentences with one another their followers sent up a great roar of approval or Dancing men of the Bashelele, « fierce tribe who have given much trouble, From a Photograph.

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528 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. anger, according to whether the words of the chiefs were acceptable or otherwise. The aston- ishing babel of shouts was made still more fearful by the shrill screams of the women, who adopted this method of expressing their opinions what- ever was said ; but what disturbed me most was the fact that all the men were fully armed, each crowd fairly bristling with spears and bows and arrows. I approached the rival chiefs from one side, and directly they saw me both leaders and followers leapt to their feet and began talking at the top of their voices. Mokassa informed me that they were now talking about me. He said they did not believe I was a woman, so I had better take down my hair to convince them. This I did, amid exclamations of astonishment ; then I inquired the reason of the palaver, and why the men were armed at that time of night. I soon had possession of the facts of the case. The chief on my right had stolen a woman from the village of the chief on my left; and in retaliation one of the men from the latter chief’s village had taken a goat from his rivals. The palaver upon which I had intruded was a final * discussion, and they had now decided to go to war over the dispute. This was certainly a desperate position, for if they began fighting no one could guess what would happen, and, personally, I did not feel at all like taking part in a battle at that time of night, after a very tiring day’s march. But they meant to fight right enough ; in fact, it was a recreation of theirs. The two tribes had, I discovered, been at war with one another off and on for several generations, and the man who had walked off with the woman was only following the example of his great-grandfather, who, it appeared, had done precisely the same thing against the same tribe. Fortunately my appearance had diverted their thoughts from war for the moment, and I determined to make an effort to save the peace before it was too late. I therefore summoned Mokassa and told him to ask the chiefs if they would appoint me as arbitrator in their dispute, my decision to be final. The idea seemed to strike them as quite a happy thought, and after a short discussion they both agreed to submit to my judgment. Then followed a fresh palaver, which lasted for one long hour. At the end of that time I had obtained all the details of the quarrel, and proceeded to pronounce judgment as follows :— “The man who stole the woman,” I said, “will give her back, together with three men. The man who stole the goat will give back ten goats. It must be done now, while I wait.” Averting a Tribal War. To my great satisfaction and relief, this award was accepted by both sides, and men were dispatched to the different villages for the woman, the three men, and the ten goats. When I saw the woman I wondered at any man _ having troubled to carry her anywhere, for she was old, ugly, and skinny. On putting this view to Mokassa, however, I was informed by that sagacious youth that she was the only woman whom the thief could lay his hands on. “If he saw girl he would take her; but no girls, so he took that one,” Mokassa explained. The natives now went back to their villages, and in due course I went to bed, thanking my lucky stars for having got out of what promised to be a nasty fix. I was aroused in the morning by a tremendous hubbub outside my tent, and, dressing as quickly as possible, I went out to see what was going on. I found the entire population of the surround- ing villages assembled to see me. There were men, women, children, and innumerable dogs (the tribes in this district are dog-eaters), so the noise can be better imagined than described. They had come in with presents for me, which took the shape of beautifully-carved ivory masks, masks made out of brass-headed nails, a parrot, a monkey with a white nose, and other things too numerous to mention. I persuaded them to form a group, and Mokassa took a snap- shot of us, with me standing between the two chiefs whose dispute I had settled overnight. I then continued my march to Dumba, arriv- ing, as luck would have it, just as a capita (head- man) was having a palaver with the white manager of the post. I at once explained that I wanted sixty or seventy porters to go with me through the Loange Kasai ; but the capita shook his head, explaining that the men would not dare to undertake such a journey, as they were afraid of the fierce Bashelele tribes. I offered him a thousand francs for a ten days’ march, which was more than treble the ordinary price, and he then said he would go off and try to get the men from his village. He was as good as his word, for next morning I was awakened by a tremendous hullabaloo outside my house, and, peeping over the veranda, I saw my porters arguing about the baggage. As usual, the biggest man was testing the weight of the smallest load, but on going out later I found that we could not start that day, as the men insisted on going back to their village for various necessities. We set out on the following morning for Madiba, and very good porters I found my new men were. We accomplished half the march to Madiba that day, and resumed the trek next morning. I knew that I was now in a cannibal district, and went forward with a

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ACROSS THE CONGO. 529 From a\ lively interest, wonder- ing what adventures this part of the journey might have in store for me. Our progress was not as rapid as I had hoped, because some of the porters deserted. At eleven a.m. we reached a village, where IT bought some chickens ; then we con- tinued the march until four p.m., when we camped near another village. I was sitting peace- fully outside my tent when I saw a crowd of natives coming towards me from the direction of the village. As they drew near I noticed that one of the men was carrying something wrapped up in matting. In front of me they halted, and the man came forward and laid his burden at my feet, indicating that it was a present for me from the chief. From the shape of the gift I guessed it must be an elephant’s tusk, and was naturally delighted at the thought of such a handsome present. I beckoned the man to unfasten the matting so that I might admire the ivory, and with nimble fingers he proceeded to do so. Ihave had some shocks in my time, but never, before or since, was I so completely taken aback as at the moment when that smiling native From a) A Startling Present. The Authoress on the Kasai. Mrs. Roby’s boat on the Lubue River tograph. revealed the nature of his chief's gift to me. For when the sacking was pulled aside it dis- closed’ to my horrified eyes the entire leg of a black man, which they had brought me to eat ! The chief was evi- dently somewhat dis- concerted at the expres- sion on my face, for he hastily explained some- thing to Mokassa. “What does he say ? ” T asked. “He says that the leg is quite fresh and good to eat, madam,” answered my boy. ‘‘ They only killed the man yesterday, and he was a very healthy person. The chief says you need have no doubts.” “Tell him that I do not eat men,” I said. “Tell him to take that away. Say I will tell the white men, and they will send an officer and soldiers who will come and punish him for doing this. Say I am horrified and disgusted.” While Mokassa repeated my message I saw a slow smile creep over the face of the chief, who answered with great animation directly my boy had ceased speaking. Again I asked what he had said. “He says, madam, that when they want meat they must have it. He says he has been told that soldiers are plump and well-fed, so (Photograph.

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530 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) that if they come to his village he and his people will have much good meat to eat.” It was obviously useless to argue with a person whose convictions were so evidently genuine, so I contented myself by having the gruesome offer- ing removed forthwith. Later on a goat was sent in its place, for which I paid the chief in salt. I slept there that night, and resumed my march next morning. The porters had started two and a half hours before me, but when I had been cycling about an hour I came upon various pieces of my luggage lying by the side of the path. Presently I reached a small village, where I found my capita and some A model village in the Kasai—Notice the broad road and the marked-off side-walks, (Photograph. of the porters. Asked for an explanation, the capita explained that many of the men had deserted through fear of the Bashelele. I could get no more porters where I was, and I could not go through the Loange Kasai without more men. My plans were knocked on the head with a vengeance! What was I to do? The only thing was to return to Biengue and then send to Dumba for carriers. From Dumba I determined to travel by boat down the Lubue River to the post of Lubue, on the Kasai. It was a four days’ cruise down the Lubue River, and on the second day the boatmen pulled her into the bank and began to tie up. I The market et Lualuaboorg.

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ACROSS THE CONGO. 531 asked why, and the capita explained that he was going into a village in the forest to buy chickens and flour for the porters. This suunded interest- ing, as there were thick forests on both banks of the river, the very last place where I should have expected to find a village, so I declared my inten- tion of accompanying the party ashore. Capita and boatmen were alike loud in their remonstrances, declaring that I must not come. “No! Natives will kill you. They are the Bashelele!” the capita told me. In reply, | jumped ashore and called my boys to follow with two guns. The capita and boatmen placed From a Vhotograph. themselves in my path, but I pushed them aside and stepped into the forest, when, seeing that argument was useless, they quickly followed. For three-quaiters of an hour we trudged silently through the depths of that huge forest, to an overhead accompaniment of shouting monkeys, who leapt from tree to tree above us as we advanced. Then, without any warning, we suddenly stepped out into a clearing, and before I had realized it we we e standing on the edge of a village. When we first burst into view the women and children were sitting about in groups near their huts, but directly we appeared Front a} A troupe of native dancers. Pavregraph, they leapt to their feet and, with one yell, dis- appeared into the forest arcely had they fled when the clearing was once more alive, this time with fierce-looking warriors, who carried spears, bows and arrows, and old-fashioned guns. I felt that my end was indeed at hand now, and, gripping the butt of my revolver, I held it in my pocket, ready to fire directly the first spear was poised. As I stood thus, tense and watchful, with every muscle braced, my boatman called out to the warriors in front, saying I was a woman medicine-doctor of the white men. Still, how- ever, the fierce eyes glittered angrily, while the spear-points tilted suggestively in our direction. The men refused to believe the words of my boat- man without proof. Removing my helmet, I let down my hair, and at last the men were convinced. Their chief approached me—a man standing over six feet,

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532 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. with his hair done in the most extraordinary manner imaginable. He had grown it long and theni stiffened it with mud until it rose up from his head in three great points, like a kind of coronet. All over the surface of these three great horns numerous brass-headed nails had been stuck, so that he looked for all the world as though he were wearing a golden crown. When this man and his followers approached me the women and children quickly reappeared Mee. Roby at the Catholic Mission—On her left is the chief who whitened his rom of submission to the white man. from their hiding-places, and I was soon sur- rounded by an eager crowd of inquiring savages. My next duty was to prove my claim to being a medicine-woman. The chief was suffering from a large abscess on the jaw, which I had no diffi- culty in lancing, thus giving him immediate relief. He then produced his little son, a boy of about eight, whose skin was covered with boils, and I spent a very unpleasant two hours attending to him. In return for my services I A Gruesome asked them to let me photo- Trophy. graph them, but there was another stampede directly I pro- duced my camera, and in the end I had reluc- tantly to abandon the idea. The chief gave me a goat, some eggs, and half-a-dozen fowls, but I would much rather have had one good snapshot of him and his followers. I gave him a piece of blue indigo drill, with which he was very pleased ; to his chief wife I gave a handful of salt. just as I was going he also presented me with a large double-edged knife, which, he genially informed me, had killed over a thousand people ! I left the village to an accompaniment of fearful yells, and returned to the boat. We tied up to-the bank that night at a spot swarming with mos- quitoes, but Mokassa fixed my mosquito net up so that I might dine beneath it. Unfortunately a gust of wind came along and blew the net into the candle-flame, and in a few moments the whole thing was destroyed, leaving me lamenting. : Next morning, to our consternation, we found the boat black with the deadly sleeping - sickness fly, but, although I was bitten from head to foot, I did not go down with the malady. During the day I shot a hippo, and the boys cut off some of the meat for themselves. We reached Lubue eventu- ally without any more adventures. From Lubue I went into the territory of the Batetelle, a tribe who cultivate rice, and on Good Friday I arrived at Lualuabourg, the seat of the Catholic Mission. The day after my arrival Mokassa came in to say that a chief had called to see me, and on going out I saw before me a most extraordinary apparition. He was a man of medium height, with a soft felt hat, and white rings round his eyes, which gave to his face a most weird appearance. I learned afterwards that he had been fighting against the Belgians for fourteen years, but had at last grown tired of this rather risky hobby, and, whitening his eyes in token of submission, had made peace. So long as his eyes remained whitened the old gentleman is to be regarded as a friend by the whites. He is shown in the photograph repro- duced above. es in token (Photograph. (To be continued.)

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JIKIRI’S LAST FIGHT. By PAUL V. ALPISER. ILLUSTRATED BY WARWICK REYNOLDS. The American Government has had a good deal of trouble with Moro outlaws in the Philippine Islands, but none of these gentry had a record equalling that of Jikiri, who was here, there, and everywhere, defying all attempts at capture. He committed every crime in the calendar and created a veritable reign of terror, until at last the soldiers ‘rounded him up” in his seemingly inaccessible lair—a cave in the crater of an extinct volcano. Here there took place a desperate night battle, as described in this story, which resulted in the extermination of this human fiend and all his men. In compiling the narrative Mr. Alpiser has had the valuable assistance of Colonel C. C, Walcutt, Jun., Acting Chief of the Bureau of Insular Affairs, War Department, Washington. WAHEN the Spaniards held the Philip- i ry ry pine Islands they had continual aS oT bq trouble with Moro pirates and out- “Fy y laws, and made practically no head- ™ Way against them. With the coming of the American dominion a systematic cam- paign against these bandits was instituted, but for a long time the authorities were able to accomplish very little; the hundreds of scattered islands offered innumerable hiding- places for the pirates; the fastnesses of the impenetrable jungles gave safe shelter to the outlaws. Still the Government persevered, and one by one the outlaw chiefs and pirate leaders were stamped out and their bands dispersed, though not without infinite difficulty and much loss of life. So far as personal reputation for boldness and cunning is concerned, the last bandit “rounded up ”—one Jikiri—was undoubtedly the most notable of all the Moro desperadoes the American Government has had to deal with. He had, without question, been guilty of many crimes long before his identity had been estab- lished, but by November, 1907, the name of Jikiri was definitely nailed to pillage and murder, and the authorities had vowed to bring him to Vol. xxxi.—88. pvievaiera book. Thereafter he was hunted persistently by soldiers of the regular army, and by the Philippine scouts and constabulary. Almost captured a score of times, he escaped again and again, until he eventually became a veritable nightmare. Jikiri was here to-day, and to-morrow many miles distant. He hesitated at no crime in the calendar; robbery, arson, pillage, rapine, torture, death—all proceeded from the hands of this monster. He terrified not only the peace- ful natives, but all white men and foreigners living in isolated parts of the Sulu district, and also in Southern Mindanao and the islands adjacent thereto. His outrages were so frequent that the Americans and foreigners became much alarmed, and demanded military protection. The governors of the several districts sent out pursuit parties and called on each other for help. The civil government asked the mili- tary government for assistance in extermina- ting Jikiri ; the military government complained that the civil government had withdrawn the armed cutters that formerly patrolled the Sulu Sea, and called on the naval commander for assistance. To show what a terrible nuisance and scourge

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534 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Jikiri finally became, I will quote briefly from the military records of the department of Mindanao, trom December, 1907, to July, 1909. It is as well to remember, however, that these records do not tell more than half the story :— Dec. 24th, 1907.—Two American lumbermen, Messrs. Case and Verment, with one Chinese servant, and a neighbouring Chinese store- keeper, were murdered by Jikiri and followers on the south side of the island of Basilan. A company of fifty soldiers were at once sent to Basilan, but failed to locate the outlaws. Four picked companies of troops, with field equipment, were sent from Jolo to aid in the hunt, but no success attended their efforts. March 1908.—The outlaws attacked a ranch and killed a Spaniard and two women, looting the ranch. A machine-gun detachment was then sent to Basilan from Zamboanga, two companies of troops were sent from Parang, and two companies from Malabang, making a total of over three hundred officers and men now engaged in the task of hunting down Jikiri. The governor of the Zamboanga district took personal charge of the expedition, but Jikiri could not be found. May, 1908.—One Chinaman was killed and two badly cut up by Jikiri and his followers. Jikiri was next reported on the island of Jolo, and half-a-dozen murders were directly traced to him in a short time. He stated openly that he intended paying his respects to the Siasi district of the province, and the natives in that district became very much perturbed. On May 18th an attempt was made by Jikiri to burn the constabulary headquarters at Siasi, . Two Chinamen were murdered, presumably by Jikiri, who was reported to be at the barrio of Bingsook, on Jolo Island. A detachment of troups was at once dispatched to the scene, had an engagement with the outlaws, and returned with one man wounded, but Jikiyi and his band escaped. Jikiri now boldly attacked the town of Maibun, the old capital of the Sultan of Sulu, on the south side of the island of Jolo, burned the town, and murdered a number of Chinese residents. Other outrages followed, and Jikiri, with a following of about one hundred men, was now at the height of his power. July, 1908.—Jikiri reported back on Basilan Island. Part of the Twenty-third Infantry was sent to hunt him down, but they were un- successful. September, 1908.—Jikiri was reported at various places in the Sulu district, and a number of outrages were attributed to him. The in- habitants of the island of Sitanki were terrorized by him, and called for protection. A detach- ment of troops was sent, but did not encounter Jikiri. During the rest of the year the principal topic of conversation in the Sulu district was Jikiri. He was reported at twenty different places at the same moment. All manner of crimes were charged to him. The women quieted their children by pronouncing the name of Jikiri. The Government failed in every attempt to bring him to justice. January 20th, r90g.—A_ fleet of pearl-fishing vessels were attacked by Jikiri near Jolo. One of the pearling boats was burned and sunk, another was put out of commission, and four members of the crew killed, all the pearls and other useful cargo being carried away. The authorities at Jolo sent out a detachment of troops at once, but Jikiri had vanished with his plunder, taken right at the doors of Jolo, headquarters of the government of the district. The military authorities requested the help of the navy to suppress this piracy, and the gunboats Arvayat and Paragua were sent down from Manila. January 28th, 1909.—A Chinaman, Dee Wee, was murdered by Jikiri at Lampinigan, on Basilan Island, and cash to the value of two thousand dollars and his entire stock of mer- chandise was carried off. February 2nd, 1909.—Five soldiers met two outlaws, one thought to be Jikiri, on Basilan Island, and a fight followed in which one of the outlaws was wounded, but both made their escape. February 8th, 1909.—The governor of the Moro province requested the aid of the army and navy in putting down piracy, which was steadily increasing, due to the successes of Jikiri. A strong detachment of the Twenty-third Infantry was sent to Basilan, and ran down Jikiri and his band. A hot engagement followed, in which some of the outlaws were killed, seven- teen were captured, and a large quantity of stolen merchandise and arms recovered. _ Jikiri, however, escaped again. From all the exposed towns and islands of the Sulu district there now came frantic appeals for protection from Jikiri, his followers and imitators. A reign of terror was in full swing. February 15th, 1909.—Another fight took place with Jikiri on Basilan, resulting in one outlaw wounded ; Jikiri as usual escaped. In March and April detachments of troops were sent to various islands to protect the inhabi- tants from Jikiri. April 9th, 1909.—A member of Jikiri’s band was captured on Basilan. April 11th, 1909.—An_ expedition, consisting

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JIKIRI’S LAST FIGHT. 535 of troops from the Sixth Cavalry and Twenty- third Infantry, left Jolo on the gunboats Arayat and Paragua for the island of Tabawan, where Jikiri was reported, but the wily outlaw was not encountered. May 30th, 1909.—On supposedly authentic information, Captain Byram, with detachments of Sixth Cavalry and Twenty-third Infantry, left Jolo to operate against Jikiri on the island of Pata. Was compelled to return without finding any trace of Jikiri. June 3rd, 1909.—Colonel Rodgers, with four officers and one hundred and eighteen men, left Jolo on gunboats Avayat and Paragua, and the launch Nashville, to operate against Jikiri, but returned without accomplishing object. With this expedition was a suspected Moro, who suddenly seized the “ barong ” of a friendly native and mortally wounded first Sergeant W. D. Broderick, of the Sixth Cavalry, and badly wounded the American interpreter and a native, before being killed himself. June 5th, r909.—An expedition was again sent from Jolo to the island of Pata to search for Jikiri, On June rith the soldiers met the outlaws, and a lieutenant of Jikiri was killed and six outlaws captured, but Jikiri himself escaped. June 15th, 1909.—Detachments of the Sixth Cavalry, with machine guns, left Jolo to search certain districts for Jikiri. They returned with two prisoners, but had not met Jikiri. June 19th, 1909.—A detachment of Philippine Scouts fought party of outlaws on Basilan Island, supposed to belong to Jikiri’s band, killing two outlaws and capturing arms, etc., but did not get Jikiri. June 27th, 1909.—Lieutenant’ Archie Miller, with two troops of Sixth Cavalry and a platoon of artillery, left Jolo for Maibun, where Jikiri was reported, but returned without finding him. July 4th, 1909.—Captain Byram, with detach- ments of troops A, B, and C, Sixth Cavalry, assisted by sailors and a mountain gun, finally cornered and destroyed the noted Jikiri. In the following narrative I propose to relate how this was done. On June 3oth a friendly native brought word to the governor of Jolo that the redoubtable Jikiri and a few companions were in hiding near Maibun. Preparations were at once made to capture him, but in some manner Jikiri got wind of it, and proceeded forthwith to steal a boat and escape to the island of Patian, some ten miles from Jolo. It should be explained that, owing to the severe, unremitting pursuit that had been kept up, Jikiri’s band had dwindled down in numbers to twelve or fifteen men. As already noted, Captain Byram set out from Jolo with the gunboats Arayat and Paragua, and the launches Sabah, Nashville, Atalanta, West Point, and Jewel, carrying detachments of the Sixth Cavalry, a machine gun section, a section of Battery E, Second Field Artillery, and a detachment of the hospital corps. Captain Signor, of the navy, was in command of the sailors. Captain Byram located Jikiri on the island of Patian, which is of volcanic origin, and covered with a dense growth of brush. The island is, in fact, an extinct volcano, perhaps a thousand feet high. The crater is about a thousand yards in diameter at the top, and about eight hundred feet deep. The bottom is practically at sea level. The outside slope of the mountain is quite steep, but the inside walls are much more so, being so precipitous as to make climbing, even by an agile, unencumbered person, very difficult. Jikiri’s hiding-place was a deep, roomy cavern in the inner wall of the crater, and sloping upward, about three hundred feet from the top. The cavern had four entrances, opening out upon a ledge of stone, along the outer edge of which the outlaws had thrown up a strong breastwork. Their shelter was protected from above by another overhanging shelf of stone, from which it was impossible to reach any of the openings. From the cave the crater-wall sloped sharply downward to a precipice not far below. The position of the outlaws was certainly a strong one, and might well have been considered impregnable. Captain Byram now learned positively that the outlaws had gone into the cavern as “ Jura- mentados ’’—that is to say, as fanatical Moham- medans they had sworn to destroy as many Christians as possible before being killed them- selves, which made them doubly formidable. Knowing the Moro character well, Captain Byram was certain Jikiri and his men would, at a favourable moment, make a rush with a view to doing as much harm as they could, and then escaping to the bush. Captain Byram further realized that this rush would in all probability occur at night, when the outlaws would crawl from the cave one at a time, worm their way like serpents toward the sentinels, and, when near enough, suddenly burst upon the soldiers with their deadly “ barongs.” If this were permitted, in all probability a number of the soldiers would be killed and some of the outlaws escape. The captain therefore decided, cost what it might, to boldly charge the lair of the bandits, and endeavour to exterminate them,

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JIKIRI’S LAST FIGHT. 537 “The signal was given for another shot from the gun.” Immediately on reaching Patian, a force of sixty soldiers had been posted around the cave, the machine-gun was got into action, and for two days and nights a continuous fire was directed into the cave. This fire was hotly responded to by Jikiri and his men, and one soldier was killed. Every few minutes there would rise on the air the hideous Moro yell adopted by the aut- laws, “ Oo-oo-ah, Jikiri!” During the night this terrible cry, aided by vicious hordes of mosquitoes and sheets of tropical rain, drove all possibility of sleep from the minds of the besiegers. Lieutenant Blank, a young soldier not long out of West Point, was in command of the moun- tain gun belonging to Battery E of the Second Field Artillery, and expressed the belief that he could make good use of his piece, contrary to the opinion of Captain Byram. The latter, perfectly willing to let his subordinate show what he could do, told the lieutenant to go ahead. This was no easy job, and the lieutenant, after closely inspecting the inner slope, would have backed out if he could, but he felt that was impossible. The gun, which weighed a thousand pounds, had to be handled with block and tackle, but was finally got into position and trained on the cave, not fifty feet distant. Just as the young officer was about to fire his first round, however, three of his men were wounded by a discharge of buck-shot from the outlaws. The gun was in a precarious position, the place being so steep that Lieutenant Blank was compelled to fix the tackle to the gun and then to a tree on a protruding ledge overhead. Even then, when the weapon was fired, it turned completely over, and in one of its mad backward leaps it badly bruised a sergeant. To make matters worse, it had to be operated in the open, without any protection whatever for the gunners. The rifles of the soldiers kept down the fire of the outlaws somewhat, but when the signal was given for another shot from the gun, the soldiers had to withdraw for fear of the es WO l > Digitized by Xa OO c

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538 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. bursting shells, thus leaving the cave uncovered for an instant. Jikiri speedily discovered this, and as soon as the rifle fire ceased he and his men would open up fiercely on the mountain- gun, In its first position the gun placed ten shells in and near the cavern, doing considerable damage, and the gun went out of action, for Captain Byram at that moment ordered the final assault. Slowly the soldiers closed round the cavern, “Four bullets met the pirate in mid-air.” and clearing away all the brush in front. The lieutenant then moved his gun twenty feet nearer the cave, and was ready to fire when his sergeant fell mortaliy wounded. The gun fired several more shots ; then the tackle broke, keeping up meanwhile a steady, accurate, merciless fire into the four mouths, which vemited bullets, spears, and stones in reply. One soldier was terribly gashed by a spear in his shoulder, but the other casualties were slight.

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JIKIRI’S LAST FIGHT. 539 At last the outlaws seemed to be running out of ammunition, for they began to roll large boulders down on their assailants. Nearer and nearer came the triumphant, inexorable line of soldiers, feeling sure that at last their cunning, ferocious foe had run his course. One end of the encircling line was within a few feet of the entrances when a big Moro jumped forward with a blood-curdling yell, his ““ barong ” flashing in the light. Four bullets from the rifles of Lieutenant Blank and his men met the pirate in mid-air as he jumped, and he rolled over dead just behind the breastwork. Then came the last mad rush of Jikiri and his men at the other end of the breastwork. Lieu- tenants Wilson and Kennedy were the first wounded. Lieutenant Wilson was on one knee, firing right into the mouth of the cave when, before he could rise to his feet, the ferocious Jikiri himself was upon him. Seizing the lieu- tenant’s hair with his left hand, and giving his head a sharp twist forward and to one side, with the keen “ barong ” in his right hand he dealt the unfortunate officer two blows across the neck in rapid succession. Lieutenant Wilson would, without doubt, have been decapitated by the crazed bandit had it not been for Lieutenant Baer, who, armed with a Winchester pump-gun, rushed forward and blew Jikiri’s head to pieces with a load of buck-shot. Lieutenant Baer is credited with having killed four of the outlaws with this gun. Meanwhile, spite of the death of the leader, the fight waged fiercely between the “‘ barongs ” of the Moros and the sabres of the soldiers, the latter being afraid to use their rifles for fear of hitting their comrades in the general mix-up. The Moros would jump several feet into the ar, giving their fearsome cry, “‘ Oo-oo-ah, Jikiri!” then to one side and another, with every jump bringing down their heavy “ barongs” with enough force to have clipped off a human head at a blow. Lieutenant Kennedy got a slanting blow across the back of the neck and shoulder, making a nasty wound. Lieutenant Miller received the flat of a “ barong”’ across the back with sufficient force to have cut him in two had it struck him edge first. As it was, he was laid up for several weeks from the effect of the blow. A soldier had a hand taken clean off by a vicious cut. When the fight was over every member of the band of outlaws had been killed. There had been eleven of them in all. Jikiri was really dead this time ; he was but a terrible memory. The troops suffered a loss of two men killed outright, three officers and eighteen enlisted men wounded, of whom two of the latter died of their wounds. Some of the wounded were permanently crippled ; one poor fellow had both eyes shot out. Lieutenants Wilson and Kennedy will probably have “stiff necks” for the remainder of their ~ lives, and the noble scars they carry are eloquent tributes to their courage and devotion to duty. Thus ended the atrocious and murderous career of one of the worst outlaws the Philippine Islands ever sheltered. There had been several women with Jikiri when he first entered the cave, and they were given an opportunity to leave. Strange to say —for it is customary for the Moro women to remain and fight with their menfolk—all but the wife of Jikiri and one other woman took advan- tage of the offer. As a pleasant sequel to the extermination of Jikiri, President Taft afterwards presented medals of honour for distinguished bravery in action to First Lieutenant Archie Miller, Second Lieutenants Arthur H. Wilson and John T. Kennedy, and Quartermaster-Sergeant Joseph Henderson. This medal of honour is to the American soldier what the Victoria Cross is to his British comrade. Certificates of Merit for gallantry in action were also given to Sergeant H. O. Richardson and Privates M. McGuire and L. A. Myers. All the recipients were members of the Sixth U.S. Cavalry. The pre- sentation was made in the White House at Wash- ington before members of the President’s Cabinet, high officials of the army and navy, and dis- tinguished members of foreign diplomatic corps. Evil and fearful a scoundrel as Jikiri had been, without a single redeeming characteristic, recog- nizing neither law nor humanity, it is interesting to note that one of the leading native news- papers of the Philippine Islands published a eulogy on his life and death, painting this human fiend in pleasing colours, saying he had been “ persecuted’ by the whole force of the powerful American Government, and closing in this strain :— “Thou art dead, O Jikiri! Rest in peace! The master and empire that conquered thee shall pass away, just as all masters and empires must pass. Brave soul, rest thou in peace! Thy race is praying. Awake, O Asia, awake !”

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Unknown Canada. BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD. A remarkable article which will come as a revelation to the majority of our readers. Spite of the wave of settlement which has spread over the country of late years, spite of railroad enterprise and the exploratory zeal of the Gov:rnment, there are still vast areas in Northern Canada absolutely un- known and untouched by the white man, where all sorts of geographical and other wonders are to be found. Tales are told of semi -tropical regions where the mighty mastodon may still exist, and explorers have penetrated into new country teeming with vast herds of game, and containing lakes as large as Wales and rivers a mile wide. “It is impossible to say ‘what’ we may not find in the unknown regions,” said a high official of the Hudson Bay Company. This authoritative article describes some of the remarkable pioneer work performed by the Royal North-West Mounted Police in filling up the blank spaces on the maps of the great Dominion. MIESPITE the great emigration y boom that Canada has enjoyed | for some years past, the rapi- dity with which her vast north- western territories have been opened up to settlement, and the girdling up of the country with a network of railways and telegraph posts, there yet remain huge areas absolutely unknown and untouched, where all sorts of wonders may be discovered. Indeed, the enthusi- astic explorer, longing for new worlds to conquer, may well select Canada as his goal. Here he will find limitless tracts of country — blank spaces on the map — where there are mighty ranges of mountains, great rivers and lakes, wonderful forests and wild prairie lands. Away up under the Arctic Circle there are probably tribes, Indian and Eskimo, whose very existence is unknown, and here also roam vast herds of the grandest game to be found on the face of the globe, and, if reports are to be credited, many new and strange beasts. To penetrate into these From a) unmapped lands calls for grit and stamina of the highest order. The pioneer must be pre- pared to face hardships and perils as great as those encountered by the most daring of Arctic and Antarctic adventurers. That the explorer will find An Opportunity ample scope fo- his energies in for the Canada is abundantly evident Explorer. when we remember the valu- able and wonderful exploration work which has been carried out by the

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Mounted Police—The Rocky Mountains are seen in the distance. members of the Royal North-West Mounted Police. -Within the last two years these unsung heroes of the West may be said to have virtually changed the map of the North of Canada. Yet, in spite of all they have done, of their long, dreary patrols, extending over many months, across thousands of miles of country, there are still immense areas waiting to be mapped. These unknown regions are well worth the attention of the most ardent explorer, as will be apparent from an account of some of the daring journeys and remarkable discoveries made by these hero-policemen of the Far North land. Their reports are invariably brief, a story being sometimes told in half-a-dozen lines whose tragedy might fill a book. Here is a typical example. It came from an officer who wrote from the desolate Arctic plain, the Great Barrens, and said: “I beg to report that our journey to Aberdeen Lake was filled with great danger and misfortune. We were

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542 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. From a) stormbound frequently, and the temperature fell to sixty. Le Barge died at Baker Island. Scott and I pulled in with only two dogs, living on bark and roots for the last hundred miles. It is unfortunate that three of my fingers were frozen and have been amputated.” : When you read such reports as this you begin to grasp something of the character of the six hundred and forty-nine officers and men who compose the Royal North-West Mounted Police. The other day four of them—Inspector E. A. Pelletier, Corporal Joyce, and Constables Walker and Conway - got off a train at Regina, their headquarters. It is a raw, unfinished prairie city about a hundred miles north of the border- line. These men had just completed the longest patrol on record—three thousand three hundred and forty-seven miles through the wildest and most desolate regions of the Far North, a great part of which had never before been traversed by the foot of a white man. Yet there was no crowd to meet them, nor was there even a carriage for them to ride in. They attracted no particular attention, though they had accom- plished one of the most remarkable and daring unknown country. In the heart of the mountains—The “ exploratory patrols"’ of the N.W.M.P. are continually penetrating into hitherto (Photograph. journeys in the annals of travel and exploration, and had helped considerably to fill in the blank spaces on the map. They did not even receive a mention in the local newspapers, but what was regarded by them as far more gratifying + than newspaper applause was the thanks of the Prime Minister. When the next map is issued from Ottawa these men could, if their modesty would allow them, point out certain things which have never appeared before and say, ‘‘ We dis- covered that—and that—and that.” Although the primary object of this article is to show that certain sections of the Dominion, particularly those vast districts just under and beyond the Arctic Circle, are unknown, un- touched, and full of geographical wonders, some reference to the life and actual work of the R.N.W.M.P. is appropriate. These men have been the very backbone of strength in the building up of the new nation in the West. They have gone ahead of the settler, in advance of the rail- way and the surveyor, and they have made their uniform respected and feared in a territory that reaches a thousand miles east and west and one thousand eight hundred miles north and south.

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UNKNOWN CANADA. 543 Only six hundred and forty-nine strong, they have done the work of an army. A cattle-thief two hundred miles away from the nearest officer fears the law as acutely as the home law-breaker who works in the very presence of the police. “Shere is a white man selling The Wonderful liquor to the Indians,” said the N.W.M.P. inspector at Fort Macpherson to one’ of his men. ‘ He’s down on the Indian Hare River, three hundred miles from here. Go and get him.” The officer went. He travelled eight hundred miles for his man, and he “ got him.” The assignment was no more unusual to this dollar- a-day hero of the Royal Mounted than it would be for a policeman at home to be detailed to arrest a man in the next street. Last year these six hundred and forty-nine men made ten thousand four hundred and eighty-nine arrests, and convictions resulted in nine thousand and forty-two cases. Their wonderful work can hardly be appreciated until one pauses to realize that this entire force, which patrols a country one-third as large as the whole of Europe, is no bigger than the police force of a city like Edinburgh or Leeds. The Athabasca and Mac- kenzie River district, for instance, is patrolled by three officers and twenty-five men, yet it comprises an area of six hundred and twenty thousand square miles—slightly less than a twelfth part of the North American continent, about a fifth of the whole of Canada, and some five times as large as the United Kingdom! Nevertheless, no law-breaker is safe in the whole of this vast country, for once set upon a trail a man-hunter of the Royal Mounted is a veritable Nemesis. If a murder is committed in an English or American city the whole police and detective force of the place, numbering perhaps hundreds of men, is put into action. If a similar crime is committed in the Mackenzie River district, one man only is detailed to bring in the murderer ; and in nine cases out of ten he does it. He is absolutely fearless in the face of odds, for only men of indomitable courage are retained in the service. From six months to a year is the time allowed for a “rookie” to prove himself. After that first year he becomes either a “reliable ” of the Royal Mounted or a “ discard.” In the fifth month of his service a young, smooth- faced ‘‘rookie”’ cornered three desperate cattle- thieves in the Cypress Hills, east of Lethbridge, fought them to a standstill, and brought them into headquarters single-handed, one of them almost dead of his wounds. A little over a year later this same “ rookie,’ whose name was Barry, was sent out after a man-killer with those words which are epic in the annals of the Royal Mounted : “ Don’t come back until you get him.” The writer met this man eight hundred miles north of civilization. He had been after his man for three months, and he was still after him. He followed his instructions to the letter. He ‘The lonely camp of a solitary policeman near Hudson Bay. From a Photograph.

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544 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. did not come back until he got him, though it took him seven months to do the job, and he travelled over two thousand miles. This is the type of man of which this remark- able police force is made up, so it is not so strange after all that six hundred and forty-nine such characters should be able to do the work of ten thousand ordinary men. In a way the Royal North-West Mounted Police is a misnomer. It is not all “ mounted,” as most people suppose. In the entire service there are only five hundred and forty-five horses, and all but twenty-six of these are in the prairie regions of Alberta and Saskatchewan. An inspector stationed very close to the Arctic Circle once suggested to me that it ought to be called ‘‘ The Royal Mounted, Dog-sledge, Snowshoe, and Canoe Police of the North-West.” That name would just about hit the nail on the head, though the writer, instead of saying ‘‘ Police of the North-West,” would suggest ‘“‘ Police and Explorers of the North- West.” For it must be conceded that it is something of importance to discover a sixth of a continent, to re eal untold millions of potential new wealth, and to add lakes and rivers, and even mountains, to maps that were naked white spaces five years ago. And as to he romance and adventure and the peril of it, the reader may judge for himself. On the first day of June, 1908, there set out from Fort Saskatchewan, an outlying station on the river of that name north of Edmonton, one of the most interesting and venturesome exploring expeditions of the present century. In this party were the four men already referred to—Inspector E. A. Pelletier, Corporal Joyce, and Constables Walker and Conway. To follow them over a journey which took nearly a year to complete, and in which they covered three thousand three hundred and forty-seven miles, would fill a book of tremendous interest .to every red-blooded man, and yet practically nothing of their remarkable exploit has ever got beyond Government records, map-makers, and scientific departments. Setting out into the wild spaces without guides, dependent only upon themselves, and carrying supplies for many months in their packs and their two small canoes, these four men travelled over eighteen hundred miles of territory never before visited by a white man. On he twenty-third day of Solving a Great July Pelletier and his com- Mystery. panions branched off into the unknown Dog Rib country, adjoining Artillery Lake, and discovered what is probably the gr atest sportsman’s paradise on earth, incidentally clearing up a mystery that has for a number of years been puzzling even the officers of the great Hudson Bay Company itself. Only a few years ago immense caribou herds roamed over the vast barren plains of the North, but since 1905 they have been rapidly disappearing, and as a consequence the last five gears have been largely years of starvation and death among the Indians. It is estimated that fifteen hundred of the pathetically small population of the North have died within that time. Pelletier and his men cleared up the mystery of the disappearing caribou. They had swung west- ward and northward into the unknown regions. Over hundreds of square miles the country was alive with them. They were in sight from morn- ing until night, in herds of hundreds and thou- sands. On the morning of the twenty-third of July the explorers saw a herd which numbered from thirty to fifty thousand head, and a Dog Rib Indian told them that this was not the main herd, but that the larger body was still.farther to the north! Four days later they struck this herd, which must have numbered close upon a hundred thousand head. “T would not have believed there were so many caribou in the whole of the North unless I had seen them myself,” wrote Pelletier to the Commissioner. For hours at a time the party was held up by vast herds swimming across the rivers and lakes ahead of them. At times they were in sight as far as the eyes could see, and they were so tame that they would scarcely move out of the way of the canoes when in the water! This expedition added tremendously to the little that was then known of the vast and almost uninhabited territory between the north end of Great Slave Lake and Hudson Bay. In traversing a territory mine times as large as Scotland they found a native population not exceeding five hundred souls! Time and again they wandered along unknown waterways, and once were so completely lost in a great network - of large lakes that they might never have found their way out had Pelletier not hit upon the idea of following the course of the seagulls. On August the fourteenth, in the heart of the unexplored country along Beverly Lake, there occurred an incident which goes to prove that even the most sensational happenings of a modern novel are not beyond the bounds of reason. On the morning of this day the little exploring party came suddenly upon an Eskimo village five hundred miles from Arctic water and six hundred miles from Hudson Bay. As Pelletier and his companions approached the village the Eskimo men, women, and children ran towards them, and Walker called out ‘‘ Chimo! chimo!”

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UNKNOWN CANADA 545 which is the usual form of greeting when meeting these people. They were much surprised by hearing a “Good morning!” in answer, and Walker expressed his astonishment by exclaiming “Holy smoke!” to which the native who had spoken replied very fervently, “ Yes, we will smoke.” The mystery was soon cleared up. Years before a man called Lucky Moore had accom- panied Hanbury on his long voyage to the Arctic coast. He disappeared, and it was thought that he was dead. Lucky Moore, however, was not dead; he had made himself a chief of the below zero, lost all their possessions, and were discovered by natives just in time to save them from perishing. In the long journey down to Churchill they were without fuel for forty-three days, ate their caribou meat raw, and only now and then could scrape up enough moss to boil water for tea. They reached Winnipeg on the nineteenth of March, and arrived at Regina two days later, after what is undoubtedly one of the most daring journeys ever made into the heart of unknown Canada. What is without question the most remarkable fact about the expeditions of these police Winter travel—Members of the N.W.M.P. about to start with sledges and dogs on a six-hundred-mile patrol. From a Photograph. Eskimos—who called him ‘‘ Ameryah ”—and had gradually induced his tribe to come farther and farther inland. Lucky Moore had made himself thoroughly acquainted with this unknown country, and told Pelletier that in a distance of five hundred miles east and west there was only one other camp besides his own. The explorers found this camp at the foot of Baker Lake. In a territory comprising fifty thousand square miles, about equal to the area of England, there were not a hundred people ! Winter came upon this heroic little party at. the northern end of Hudson Bay. They made their own clothing of skins. Once they were wrecked, with the temperature forty degrees explorers of Northern Canada is that discoveries of tremendous importance have been made, particularly during the last two or three years, and yet hardly any mention has been made of them in the newspapers or geographical journals. It is almost inconceivable to believe that two new lakes, almost as large as Lake Ontario, and a range of mountains two hundred miles long, could be discovered within a few hundred miles of flourishing cities without creating at least some sort of sensation. Yet this has happened not on one, but on several occasions. In February of 1911 Sergeant Mac- Leod, of the Royal Mounted, was detailed to undertake a hazardous patrol into the unknown

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546 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. country north-east of Fort Vermillion, an out- lying station on the Peace River, in the north of Athabasca. The result of his weeks of hard- ship and peril was the discovery of a lake larger than Lesser Slave Lake, a huge inland sea, over seven thousand square miles in extent, into which one could dump the whole of Wales. The few Indians dwelling on its shores had never before been visited by a white man. It is probable that the Government will reward MacLeod by naming the lake in his honour. From the most authoritative sources the writer is assured that, outside of those associated with the reports recently submitted to the Canadian Government, not only is Mac- Leod’s discovery totally unknown, but also the still more important discoveries of Sergeant A. H. L. Mellor and Constable Johnson in their exploratory patrol of the country south of the Great Slave Lake in August and September of 1910. For the last three years the Canadian Govern- ment has been devoting a good deal of attention to the locating of the buffalo herds of the Far North. This work has been done entirely through the Royal Mounted, and Mellor and Johnson were detailed to penetrate deep into a country which was an absolute terra incognita, inasmuch as it had never been visited by a white man. All knowledge of what lies to the south and east of the Great Slave Lake ceases at the mouth of the Buffalo River, and on the latest Govern- ment maps the country for seven hundred miles east and west and two hundred miles north and south is a white blank. At the mouth of the Buffalo River Mellor and Johnson tried to induce the Indians to accom- pany them, but the most intrepid of their hunters refused to go. They painted the dangers and hardships of this unknown country in the most appalling terms, saying that nothing lived in it but strange and powerful spirits, that it was a country “burning up,” and filled with deadly poisons. On the eighth of August the two explorers set out up the river alone, and from that moment were regarded as lost by the natives. When they camped at the end of the first day’s journey strange and sickening odours came to them on the winds. The next day the odours became almost unbearable, and by noon their canoe reached the edge of what is probably one of the most remarkable regions on the continent. It was literally a world of sulphur. The swamps, the streams, and the endless ‘‘ muskegs ” reeked with it, and though the country was well tim- bered and bore berries in profusion, not a sign of wild life could be seen. A World of Sulphur. Undaunted by their personal discomfort, Mellor and his companion pushed on, and forty- five miles from the mouth of the Buffalo River came upon a very large tributary flowing into the main stream from the south. In_ places this stream was a mile in width, and it ended in a lake which opened up like a great sea, and across which their vision could not travel. After days of exploration, the two men judged the lake to be from thirty to forty miles in width and from eighty to a hundred miles in length. On a particularly clear day Mellor and Johnson were looking to the south and west from a height of land, when they very distinctly made out a range of mountains running almost to the southernmost shore of the lake. Penetrating towards these mountains, they came upon a number of natives who lived far to the south, and who were prospecting for game close up to the ‘“‘ burning lands.” The Indians stated that the mountains ran “ many days’ journey ” to the south, and that the river which they had found was known as the “‘ river-where-once-lived-the-strong-men-who- were-not-afraid-of-the-rapids.” Mellor and John- son went only to the edge of the mountains, gathering data sufficient to show that the Caribou Mountains, instead of terminating seventy miles from the Peace River, as shown by the present maps, extend close up to the southern shore of Great Slave Lake. Had it not been for an almost accidental act of foresight on Mellor’s part the two would never have returned from their romantic and perilous journey. In a swift rapid in the heart of the sulphur country, where they were com- pletely hemmed in for hundreds of square miles by small lakes and streams and impenetrable swamps, their canoe was wrecked upon a rock and all their supplies lost. By a strange and fortunate chance the explorers had ‘ cached ” a small part of their supplies within ten miles of where this accident occurred. After practically rebuilding their canoe, they reached this ‘‘cache” in an exhausted con- dition, and from there resumed their journey through a country barren of food and life down to the Great Slave Lake. This patrol has put another big map-making job in the hands of the Government, and in the not distant future a scientific expedition will set out to follow up the discoveries of Mellor and Johnson. A little over a year ago one of the highest officials of the Hudson Bay Company said to the writer : “ It is impossible to say what we may not find in the great unknown regions of Canada. The Hudson Bay Company has been in the country for two and a half centuries, and yet in

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UNKNOWN CANADA % 547 tions have been sent out by the Police to search for buffalo. A few years ago it was believed that only a few soli- tary head still existed, but since then many herds have been dis- covered. In March and April of 1909 a patrol north - west of Smith’s Landing discovered several herds, the largest of which numbered seventy-five head. At the same time a patrol was sent into the country ber-line in the Far North—Th bles have just shot is ociee roe the south- Above the ti ine in ¢l lar Nort eee constables have some mosoteia its for Frowaletr ce ‘meat supply of their camp. (Photograph, east, and re- ported two hun- the face of that alarge portion ofthenorthernpart dred buffalo. Both expeditions found the whole of the continent is unknown to the white race.” country through which they passed, and which Where the Even since then lakes, moun- was heavily covered with timber and bush, Buffalo Still tains, and rivers whose exist- literally cut up with buffalo trails and infested Roams. ence were never before known by hundreds of wolves. In the autumn of last have been dis- covered, and it is planned that during the next two years the exploratory work of the Royal Mounted shall be prosecu- ted with greater vigour than ever. There are many who believe that, instead of being nearly extinct, there is a coun- try somewhere in the terra incognita of the North where vast herds of buffalo still roam. Since 1908 half -a- dozen expedi- “frou, ‘The ‘* summer patrol” on the way to Dawson, Yukon Territory. (Photograph. Macs

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548 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. year Corporal Bates found two hundred buffalo in one herd and a hundred in another near the Caribou Mountains, and came upon other herds numbering from ten to twenty head. All these expeditions have strengthened the conviction that large herds still exist in the unexplored country south of the Great Slave Lake, and also in the vast “ plain” country between the Great Slave and Great Bear Lakes. 2 It was once suggested to the writer by the Commissioner of the Hudson Bay Company that if the “‘ diary of events” which has been kept at each post for hundreds of years could be put into print the result would be a library of romance and adventure which would be of greater interest than the most absorbing fiction, for not only would it be romance, adventure, and tragedy, but also solid fact. This can also be said of the Royal North- West Mounted Police, and particularly of those detailed to service in the North. Their adven- tures—curious, tragic, and romantic—would fill volumes each year. Not until one has personally visited the lonely “ barrack” of a detachment like that at Herschel, the northernmost limit of the law on the American continent, can one realize to any great extent what the life of these man-hunters and explorers of the ends of the earth really is. With the exception of Fullerton, over on Hud- son Bay, Herschel is the loneliest police-station in the world. It is perched away up on the coast, protected a little from the gales of the Beaufort Sea and the Arctic Ocean by sea-walls of rock. At this point is the ‘‘ Farthest North” white man’s cemetery of any land, and from the cabin windows one may look across a narrow stretch of lifeless barren land to the twenty-one crude wooden crosses that mark the graves of the twenty-one white men who have been buried here. This is but one of many desolate police- stations where the one great law of life is the survival of the fittest, and where little but tragedy plays a part in the adventures of those who uphold the majesty of the law nearly two thousand miles from civilization. The little cemetery tells its own story of the’ fearful toll of human life exacted by the hard- ships of a land where even trees are killed by the cold, and yet where human beings persist in seeking existence. During the seasons of 1894 and 1895 the whaling barque John and Winthrop made her winter quarters at Herschel, and during these two winters nine white men of her crew, ranging in age from eighteen to thirty- six years, succumbed to the hardships of the terrible winters and were buried in the little graveyard. Several times during the past few years the N.W.M.P. have investigated what are known as “ mastodon finds ” in various parts of the Frozen North. ‘The remains of several of these animals have been found in a state of perfect preservation. ‘The flesh has been fresh enough to eat, and in the stomachs of the prehistoric monsters, in at least two instances, there have been found the undigested tropical foods upon which they fed. Superintendent A. E. Snyder, commanding the Royal Mounted at Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, reported to the Commissioner in 1909 that from north of the Porcupine River there had come repeated rumours of the existence of a wonderful tropical region which was still inhabited by mastodons. “ The Indians,” con- cluded Superintendent Snyder, “ report having seen the gigantic tracks of these animals.” Little attention was paid to these stories, however, until in November of last year C. J. McIntyre and two companions made a most amazing discovery north of the Porcupine River. They were travelling by dog-sledge, with the thermometer at forty below zero, when, to their astonishment, the temperature began to rise so rapidly that within a space of two hours they had thrown off their warm garments and the snow was soft under foot. “It seemed,” said McIntyre, “as though we were suddenly passing from winter into spring.” Soon after they came upon the Will They Find first of numberless hot springs, the Mastodon? the snow disappeared entirely, and dense vegetation took the place of the stunted bush and timber of the plains. Because of necessarily slow travel on foot the explorers were not able to determine the extent of this wonderful oasis in the midst of an Arctic desolation. They found several good-sized rivers, flowing with warm water and teeming with fish, and the country was alive with bear, caribou, duck, pheasant, wild geese, and other game, and gold was found in a number of the creeks. McIntyre will soon start at the head of a second expedition into this mysterious country. And will he find the mastodon? Is it possible that still deeper in this unknown country there exists a real tropical world? Of course, it is improbable, but, as the Hudson Bay Company’s official said, it is impossible to say what will not be found. For five hundred miles east and west, from two to three hundred miles north of the Porcupine River, there is a vast un- explored region as little known as the planet Mars, and one can hardly place a limit on what the indomitable courage and perseverance of the N.W.M.P. may not reveal within this wonderful country during the next few years.

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UNKNOWN CANADA. 549 “You never can tell. Surprises are constantly popping up with us,” were the words of a ser- geant of the force whom I met several years ago at Fort Churchill. With two men he was just starting into the wild country between Churchill and the Athabasca. Many months later, away down in an American city, I read in a news- paper how these men had perished of cold and starvation on that trip, and how only the bones of the three were found in their last camp, picked clean by the wild things. Some of these surprises are merely unusual, and a few of them humorous ; but they are all mightily interesting, and would fill a book a foot thick every twelvemonth. Sometimes they stun even the veterans of the force—men who are supposed to be prepared for anything. of a “ brewery,” and that life south of the Great Slave Lake was one long and joyous spree. A strange white man had sold the secret of making “fire-water ”’ to the Indians, and they were making a “‘ brew”’ of potatoes, hops, sugar, and yeast, which, when allowed to ferment, was strong enough to cause intoxication. During the warm summer months the Indians raised potatoes for this brew, but in scarcely any instance can they be persuaded to grow anything for food. As a consequence of this dis- A Tragedy of taste for agriculture in any form, Starvation. the Canadian Government and the N.W.M.P. are now facing one of the most serious problems that could possibly confront them in the Far North. Game and Buffalo on the great Arctic plains—This herd was discovered last year by a N.W.M.P. expedition. From a Photograph. “There’s a brewery somewhere east of the Hay River,” was the report brought in to Sergeant R. Field at the Chipewyan station a little over a year ago. If someone had arrived with a two-headed moose, or a live, kicking moose with no head at all, Sergeant Field would not have been more amazed. For the Hay River is a thin black line running through the white terra incognita south of the Great Slave Lake. A brewery six hundred miles from civilization! And not only that, but in the heart of a country that even the map-makers have left a blank! Field made a_ personal investigation, and he found a happy lot of Indians among whom “ fire-water ” was quite as common as it used to be down in Kentucky. He found that nearly every “ buck” was the proprietor Vol. xxxi.—39. fish, while abundant in many regions, are growing more and more scarce over great areas of territory, : nd hundreds of natives are dying of starvation each year. The rapidly-increasing death-rate has led to the question being seriously asked, “‘ Will nearly one million square miles of the northern end of the continent become, within a few years, entirely uninhabited ? ” Where, comparatively speaking, large popula- tions and Hudson Bay posts existed half a century or more ago are now uninhabited wildernesses. Along the northern and western coasts of Ungava, in Northern Labrador, which embraces a totally unexplored interior over four times as large as the area of the United Kingdom, the fight for existence has become so tragic that Mr. J. D. Moodie, superintendent of the police-

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550 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. station at Fort Churchill, reports the natives killing one another for food. Last winter one hundred and twenty natives out of a total population of six hundred died of starvation on the Willow River, a tributary of the Fraser, lying in the far north of British Columbia, while during January and February seventy-eight Dog Rib Indians died along the Great Slave Lake. For many weeks not a hair of game was seen, and the entire tribe lived on roots. The Eskimos are dying off even more rapidly than the Indians, for with the disappearance of the whale and the seal their two chief articles of food are gone, and they have little left but walrus and fish. Less than a dozen years ago Polar bears were numerous all along the coasts. Last year only six were killed by the natives along a coast six hundred miles in length. ‘Twelve: years ago there were four hundred Eskimos at Kittigazuit, in the Mackenzie River district, and at that time they were a strong, venturesome, prosperous tribe of hunters. Last year twelve igloos held the entire tribe, which starvation had reduced from four hundred to fifty. From the Alaskan boundary to Baillie Island Inspector Jennings reports that there are now but two hundred and sixty people. At one time this long stretch of coast, which includes the Mackenzie River delta, was the home of several thousand natives. An Eskimo seldom leaves He is born, lives, and dies in the same home. village, and so it is not difficult to estimate the ravages of starvation among these people. Seven years ago there was an Eskimo village of sixty people north of Wagner Inlet. This village is now reduced to three igloos. Near Franklin Bay a patrol recently came upon an Eskimo village that had apparently been aban- doned for many years. There were over forty large igloos, constructed almost entirely of the bones of whales. Among the disappearing Eskimos this ‘‘ ancient city” can be regarded almost as civilized peoples regard the buried cities of other ages. At one time it must have contained a population of five hundred souls, and was built at a period when “‘ the spouting of whales off the Arctic coast could be seen at any hour of the day.” Whale meat and whale blubber was then a daily fare, while now, at the Eskimo village south of Richards Island, but one whale has been secured in three years. This tragedy of starvation in the Far North is particularly. pathetic because the women go first, and so the birth-rate is startlingly small, and becomes smaller with each succeeding year. There are now no more than thirty thousand people in the vast territory north of the fifty- eighth parallel, and it is not beyond reason to say that for only a few years longer will the primitive peoples of the North play their present part in the adventures of the Royal North- West Mounted Police up at the end of the earth. On the Mackenzie River—The stockade shown was built many years ago as a defence against Indians. From a Photograph.

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An Airman’s Adventures in BY G. M. DYOTT. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN CAMERON, AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. From a} The Author, Mr. G. M. Dyott Yucatan. (Photograph. With another aviator, the Author went to the remote Mexican province of Yucatan to give exhibition aeroplane flights. The flying was difficult enough, but matters were complicated by a rascally “impresario” who, failing to cheat the Britishers out of their money, had the author thrown into jail. Mr. Dyott describes his strange experiences at the hands of the Yucatecans and his final escape. BT was towards the end of March, @ 1912, that I landed in New York, carrying my shaving tackle in my hand and with various other toilet articles concealed in the pockets of My overcoat. It must have been evident to the most casual observer that I had left some- where in a mighty hurry—and I had. Ten days previously, in fact, I had scrambled on board the freight steamer Guantanamo, as she lay to, some twelve miles off the coast of Yucatan, thankful at having escaped alive from a prison cell. I propose to relate here the various odd experiences which culminated in this somewhat precipitate departure. With the exception of the steamers plying between Havana and Vera Cruz, the peninsula of Yucatan is entirely cut off from the outside world. Communication is, of course, to be had by telegraph, but by land that part adjoining Mexico proper is wild and practically impassable. The traveller finds himself obliged to come and go by boat, touching at Progresso, the only port on the coast. Although a province of the great Mexican Republic, Yucatan, o- account of its peculiarly isolated position, is an entirely different country— inhabited by people who are taught from their earliest childhood that to deceive is a fine art, and who combine the cruelty of the savage with all the cunning of a modern rogue. The result is a mixture of civilization and barbarism that would be difficult to equal. What the Yucatecans may lack in godliness, however, they endeavour to make up for in cleanliness. Merida, the capital, situated some thirty miles inland from Progresso, is without doubt the cleanest town I was ever in. The well- kept asphalted streets and plazas swarm with -natives clad in picturesque white garments of peculiar cut and variety. The creamy yellow walls of the churches and public buildings glisten in the sunshine and tower above their surround- ings in an imposing manner. The houses, on

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552 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the other hand, are low and irregular, their windows protected with heavy iron bars and their doors sunk deep in the walls, giving them an air of mystery. I went to this country of Yucatan, not on any The Author and Captain Hamilton, his companion, about to make a flight in one of the machines. From a Photograph. sight-seeing trip, but with the idea of show- ing the inhabitants an aeroplane in flight. Some two weeks previously, at Vera Cruz, the late Captain Hamilton and myself had made all arrangements with the officials, and it was in the early part of February that we landed at Progresso, with a view to carrying out our contract. Now, Pro- gresso is not a port in the true sense of the word, but simply a “ jumping-off place.” Only the smallest vessels can go alongside the pier; any respectable ship worthy of the name must anchor ten to twelve miles out at sea and transfer its freight to the shore by means of lighters; and as there is only one tug to do the towing of the rafts the process is naturally slow. We dropped anchor at six-thirty one morning, and although we started to unload the aero- planes at eight, it was three in the afternoon ‘rom a aeroplanes. before we were alongside the wharf. Con- siderable difficulty was experienced in handling the machines, especially the two-seater, whose extra long tail was always in the way. Sefior Gustavo B——, our “ impresario,” Part of a henequen plantation—The country for miles was covered with these spiky ¢rowths, affording very undesirable landing-places for (Photograph. was on the pier to meet us, with all his friends. Smiling all over his fat face, and vigorously gesticulating with his arms, he bobbed round like a cork in his efforts to be agreeable to everyone at once. It was through his efforts that his fellow-citizens were to view an aero- plane in flight for the first time ; he was there-

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AN AIRMAN’S ADVENTURES IN YUCATAN. 553 fore bursting with a sense of his own importance, and showed it in every movement of his cor- pulent frame. The first thing we learnt was that the committee wished us to fly in Progresso, as they could then bring the people by special train from Merida, charging admission along with the railroad ticket, and thus save the expense of putting up an enclosure. We were surprised to learn that the grounds were not ready—in fact, had not even been selected, so we deemed it best to leave the monoplanes in a bodega for the night and proceed by the evening train to Merida, where we could find out from the committee just what they wanted us to do. So as not to lose time, we were escorted to resemble bayonets, and protrude in every direc- tion, so much so that any unfortunate aviator forced into a landing would be spiked, no matter whether he landed backwards, forwards, or on top. It was certainly no country to inspire an aviator’s heart with joy. As we approached Merida the surface of the ground became worse instead of better, so that evening, when talking things over at the hotel, we came to the conclusion that, unless something very unexpected turned up in the way of » ground, our chances of flying would be very thin. The following days were spent in searching for a possible spot, but each place visited seemed to be smaller and more unsuitable, until finally The “ flying-ground,” showing the primitive shelter for the aeroplanes, and the “ grand stand.” From a Photograph. several prospective flying-grounds in the neigh- bourhood before leaving the port; but, oh! what places they were—just narrow strips of sand and garbage heaps. It was laughable even to think of flying from them. Evidently we could do nothing in Progresso, so we waited patiently for the train that was to take us to Merida at five o'clock. I shall never forget that first journey. Hamil- ton sat on one side of the carriage, scanning the landscape, while I sat on the other, equally intent on locating a good piece of open ground. But we were doomed to disappointment. This wonderful level country which we had heard so much about was level, to be sure, but solidly paved with rocks from one end to the other. In the cracks of these rocks grew every variety of spike-bearing bush, the chief offender being the henequen plant, which was cultivated over thousands of acres. Its stiff, thick leaves they took us to an open street and were quite vexed that we did not think it ideal for our purpose. Having thus wasted many days in fruitless efforts we were again taken back to Progresso, and there, on the outskirts of the town, we came across an open stretch of sand, amongst the bushes, which looked as if it might be utilized. We advised compromising and returning at once to Vera Cruz, but they would not hear of it. Even if we could not show off to the best advantage on this strip of ground, we could at any rate do something, they said ; and Gustavo B—— patted his fat chest, saying that he would sooner lose £1,000 and give the flights, rather than {200 and not hold the exhibition. If the ground was not large enough as it stood, he would put twenty men to work clearing it—fifty if need be, or even a hundred, it made no difference. ‘‘ Leave it to me,” he said, “and it will be all right.” So we finally

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554 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. pointing out, however, 2 that we could not guarantee flights in rough weather on account of the restricted area of the ground. Only those who have lived in Latin-American countries can understand the difficulties we en- countered in clearing this miserable strip of sand. The much-vaunted hundreds of natives who were to do the work were conspicuous by their absence, and had it not been for our com- bined personal efforts nothing would have been ready in time. As it was, some tall trees par- ticularly in the way were not removed until five minutes before the first flight ! Our two Deperdussin monoplanes had _ been hauled from the dock, set up. and were ready to fly within eight hours, but as there was no tent ready for them they sat out for three days ina tropical sun. The clear- ing of the ground actu- ally occupied a week, so we had not even time to make trial flights or get the machines tuned up before the exhibition. Not wanting Senor B—— or his associates to make failure of the air venture, either from a financial or sporting standpoint, we advised him on many points, upon which we were competent to speak, but he disregarded every- thing we said. One fact in particular was that relating to the hour at which the people should be brought to the grounds. On account of the prevailing north winds, which at that season blew with great velocity, it was rarely possible to fly before five p.m., therefore four o’clock was a good time to bring the crowds. Imagine our state of mind when they began to arrive at eleven a.m.; and imagine, furthermore, their feelings after sitting for six hours in a baking agreed to do our best, DER s “*In spite of a stiff wind I took out the two-seater and made several short flights.” sun. No wonder they threw cocoa-nuts at us and tried to burn the machines ! Before leaving Vera Cruz we received an announcement from the Bank in Merida stating that the full amount of our contract money had been deposited there and that we could draw upon it as per our agreement—that we were to receive half of the amount when the machines were on the grounds, set up and ready to fly. Everything thus being so far in order, we went to see the manager about drawing on this amount. He told us very politely—through our friend, Le Francois, who acted as interpreter—that Sefior B—— had not actually put the money in the bank, but had promised to do so, and as he — i

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AN AIRMAN’S ADVENTURES IN YUCATAN. was a gentleman of honour would certainly see that we were paid. Unfortunately, however, Sefior B——’s honour did not demand that we should receive anything, and although we threatened not to fly it was of no avail. We finally decided amongst ourselves that money or no money we had better show the people something on the first day, therefore on Friday afternoon we were on the ground with everything in readiness. The actual space which was clear of obstruc- tions measured three hundred by one hundred feet. To the right was a salt marsh full of bushes, ahead the ground fairly bristled with prickly shrubs, to the left and in the rear high 555 Berets y's cocoa-nut trees and date palms grew in profusion, Altogether it was hardly an ideal spot for an aerodrome! At four- thirty the crowd began to get restless, so, in spite of a stiff wind, I took out the two-seater and made several short flights. “ Between acts,” so to speak, I was taken over and presented to the Governor and his staff. They thought it marvellous, patting my back in token of appre- ciation. Finally thecrowd dispersed, thoroughly pleased with what they had seen, and the news- paper devoted columns to the event on the following day. Having now concluded our first day’s flying we were, according to our contract, entitled to the full amount of our money, so, bright and early on Saturday morn- ing, we repaired to Sefior ’s headquarters, only to find him out. All day he eluded us most successfully ; wherever we went he was never there. In fact, it was ‘ not till Sunday after- noon, when we were to give the second exhibi- tion, that he suddenly - turned up on the ground. We could get no satisfac- tion from him, and as the afternoon wore on the people again began to get impatient, especially as they noticed that no preparations were going on in our so-called “ tent.” We were determined not to fly unless we got the money first, so, seeing the attitude of the mob, Le Francois went amongst them saying that the “ impresario” would not pay us, therefore we did not fly. The effect was marvellous. B ’s “honour” woke up with a start when he was threatened with bodily harm—the crowd was in an ugly temper—and he hastened to us, his chubby hands overflowing with Yucatecan bills, worth but three-quarters of their face value. He was a crafty rascal, but we were not so easily

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556 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. taken in, and insisted on Bank of Mexico notes, which he managed, after considerable trouble, to scrape together amongst his friends. It was now our turn to be in a dilemma. We had the cash safe and sound, but we could not fly on account of the wind, which was blow- ing at about forty-five miles per hour. The Governor came over to us, advising us to fly, and lamenting the inability of his troops to keep the crowds in hand, We showed him our contract, which stated that the wind was not to exceed fifteen miles an hour. Furthermore, we pointed out a small windmill, seying that it took at least a twenty-mile-per-hour wind to turn it, so that when it stopped we should have a chance of doing something. A few minutes later he came again, when the wind was higher, if any- thing, and told us that the mill had stopped. So it had, but by order of the Governor, who had ordered a man to stick a board in it. Affairs now looked very bad for us. The people were getting quite out of control, and B—— was secretly goading them on to burn the machines. Cocoa-nuts begin to fly hither and thither, even prominent citizens taking part in the cannonade. A man in the crowd shouted out that he had come on purpose to see one of us killed, and meant to get his money’s worth. We finally decided that the best thing to do was for me to fly away on the two-seater and land on the beach ; then, if the small aeroplane was burnt, we should not suffer such a heavy financial loss. Accordingly the good old ‘‘ Dep ” was wheeled out, and the crowd subsided, thinking that at last they were to see one victim killed. I went over in person to the Governor and told him that what I was about to dowas exceedingly dangerous, and if anyone was killed he would be to blame. I spoke in reference to the crowd and not to myself, as the actual flying was not so hard, but to land in a wind in such a restricted area was dangerous to the people. However, the Governor said, “The people don’t matter ; goahead. If you are killed it is your own fault.” The only man who did not want me to fly was his secretary, and I afterwards thanked him for his support. Meanwhile the crowd waited in breathless excitement. They felt sure I was going to my death, little realizing the real motives I had in mind and the risks they themselves were running. The engine was set in motion, and then, starting into the wind, I rose with extraordinary rapidity, executing a left turn at the same time. In a few minutes I was over the blue ocean, but, alas! the tide was high, and landing on the beach was quite out of the question. As there was no other place to land in the whole countryside except the spot from which I had started, I contented myself with flying up and down the shore, so that the poor natives who could not pay to come to the grounds could see the flights for nothing ; then, taking advantage of a temporary lull in the wind, I slipped back into the aerodrome, stopping within a few inches of the crowd. No sooner had the propeller ceased revolving than they shouted, “‘ Go up again, go up again!” The wind was now steadying down to some twenty-five miles an hour, so after a brief wait I made another flight, remaining in the air aboue a quarter of an hour. The crowds then dispersed, thoroughly satisfied, and feeling that they had come as close to seeing a man killed as was possible in the circumstances, and never having realized their own peril. On Monday we lost no time in telegraphing our money to London, with the exception of a few hundred pesos, which we handed to the British Consul for safe keeping. That afternoon we were at the aerodrome, but were not required to fly, in spite of splendid atmospheric conditions. Our contract time had now come to a close, so that night we retired to bed very pleased with the world in general and ourselves in particular. We supposed that our troubles were at an end, and little thought chat in reality they were only just beginning. On Tuesday morning, while walking in the streets, I was arrested and brought before some officials, who informed me that a lawsuit had been brought against us for breach of contract, and the Courts required a bond in the shape of the money we had received! Needless to say, there was some disappointment in their ranks when they learnt that the cash had gone out of our hands. I was dismissed, and the next morning two wild-eyed individuals presented themselves at the hotel and, standing before Hamilton and myself, proceeded to read aloud a long document. What it was all about we could not imagine, but afterwards we learnt that it was an injunction against our leaving Merida. It was evident that trouble was in store for us, and Le Francois packed up his things in readiness to leave on Saturday by the boat for Vera Cruz, whence he would go to Mexico City and lay the whole affair before the British Minister there. Hamilton and myself wanted to see the last of our friend and give him a good send-off, so we all went to the station together. On arriving there, we boarded the train and had seated ourselves comfortably when we noticed an extraordinary commotion on the platform. Sefor B suddenly appeared, surrounded by a veritable army of police. He was obviously

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AN AIRMAN’S ADVENTURES IN YUCATAN. 557 very much agitated over something, and it finally dawned on us that he supposed we were trying to escape. In order to allay his fears, therefore, I remained behind and let Hamilton go to the port to see Le Frangois off. The train had no sooner left than I was grabbed, shoved into a carriage, and driven off to the police- station. Here they actually tried to make me pay the driver, but as I was taking no “ joy ride” I walked in and left the police to settle the argument outside. The scene which followed was certainly humorous. Various officials interviewed me in turn, gesticulating violently all the time, but as I did not understand a word they said we did not get much farther. Finally they took me before an official with a ponderous volume in front of him, in which were entered the names and laughed aloud ; the whole affair seemed so ridiculous and everyone else was so frightfully serious. After several hours spent in reclining uncomfortably on a_packing-case, however, circumstances did not seem quite so funny, and I began to wonder what was going to happen next. I was not kept long in suspense. Presently the door opened and I was ushered out, being told very emphatically that I was not on any account to leave Merida. Making my way back to the hotel, I found Hamilton ; he had been arrested in Progresso and sent back by the evening train, with the same instructions as myself. We were now rather at a loss to know what to do, so we engaged a lawyer who could speak French and a little English to help us. On the whole, he was a very nice fellow, and did his best. His task The exterior of the jail in which Mr. Dyott was incarcerated. From a Photograph. and life histories of all the rogues in Yucatan, artistically written. As my _ knowledge. of Spanish did not permit of my giving very exact answers to his questions as to my family history, this gentleman at last gave up his inquiries in despair and, pointing to a column, handed me the pen saying ‘‘ Name.” My writing, which is heavy and large, did not please his artistic eye, for after performing his other duty—which was to relieve me of the contents of my pockets, including my money— he dismissed me with a grunt. Two soldiers armed to the teeth then led me to a cell, and a small one at that, containing merely a box to sit upon. Once locked in and alone, I sat down was a hard one, as he had to fight not only B—— and his friends, but also the Governor himself. With the characteristic procrastina- tion of the Mexican, this official postponed everything as long as possible, and it was not until some ten days later that it dawned on us how slim our chances were of getting away at all. Every night we sent cables to England and Mexico City—I even sent one to Senor Madero, the President of the Republic, who had flown with me as a passenger. Not a word came from anyone ; the revolution was in full swing, and a general feeling of unrest existed, especially in Merida. Captain Hamilton had to leave by Saturday’s

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558 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. boat for Havana, otherwise he could not rejoin his regiment in time. This was not the only serious phase of the situation, for here were two good aeroplanes standing out in the open air at Progresso rusting to pieces. Injunction or no injunction, we deemed it best to go down to the port and pack up the two-seater. We still hoped to get answers to our numerous cables in time to leave on Saturday, so that, if we were not ready, it would go badly with us. Accordingly, on the Friday morning, I went to the port, and after a strenuous day in the sun with the mechanic I returned, leaving the two- seater crated on the pier ready to ship. That same evening, as we sat eating our supper, our attention was attracted by the noise and commotion which generally heralded the approach of the amiable Sefior B——, and sure enough he suddenly appeared in the courtyard with his customary array of police, and after pointing us out to them disappeared again. This, we surmised, meant jail for me once more, and in a few minutes the manager of the hotel came over and confirmed our fears. He explained, however, that we could not be arrested while at table, so we need not hurry. We decided that at any rate there were some laws in Yucatan that were quite sensible, and we lingered over the festive board until we were thoroughly sick of sitting there. Hamilton then got up and, slapping me on the back, said, “ Well, good-bye, old man. I will get you out as soon as possible, so don’t worry.” The next thing I knew was that Hamilton had vanished with the policemen, and I was left alone, standing in the passejo. In a second the whole situation flashed upon me. B—— knew that Hamilton had to leave on Saturday to take up his military duties, and that it would be an international offence to detain him, so they were playing their trump card by arresting him for my offence, using it as a lever to extract promises from me. I was right, for shortly afterwards word was brought to me that they would let Hamilton go with one machine if I would consent to remain behind and do some more flying. In reply, I told Hamilton to agree to anything, and on no account to refuse, as, once relieved of the big machine, I might be able to escape by myself. Next morning I had his bags packed and ready loaded on a wagon at the hotel door. A few moments before the train left Hamilton drove up, and off we went, catching the train by a few seconds only. At Progresso he took the two-seater, with all his belongings, and left for Havana. I was now left entirely to my own resources. No response had come to my cables, but 1 had a letter from Le Francois, in Mexico, stating that he was unable to get the British Minister or anyone else to take any action. What worried me most of all was the thought of the poor old aeroplane rusting to pieces, so one fine morning I once more set out for Pro- gresso and packed it up out of harm’s way on the pier. At the same time I packed up my trunk and sent it off, consigned to New York. Only a few necessary articles were left behind in my room. With this off my mind, I asked Mr. Young, the American Consul, who was also agent for the steamship company, what chance there was of escaping unobserved. We both agreed that the regular boat to Havana was out of the question, but a week from that day (Friday) a tramp steamer was to anchor off shore for a few hours in the night to take on a small load of freight. Young said that he could probably arrange it if only I could be on hand about eight or nine o’clock in the evening. He would hold the tug in readiness for me. My spirits rose at the very thought of getting away, but how was I to get to Progresso at that hour? Only one train went, in the morning, and it would be impossible to leave in daylight without being observed at the station. What was to be done? A bright idea struck me. Why not hire a locomotive from Blake, the manager of the railroads, who was a friend of mine? Off I went, and in no time everything was arranged. At five-thirty on the following Friday he was to have a small petrol locomotive waiting for me on the outskirts of Merida. My plans well laid, I went back to Merida and to prison, but that did not worry me, as it was now part of the game I intended to play. What happened during the following week defies description. Imagine sitting on a box in a small cell for seven days, hot by day and cold by night. I had no food except three oranges given me by the man outside my cell, and there was absolutely no one I could rely upon for outside assistance, as I had been unable to send Le Francois a cable telling him of my arrest. Each weary day, precisely at two p.m., I was enlivened by a visit from Sefior B—— and his lawyer, a thin, sallow-faced individual. They would appear, asking me how I was enjoying myself, and whether I felt disposed to return the money I had received for flying. They had lost money over their venture—as we had pre- dicted—and so wanted to get it back. Their expressed wish to have me fly again was only an excuse ; the revolution was active, and high-handed treatment such as this was the order of the day. Needless to say, each day I refused to consider their proposal. If only

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AN AIRMAN’S ADVENTURES IN YUCATAN. 559 S gee Bae A torrent of language burst forth that would have put Niagara Falls to shame.” that longed-for Friday would come round, I thought, it would not take me long to make a few promises, but I had not figured on being starved into submission. Each day as I grew weaker and weaker it became harder and harder to refuse. More than a hint was given me as to what might happen to me. On the Thursday some labouring man in the adjacent cell, a German by nationality, was taken out and disposed of with a few bullets for some trivial offence. and I was politely informed of the event, at

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560 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the same time being told that it would be my end likewise unless I made up my mind quickly. “What was the good of keeping me there at the Government’s expense?” they argued. I turned over in my mind what the actual expense was. My board, at any rate, could not have cost much, seeing that I had not eaten anything for a week. At last the eventful Friday came round. I was weak from confinement and lack of food, and my appearance plainly showed the lack of soap and water. I waited impatiently for two o'clock to strike and bring B—— on his daily visit, but he was late. ‘Two-thirty and he did not come. Three p.m., and still there were no signs of him. What if he should not come that day, and I could not get out after all! It made me sick to think of it. There was time yet, however, so I just sat and waited. At five o'clock there came the welcome sound of the undoing of bolts, and B—— presented himself before me, this being the only occasion on which I was profoundly glad to see him. At first I dismissed him as usual, then, appearing to hesitate, I called him back, and in broken Spanish begged him to let me out. I told him I was tired and worn out, and if only he would let me free I would settle everything that evening, at ten o’clock, even to returning the money. B. smiled a smile of triumph. He thought he had got the best of the foreigners, and gloated over his success. As no trains left the town until the following morning, he thought it quite safe to let me go. The doors were opened, and out I walked. I thought I would keep m smiles for later on in the evening, when I h more leisure, so lost no time in going to my hotel. I told the manager that I was going out to dinner with my lawyer, and that I was also expecting B—— at ten o’clock, so if I was late would he be so good as to wait forme? Then, stuffing my few remaining toilet articles in my pockets, I went out into the streets. I moved amongst the crowd up and down the alleys, until I had eluded the spies detailed to follow me ; then I made a bee-line for the railway on the outskirts of the town. It was five-thirty exactly when I arrived on the spot, and Blake, true to his word, appeared on a petrol locomotive. I jumped on board and off we went down the tracks at thirty miles per hour. What various emotions passed through my mind during the passage of those thirty miles ! Was this the last I was to see of Merida? I fervently hoped so, and yet, it was quite likely I should find the police awaiting me at the other end of the line. On the car rumbled, the throb of the motor sounding like music in my ear. The sun sank lower and lower in the heavens, and a gentle wind stirred the palm trees. After the heat of the day, the evening was wonderfully fresh. What a big place the world seemed after the cramped quarters of my prison cell, and how extremely fascinating was this country which I was leaving so hurriedly. The white clouds, which at first were fringed with liquid gold, now turned to a brilliant crimson, then the whole sky gradually faded into deeper and deeper shades of chocolate, until, on arriving in Progresso, everything was merged in darkness. At the outskirts of the village I got off and made my way to Young’s house. He was waiting for me, and had everything nicely arranged ; even the doctor had been bribed to see me so that the ship’s medical papers would be in order. That worthy did not know who it was he had to examine, otherwise no money under the sun would have induced him to see me after hours, and at his own house into the bargain. My spirits were rising by leaps and bounds. No word had come through from Merida, so evidently my absence was as yet unsuspected. Nevertheless, I was not to get away so easily. My first shock was to find the doctor out. His family told me that he was down the main strect in a chemist’s shop. What could do? To parade down the main thorough- fare with its blaze of lights on either side and soldiers and police lounging everywhere meant certain arrest. On other occasions, my presence anywhere was always accompanied by cries of “El Aviador,” and that this occasion would prove an exception was improbable. A moment's reflection showed me that no other alternative was possible, so, pushing out the top of my soft hat into a peak like a sombrero, hunching up my shoulders and slouching along in the gutter, I proceeded on my way. A week’s growth of beard no doubt added to my disguise, for no one paid any attention to me. The bright lights of the chemist’s quarters did not look inviting, but there in the rear sat the medical inspector, looking more like a tramp than a doctor. I went in. He looked up sleepily as I shoved the document on the table, and without even speaking he signed it and was handing it back when his eye caught my name at the top. “Senor Dyott, el aviador?” he exclaimed, looking up and withdrawing the document. “St, sevor,” I replied. ‘Thereupon a torrent of language burst forth that would have put Niagara Falls to shame. I gathered from it that he would not sign the papers when there was an order out for my arrest if seen in Progresso, for fear of himself being imprisoned and losing his position. By the time he had

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AN AIRMAN’S ADVENTURES IN YUCATAN. 56x calmed down I had had time to think of what to say, so in broken Spanish I explained that half of the money had been returned as I was to come back in September with other aviators to give a big exhibition. As there had actually been some talk of doing this, my story went down very nicely, and he finally handed me the paper, profuse in his good wishes for my con- tinued success. He ended by patting me on the back, a Mexican custom which signifies great pleasure. Had I patted Ais back in proportion to my pleasure there would not have been much left of the doctor ! Once more I had to pass down the whole length of the main street, but, as before, no one paid any attention to me. That street led to the pier, and I could see the white uniforms of three policemen standing at the entrance. Even they let me pass without a word. Once on the dock I began to breathe freely. My mechanic, Cooper, had come along the beach and climbed up a pole on to the pier, and was waiting for me. At the far end there was the tug, and under some canvas the aeroplane. My trunk had been dispatched the week before, so the machine was the only thing to trouble about. Very quickly the aeroplane and myself were on board, and I said good-bye to Cooper, who was going back to Vera Cruz. Everything was now ready except the ship’s papers, and I waited patiently for them in the captain’s cabin. He was very much amused over my escape, and especially at the way in which I had got round the doctor. A lantern suddenly appeared on the land end of the dock, and thinking it might be someone searching for me, it took me but a few seconds to drop down to the bottom deck, where I remained on the far side of the tug, so as to slip over into the water if the worst came to the worst. However, it proved to be only a dock hand, and my anxiety was relieved. This occurred more than once, and I became very nervous. It now was getting late, nearly eleven. Why did not Young come? At last he appeared, and after a hearty handshake we parted. The lines were let go, and off we went. Some hundred yards from the shore I rushed round the deck in my joy at having escaped, but to my dismay I collided with three customs officers. Recognizing me, they went to the captain to make him put back, saying that their lives would not be worth living if they let me go. But the captain, knowing the yarn I had spun to the medical inspector, told them the same story, and so quieted their agitation, much to my relief. Everything was now over, for in some forty minutes we were alongside the Guantanamo, and the aeroplane was hauled on board. The tug went back to shore, and at midnight we weighed anchor, and the lights of Progresso disappeared below the horizon. Then some- one laughed, but it was not Senor Gustavo B—. a One of the machines packed up on board the lighter ready to be shipped away from Yucatan, es —— From a Photograph.

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2 T. W. Wilkinson. pon ae » High In this article Mr. Wilkinson deals with some of the interesting relics of the old, highwayman days that are still to be seen scattered about the countryside. Nearly all these relics have curious histories attached to them—stories of the desperate deeds of the outlaws who formerly infested the King’s highway. ONG as it is since “‘ travel- ling collectors” were swept from the King’s highway, many relics of them still survive to keep alive their memory. Knights of the road, being human, necessarily had their favourite haunts, with which in course of time they became closely associated, and in many cases there remains about those haunts something which, besides commemorating them, gives more or less verisimilitude to annals which would otherwise be wildly incredible. One of the most notorious of the later prac- titioners on the ‘‘high toby,” whose whole life was a romance of crime, is thus linked to our times—Jerry Abershaw ; properly, if you please, Lewis Jeremiah Avershaw. Jerry was, towards the end of the eighteenth century, the terror of the Surrey lanes and commons, and was remarkable, not only for his audacity, but for the number of men he initiated into the arts of the road. Among his pupils was “ Galloping Dick ” (Richard Ferguson), who turned highway- man in curious circumstances. While following "* Dick recognized him as Abershaw.' the legitimate occupation of postilion, Dick was pulled up by two masked “ padders,” one of whom held a pistol at his head, and the other proceeded to rob the traveller in the chaise. The gentleman was complying with the demand to “‘ deliver,” when the wind blew the crape off the face of the robber in front of the vehicle, and Dick instantly recognized him as Abershaw, whom he had previously met. Before, however, either could speak some travellers hove in sight, and consequently both highwaymen were obliged to gallop off. Owing to this encounter Abershaw and his companion subsequently put up at an inn on the road, and waited for the return of Ferguson, with the intention: of bribing him to silence. In this they succeeded beyond expectations. Having pocketed a handsome present, Dick agreed, not only to hold his tongue, but to join them ; and he did, in fact, become one of the gang, first as an apparently honest postilion—in which capacity he was able to give notice to Abershaw of the time travellers with well-lined purses intended to leave London—and then as an actual “ padder.” Dick’s sobriquet was bestowed on him for his skill in horsemanship, which frequently stood him in good stead. He, with a couple of fellow- “collectors,” after robbing two gentlemen, were hotly pursued by their victims and three other travellers—five in all—and of the trio he alone got clear away. When his luckless companions on this occasion were hanged he was congratu-

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ROMANCES OF THE HIGH ROAD. The house at Kingston Vale—formerly the Bald-Faced Stag Inn—which Jerry Abershaw used as his headquarters, From a Photograph. lated on his escape, whereupon he boasted that he could gallop a horse with any man in the kingdom. Dick, however, “ fell” at last, and was executed at Aylesbury in 1800. The favourite resort of Jerry Abershaw and his companions was the Bald-Faced Stag, an inn at Kingston Vale. Thither, one dark and stormy night in November, he was conveyed by his companions, in consequence of his having been suddenly taken ill on the Wandsworth road, where the party had been professionally engaged. In response to a message sent to Kingston, a doctor hurried from that town to the Bald- Faced Stag, and, after bleeding Jerry, buttoned up his coat to return. “You had better, sir,” said the grateful highwayman, ‘“‘have somebody to go back with you, as it is a very dark and lonesome journey.” The medico, who knew neither the name nor the profession of his patient, replied that he did not want a companion, as he should not have the least fear if he met Jeremiah Abershaw himself ! Remarkable in many ways was the end of this redoubtable highwayman. When two officers went to a public-house in Southwark to arrest 563 him he confronted them with the air of a cornered tiger and with a pistol in each hand. “Stand, or I fire!” he shouted. They attempted to rush in and seize him. Then there were two clicks in rapid succes- sion, followed by loud reports, and both men fell. One of them (Price), who was shot in the body, died a few hours later, while the other (Turner) was severely injured in the head. Clear as Jerry’s guilt was, he nearly cheated the gallows. He was found guilty of the murder of Price ; but, owing to a flaw in the indictment, he was actually sentenced to death for feloniously shooting at Turner. A few days later (August 3rd, 1795) he was conveyed to Kennington Common for execu- tion. On arriving at the gallows, he remem- bered that his mother had often said that he would “ die in his shoes,” and, to falsify her prediction, he kicked off his boots among the crowd and met his fate unshod. He was only twenty-two when his misspent life thus igno- miniously ended. The manacles in which he was hung were for many years afterwards on view at the Bald- Faced Stag—which is still commonly known by its old sign, though it has long been a private residence—and it was a standing joke to place them on ultra - curious visitors and then refuse to take them off till they had paid their ransom in beer. Thomas Poulter, a Wiltshire highwayman, is more strangely com- memorated. His only monument is distinctly unconventional—an ancient pilgrims’ chapel ! Situated by the wayside south of Ditteridge, near Box, this structure, which is locally known as ‘Chapel Plaster,” was about the middle of the eighteenth century part of an inn kept by a “fence,” and in it numbers of the Wiltshire highwaymen sold their plunder. It is now again used for religious worship. At the time Poulter repaired on occasion to Chapel Plaster he belonged to a gang of highway- men who made Bath their centre of operations. They frequently remained in that town for weeks at a stretch, posing as smugglers, whom people at this period looked upon with a very lenient “He kicked off his shoes among the crowd.”

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564 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. eye, and supporting the “ blind” by the costly device of selling at four shillings and sixpence per pound tea which actually cost them seven shil- lings per pound. One night Poulter, with a fellow-‘‘ padder ” named Burk, “held up” a Salisbury doctor on Clarken Down, near Bath, and proceeded with the spoil to Chapel Plaster, the accommodating host of which purchased some of it. They then descended into Somerset, where Poulter was arrested and thrown into Ilchester Jail. Shortly after- wards he was brought to trial and sentenced to death. Then opened the most amazing episode in his career. Poulter made a full confession, in which he disclosed the names of no fewer than thirty-one of his associates, as well as the places of meeting, etc. Following as they did on the sensational trial, these revelations produced a profound impression—an impression which was intensified by his promising to make further disclosures. In consideration of this under- taking. he was respited for six weeks, and then the corporations of Bristol, Bath, Exeter, and ‘Taunton, with a number of private gentlemen residing in and about those towns, petitioned for his reprieve. Meanwhile Poulter lay in the condemned cell, racked with remorse and anxiety. Notwith- standing that there was every likelihood that he would be pardoned. his jailer. whom he had somehow offended, told him morning. noon, and “Chapel Plaster,” near Box—Once « pilgrims’ chapel, it was later used as @ storehouse and market for highwaymen's plunder. From a Photograph. night that he would assuredly be hanged. There was no hope for him—none! So in the end he came to the conclusion that his only chance lay in flight, and, with another prisoner, he broke out of jail. This foolish step sealed his doom. He was recaptured, taken back to prison, and marked for execution at once, the authorities displaying indecent haste in hurrying him to the gallows. They could not hang him on their own responsi- bility, because nine days of his respite had still to run; but they dispatched a messenger post- haste to London for a warrant for his instant execution, and immediately he returned Poulter was executed. He died on February 25th, 1755- To the deeds of the Dunsdons (three brothers —Thomas, Richard, and Edward), who lurked on the fringe of Wychwood Forest, there are several mute witnesses near Burford. Connected with one of those deeds is the hatched, nail- studded door of Studley Farm—generally known as the “ Lone Farm ’’—about four miles from the town. The Dunsdons planned a_ nocturnal descent on this secluded homestead, and, as news of their intended visit reached the inmates, arrangements were made to give them a suitable reception. One night, when the inmates were seemingly asleep, the hatch in the front door was forced, and an arm thrust through with the intention of shooting the bolt. Without waiting for further developments. constables in the hall

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ROMANCES OF THE HIGH ROAD. 565 seized the arm, and then hung on to it, the while its owner shouted to his friends. “Cut! Cut!” he cried, as they came to his assistance. They obeyed, slashing away at his arm with their swords, and thus freed their comrade, who escaped into the forest, where he is said to have bled to death. But the scene of most of the exploits by which the Dunsdons staggered the countryside was the Gloucester and Milford Haven road. Here they stopped the Oxford mail, taking from it five hundred pounds. Here, too, they murdered many a solitary traveller who showed fight. A hedger and ditcher, when going through the forest early one morning on his way to work, saw two of the Dunsdons leading among the trees a horse with a man’s body slung across the saddle like a dead deer. | Dismounting at a shallow grave, they — uncere- moniously cast the corpse into it, and then stood looking down on it, as if glad to have got rid of it. At this moment the hedger and ditcher, his nerves jarred by the ghastly spectacle, involuntarily made a move- ment which betrayed his presence, whereupon — for the Dunsdons ever acted on the old saw that “dead men tell no tales "’—he was incontinently shot and his body pitched on the other. There was, however, unknown to them, another watcher. Crouched behind a group of trees was a second man, one who also was going to his work. After witnessing the murder of the hedger and ditcher, he remained still as a statue till the Dunsdons had departed Vol. xxxi.—40. “*Cast the corpse into it.” “They attacked the Norwich coach.” Like many other highwaymen, the last of the Dunsdons (Edward and Thomas) were in the end hanged for a crime different from that for which they were notorious. At Easter, 1784, they were in Burford, to which they had returned a short time previously after a sojourn in Epping Forest, where they had worked in partnership with a gang which levied a heavy tribute on travellers. Seven of them attacked the Norwich stage-coach, and were kept at bay for a long time by the guard, who shot dead three, and then, his ammunition failing, was killed himself. About noon the brothers went to Capp’s Lodge, an inn near Burford, and began gambling in its summer-house. This structure, which yet stands, was at this period frequently used for high play. ‘A contemporary Lord Sherborne, it is said, lost continuously in it all one night, and ultimately would have staked the remainder of his estate, had not a faithful servant by main force borne him to his carriage. When the Dunsdons remained gambling for hour after The summer-house at Capp’s Lodge, near Burford, where the Dunsdons were From a) captured. (Photogrash.

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566 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. On the morning of the execution Edward showed that, vile as he was, he not entirely destitute of good qualities. After vainly endeavour- ing to exculpate his brother, who, he declared, was innocent of the villainies which had marked _ his own misspent life, he endeavoured * Edward fired, breaking his arm.”’ hour, therefore, the landlord was not at all uneasy. He thought they were merely indulging in the vice to which they were notoriously much addicted. As, how- ever, dawn began to break on Monday morning, and the Dunsdons still gave no sign of departing, he began to suspect that an attack on the house had been planned, and that the brothers were waiting till the other members of their gang had surrounded it. In the end, therefore, he ordered them to be ejected. Owing to this mandate, the waiter (William Harding) followed one of the brothers (Edward) when he left the summer-house, whereupon that unwel- come guest turned on him, whipped out a pistol, and bade him keep off. Disregarding the warning, the waiter continued to advance, and Edward fired, breaking his arm. Winged though Hard- ing then was, he sprang at his assailant, who promptly fired another pistol and lodged two balls in his chest. At that moment a man named Perkins ran out of the summer-house and tripped up Dunsdon, who fell, with the waiter on top of him. This brought the other brother on the scene. He at once attacked Perkins, only to be cracked over the head with the butt of a pistol, and on the landlord coming to the rescue both the rascals were secured, though not before the host had had a narrow escape. The Dunsdon who “ Burford Gib" as it appears to-day. From a Photograph. to keep up his spirits to the end. During the pinioning and, referring but one leg ; little time to grim humour: he turned to his brother to his lameness, said, with “Come, Tom, you have but you have but a very stand.” had been felled fired at him at very short range; but the bullet struck a quantity of The Dunsdons’ From a Ph copper coins in the pocket of his apron, and was consequently deflected. Conveyed to Gloucester, the brothers were placed on their trial for the murder of Harding, whose death had taken place soon after the affray at Capp’s Lodge, and were both convicted. When the Dunsdons returned to Burford they lay on their backs in the bottom of a cart, with their legs dangl- ing over the tailboard, and their bodies were gibbeted on an oak near the scene of many of their crimes. ‘This tree, deep scored in the bark of which are the malefactors’ initials, “E, D.” and “ T. D,,” followed by the date, is now known as “ Burford Gib.” A few years

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ROMANCES OF THE HIGH ROAD. ago their skeletons were found in a neighbouring quarry, where they had rested undisturbed ever since they were removed thither from the tree by some of their friends. For a long time there was a curious living link with the Dunsdons and the murder at Capp’s Lodge. When Harding died the red plush waistcoat that he was wearing at the time he received his fatal wounds passed to his daughter, who converted it into a bodice for herself, and, though she lived for many years afterwards, she never tired of the garment or of pointing out the bullet-holes in it. Relics of other highwaymen are strewn along the western exit from London, for more than a century the finest hunting-ground for “ padders ” in the whole kingdom. Several of the gentry specialized about 1795 in waylaying King’s messengers travelling to and from Windsor, and consequently a trap was set for them. Three officers attached to Bow Street were sent down the road in a chaise. When they reached Turnham Green they were saluted with a dis- charge from a horse pistol, and immediately afterwards the door of the carriage was opened. Thinking it time to act, one of the Bow Street men fired a blunderbuss at the “collector,” blowing off the top of his skull, and thereupon his companions decamped. By similar means another practitioner on the Western road was prevented from further molest- ing travellers. Night after night coaches were held up near the Half-Way House, an inn which stood on the site of the Prince of Wales’s Gate, Knightsbridge. So William Norton, a Bow Street officer, took the Devizes chaise for the purpose of tackling the robber or robbers. At the Half-Way House the conveyance was stopped and a highwayman came to the window, pistol in hand, and demanded the passengers’ money. “Don’t frighten us,” said Norton. “I have but a trifle. You shall have it.” He held out some silver in one hand, and, as the robber was taking it, raised a pistol and pulled the trigger. Though it missed fire, the thief staggered back as if shot, and then bolted, closely followed by Norton, whoultimately caught Ti Gada GET Ge 567 him. secured his hands with his neckcloth, and_ brought him back to London, where he was hanged. Maclaine, the “gentleman highwayman,” also came to grief .on the Western road. Posing as a man of fashion with a view to ensnaring arich heiress, he took lodgings off Picca- dilly, and for a time lived a life of leisured ease. Ultimately his funds became exhausted, and to replenish them he joined forces with a neighbour named Plunkett and took to the “ high toby,” his career on which culminated in the robbing of the Salisbury coach at Turnham Green and the “ holding-up ” almost immediately afterwards of the Earl of Eglinton. From the coach Maclaine took, among other things, a gorgeous waistcoat and a new wig, while he despoiled the nobleman of another waistcoat and a blunderbuss. On reaching his lodgings the “‘ padder ” sent for a Jew dealer, to whom he offered to sell some clothes. This proved to be a false step, because shortly afterwards the things were advertised as stolen, and because Maclaine had removed the gold lace from the articles and attempted to dispose of it at the very shop where it had been bought. In consequence of this misadventure the highwayman’s rooms were explored by Bow Street officers, and as a number of incriminating articles were found, including twenty-three empty purses and the Earl of Eglinton’s blunderbuss, their occupier’s doom was prac- tically sealed. He was executed on October 3rd, 1750. Oe of the most curious relics of highwaymen on the Western road is just off Piccadilly, and consists of a bar at each end of Lansdowne Passage. This obstacle to horsemen originated in arobbery. A highway- man plundered somebody in Piccadilly, and, being hotly pursued, rode up St. James’s Street, through the passage, and so reached Mayfair, where he threw off the sleuthhounds. To prevent a repetition of the feat, the present bars were subsequently set up. “Maclaine took @ gorgeous waistcoat and a new wig.”

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568 The most romantic relic of highway- man’s days that still remains on or about the first stage of the way to the West is the Bells of Ouseley, near Old Windsor. ‘This picturesque riverside inn was the resort of a number of “ padders,” among them Henry Whit- ney, who in some respects far outdid ‘Turpin, Riding one day a little farther down the Western road, he met a solitary traveller, whom he greeted with the traditional formula, “ Stand and deliver |” “Tt was well you spoke first,” replied the stranger, ‘‘ for I was going to make a similar demand.” “Why, then, you are a gentleman thief?” Whitney cried. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tf Nie 3? wat Pa - Z Yes," said the horseman ; “ but I The Bells of Ouseley, Old Windsor, once a famous highwayman’s inn. have had very bad success to-day, for I have been riding up and down all the morning without meeting any prize.” Whitney, after wishing him better hick, rode away. At night, after effecting certain changes in his dress, he put up at an inn, Among the other guests was the luckless horseman whom he had encountered. This gentleman did not recog- nize Whitney, who overheard him tell a fellow- traveller that he had met a thief that morning, and that by professing to be on the road himself he had saved a hundred pounds. He caught also the confidant’s reply, which was to the effect that he, too, had a considerable sum in his A relic of the Piccadilly highwayman- The iron bar at the end From a) Lansdowne Passage. (Photograp From a Photograph. possession, and that they would, if his company would be agreeable, travel together next day. Soon after the two had left the inn on the following morning Whitney caught them up and demanded their money. “Oh, no!” the ‘“ padder’’ proceeded, after they had both declared themselves to be fellow- “collectors.” “You, Messieurs Highwaymen, should have kept your secret a little longer and not have boasted of having outwitted a thief. There is now nothing for you but deliver or die.” Naturally, they chose the former alternative and as a result Whitney obtained a hundred pounds from one of them and considerably more from the other. The Bells of Ouseley was, however, a rendezvous of many of the “ padders ’” who infested the Western road. Tradition relates that its proximity to the river specially endeared it to some of the more desperate of such plagues of the King’s highway. Travellers, it is said, were not infrequently bludgeoned, and then their bodies, after they had been pillaged at leisure, were placed in sacks and secreted in the inn until such time as they could be cast into the river without risk, Ifthe story seem incredible, it is to some extent confirmed by a discovery made in the bed of the river only a few years ago. The Thames Conservancy, while dredging in front of the inn, brought up a_ perfect human skeleton and fragments of a sack. Besides these relics of highwaymen there are many others, and much will happen before the last of them disappears from the face of the countryside, for the tendency now- adays is to preserve rather than destroy such interesting historical landmarks.

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From a) A big freight steamer, the “ Pioneer,” left high and dry by the receding flood. [Photograph. The Runaway Steamer. AN EPISODE OF THE OHIO FLOODS. BY T. J. THOMAS, OF CLEVELAND, OHIO. ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. E. WIGFULL, AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. Everybody has read about the terrible floods which devastated the State of Ohio in the spring of this year, rendering thousands of people homeless, taking a terrible toll in human lives, and causing millions of dollars’ worth of damage. This is an exciting story of the flood-time at Cleveland. A fishing steamer broke from her moorings and whirled away down the madly- racing river, a menace to everything in her path. Captain Ryan, of the tug ‘Frank W.,”” set out to capture her, and succeeded after a most exciting race, which is here described. ay) URING the latter part of March, owing to sudden thaws and heavy, € persistent rains, the rivers of Ohio PESFZR) became greatly swollen and, rein- =~ forced by the breaking of many dams, roared in swirling torrents down their respective valleys, leaving a trail of death and devastation behind them and converting vast areas of country into watery wastes, on whose surface floated shattered houses, trees, horses, cattle, and the bodies of scores of hapless human beings. The whole world, of course, has heard of the plight of Dayton, Columbus, Piqua, Cleveland, and the other cities of Ohio that suffered by reason of the floods. The news of the countless tragedies, of great deeds of daring and self- sacrifice, was flashed throughout the civilized world. ; While the loss of life throughout the length and breadth of the Cuyahoga Valley was com- paratively small, the flood itself and the financial damage resulting from it were no less severe

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57° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. than along other rivers. Throughout the Cuya- hoga’s eighty or more miles of length the valley through which: it flows was a whirling, muddy torrent, carrying off all that stood in its way. In the rural districts it flooded the fields, wash- ing away trees, houses, barns, and cattle. In the cities the muddy waters rushed through the streets, filling houses and factories, and causing damage amounting to millions of dollars. Cleveland itself, situated at the point where the normally sluggish Cuyahoga empties itself into Lake Erie, sustained damage amounting to millions. Ships moored at the wharves along the river were hurled against bridges or, when the flood receded, left high and dry upon the banks. Huge piles of seasoned lumber, valued at hundreds of thousands of dollars, were picked up by the swirling waters and carried out into the lake, to be hopelessly lost. Bridges were carried away, streets inundated, houses and factories destroyed, and_ traffic suspended. For several nights the stricken city was in darkness. A great six-hundred-foot steamer, the William Henry Mack, moored above what was known as the West Third Street Bridge, snapped its hawsers and raced down stream on the yellow torrent. Stern foremost it crashed into the big swing-bridge, tossing it into the seething flood. Then, its further progress arrested by the wreckage, the big ship remained where it struck until the flood abated and it could be towed back to its dock. Tt was on the second day of the flood, when the river had reached its highest mark, that the exciting incident which calls forth this narrative happened. The tug Grace, engaged in the fishing trade, was tied to her dock some distance above the bridge just referred to, and was tugging at her lines like a hound in leash as the roaring river swirled by. Hour after hour, buffeted by wreckage carried on the rising water, the vessel remained at her wharf, and it was thought that she would successfully ride out the flood, Suddenly, however, one of the tug’s “ timber- heads ”’ gave way and the boat’s bow swung out into the current. The added strain on the stern “‘timber-heads ” caused them to break also, and in an instant the Grace, without a soul aboard of her, was in the middle of the stream, racing on to seeming destruction. As the tug was whirled out into the torrent a score of whistles shricked a warning to vessels farther down the stream, and gave notice also to the bridge-tenders to swing their “ draws” and allow the runaway to pass. Down toward the great steamer jammed against the central pier of what had been the West Third Street Bridge the runaway tug raced, first bow on, then stern foremost, and later broadside to the hurrying waters. Caught in an eddy just before she reached the steamer, the tug was whirled about like a top, oniy to be shot out again at headlong speed. Then, once more, she went hurtling down with the current, which at this point was running at fully twenty miles an hour, for the river valley is narrow. In another moment the Grace had crashed into the great hull of the Mack. Heeling over until her deck was awash, the little craft, seemingly in imminent danger of turning turtle, bumped along the iron sides of the big freighter, passed under the towering stern, and shot on down the river, a menace to everything in her path. Bridge-tenders, seeing the runaway racing Digitized by Xt OOQ emg wrace8. 4 a

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THE RUNAWAY STEAMER, 578 “Stern foremost it crashed into the big swing-bridge.” down upon them, swung the spans and gave her the right of way without question. Thousands, watching from the high points along the banks of the river, cheered lustily as the vessel negoti- ated the various obstacles. Once the bow of the Grace, swinging around in an eddy, rammed into a huge pile of lumber racing on with the flood, and for a moment it looked as though the boat would sink in midstream. But, with her bows shattered, the little vessel righted herself and tore on like a frightened animal, making the Many turns at a speed she had never known before. Miles down the river, almost at its mouth, the big towing tug, Frank W., strained at her hawsers with steam up. Her master, Captain John Ryan, could not have explained, had he been asked, why steam had been kept in her boilers, for there had been no need of tugs on the river for some time. The captain and his crew, together with a visitor, one Mike Pigeon, sat about the deck, watching the flood’s miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam speed past on its way to the lake. The men on the Frank W. were discussing the uselessness of trying to navigate such a torrent, when a man from the tug offices came rushing aboard. “Did you fellows hear the whistling a few

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572 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. moments ago ?”’ he queried, addressing Captain Ryan. “Yes. What about it ?” asked the skipper. “Well, we have just had a telephone message from up the river; it says that the Grace has broken loose and is on her way down like a house afire |” Captain Ryan looked out over the muddy house the engineer made tracks for his own companionway. The man from the office leaped ashore in what’ appeared to be a needless hurry, and the firemen, one scurrying forward and the other aft, made ready to cast off. “Don’t let her go until we get the engines turning !"’ yelled Ryan, as he gave the signal for the engineer to “ open her up ”’ at full speed Froma expanse of hurrying, eddying water and shook his head. “ Hard luck!’ he remarked. “She’s not a bad little craft, and she'll get all smashed up. This is no day for a tug to be out.” The man from the office looked as though there was something more he would like to say, but feared the effect of his words. He stood silent for several moments, and then, getting up courage, said :— “ [—we thought perhaps you might try to head her off with the Frank W.” Captain Ryan looked at the other as though he doubted his sanity. “The Frank W. out there?” he asked, jerk- ing a thumb in the direction of the river.“ She's a good enough boat, I’ll admit, but—why, hang it ! she wouldn’t stand the pressure two minutes.” Even as he spoke, however, the skipper arose and made for the pilot-house, for with a tug- captain business is business, and the capture of a runaway vessel meant money in the pockets of his owners. Simultaneously with the depar- ture of Captain Ryan for his station in the pilot- The overturned bridge and the steamer that caused the damage. | Photograph. ahead. Then, with the screw beating the water as it had never done before, the Frank W. was liberated and, with a defiant toot of her whistle and the snorting of her exhaust, slowly fell off into the current. For several minutes it seemed as though the Frank W.’s engines were not powerful enough to fight the whirling eddying river. She did not appear to be gaining an inch against the onrushing torrent. Smoke and sparks spurted from her stubby funnel, and her screw churned the yellow river astern into creamy foam. Presently, however, the tug commenced to gain. Foot by foot she moved up the river, which whirled alongside at‘a full sixteen miles an hour, a speed nearly.as great as the Frank W. was capable of. Listing first to one side and then to the other, until at times the eddying torrent rose above the low rail and threatened to pull her under, the staunch little vessel breasted her way up the river. She had gone only a hundred yards when the runaway Grace shot into view from beyond a bend in the river. Swiftly the derelict bore

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THE RUNAWAY STEAMER. 573 down on the Frank W., and, coming broadside on, it seemed that she must crash into her rescuer, sending both of them to the bottom. In a flash, however, Captain Ryan rang for full speed astern, and the Frank W’., instantly losing her momentum, dropped away from the flying tug. Then, carefully manceuvring until he had his own bow down stream, Ryan, with his vessel's engines working hard astern, waited for the Grace to come alongside. Mike Pigeon, the visitor, who had seen many years in the tug service, stood at the rail, line in hand, ready to leap aboard the runaway as she flashed past. Gradually the Grace overtook the Frank W., and in another moment her capture would have been certain. The runaway, however, was caught in an eddy and suddenly whirled across the river, out of reach of the man with the line. Hitherto it had been merely a game of wait- ing; now it became a case of pursuing the fugitive craft. Ringing for full speed ahead once more, Ryan shot off in pursuit of the Grace, which had again swung into mid-channel. outdistanced, according to the vagaries of the eddying flood. Dodging from side to side, the Grace repeatedly managed to elude the Frank W., and it seemed that she must pass out into the storm-tossed lake, now not a mile ahead, without being captured. Presently, however, the Grace shot bow-on into a veritable mill-race in the middle of the stream. No eddies or cross-currents marred the straight rush of the torrent, and Ryan, seeing his opportunity, swung again in pursuit. It was a real race now, devoid of all dodging manceuvres. Pressed on by her engines and hurled forward by the swift current, the Frank W. went racing madly down the river, rapidly overtaking the truant fish-tug. In his eagerness, however, Ryan failed to notice a huge pile of lumber that was swinging into the path of the Frank W. When he did see the danger it was too late, and with a loud crash the steel prow of the tug struck the mass of lumber. Splintered boards flew high in the air and fell about the deck of the rescuer, All that was left of the bridge-span atter the collision. From a Photograph. The Main Street Bridge, which stood in the path of the onrushing boats, was swung open to permit the pursued and pursuer to pass. Crowds on shore shouted encouragement to the crew of the Frank W. as she raced by—now almost on the heels of her quarry, now sadly while the Frank W. shivered like a living thing. She heeled over dangerously as she tore past what remained of the pile of timber, but, re- covering herself, sped on again in pursuit of the Grace. Once more Mike Pigeon took up his post at

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574 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the rail, line in hand, ready to leap across to the deck of the Grace, which was now not more than a dozen yards away, with the distance lessening momentarily. Presently the Frank W.’s bow was level with the fugitive’s stern. Next moment the pursuer shot alongside, with only a narrow strip of whirling, hissing, yellow water between, and Mike Pigeon, taking a firm grip on the heavy hawser, leaped outward from the rail of the Frank W. and landed squarely on the Having accomplished his somewhat hazardous task, Pigeon leaped back to the Frank W’., which, burdened now with the captive, had a harder task than ever. With the Grace alongside, the Frank W. headed upstream again ; and it looked to Ryan as though his vessel could never “ make it.” The Frank W.’s boiler was carrying every ounce of steam it could stand, and her propeller was turning faster than it had ever turned before, The tug “ Frank W.,” which went in pursuit of the runaway steamer. From a Photograph. sloping deck of the Grace. Frantically he searched for a place to take a turn with the line, but nothing offered. All the “ timber-heads ”” had been ripped out by the roots, and not even a splinter remained to which the line could be made fast. Meanwhile the Frank W. kept abreast of the Grace, her engines stopped. Ryan grew im- patient. “Get a move on!’ he finally yelled, from the doorway of the pilot-house. ‘‘I can’t keep alongside all day.” “What can I fasten to?’ yelled Pigeon, taking another hasty glance about the stripped deck. “Run a Marathon around the deck-house !” bawled Ryan. “It’s the only thing that’s standing above the deck.” Acting on the advice, Pigeon shot around the deck-house with the hawser, finally making fast by the aid of a plank shoved through the loop in the line. yet she was being carried steadily backward by the rushing river. Ten minutes passed, twenty, thirty. The Frank W. had not gone forward an inch. “Hit her up! Hit her up!” bawled Ryan to the engineer. ‘‘ Let her rip!” “She'll rip soon enough if this keeps up!” was the shouted reply of the engineer, but even as he spoke he was pressing his throbbing engines yet harder. The staunch hull trembled with the strain, but the tug began to gain on the flood. Meanwhile the engineer watched his gleam- ing engines apprehensively, and shook his head. “ Something’ll crack in a minute,” he said, hopelessly. ‘‘ She can’t stand it.’’ “Keep it up,” was Ryan’s reply. “ You're doing fine! As long as the screw doesn’t drop off we shall do it.” He was heading now for what is known as the Old River Bed, a winding stream

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THE RUNAWAY STEAMER, 575 “ Mike Pigeon, taking a firm grip on the heavy hawser, leaped outward from the rail of the * Frank W.'" branching off from the main channel. The water there was high, of course, but it was peaceful. Cutting diagonally across the river, the Frank W. caught the force of the current half on her beam, with the result that she heeled over ominously, with the yellow torrent hissing and gurgling along her side. But the powerful boat, clinging to her captive, fought on, until at last, getting out of the whirl- ing main channel, she shot into the smoother water of the Old River Bed, her engines racing madly. The race had been won, and all that now remained was to take the dilapidated runaway to a dock and put a line out. Thus ended the pursuit of the Grace, which, being successful, won a paragraph in the papers at a time when, owing to the flood disasters, space was at a premium.

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A Seven-Thousand:Mile Race for a Gold Mine. By CAPTAIN JAMES BARRACLIFFE. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN DE WALTON, AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. The Author, a veteran mining engineer, was commissioned by an Anglo-American syndicate to proceed to South America, examine a mine there, and endeavour to buy it. He was warned at the same time that a rival German syndicate were after the property and were sending an engineer out. A most exciting seven-thousand-mile race ensued, as described in this story. Captain Barracliffe won the race, but lost the mine—for which, as things turned out, he and his friends were very thankful. NEW MEXICO coal camp is not the most inspiriting place in the world, and loafing around a crude little hotel in such a spot was not alto- gether to my taste; but it had to be done. I had just completed the examination of a coal property, and was now awaiting replies to letters concerning other undertakings. The West-bound mail had gone through, bringing me only disappointment, so I resigned myself to another twenty-four hours of contemplation of the monotonous landscape. The sudden appearance of the telegraph operator from the station aroused me. Hastily I tore open the message he brought me, and recognized that the everlasting sameness was tohaveanend. It was from my friend Williams, of New York, and in code. The translation read : “ Can you leave immediately for Bolivia ? Every day counts. Examination and report, gold mine, east of Sorata, opposition likely.” This was a rouser; a seven-thousand-mile trip and “ opposition likely ” looked interesting. The East-bound limited was late, and was ex- pected in an hour, so I lost no time and wired by code, “ Leave in an hour ; secure passage ; have all necessary papers on arrival ; arrange credit with Grace and Co. Am outfitted; can go without delay.” I caught the train, and in due course reached New York. Here I went direct to the Hotel Waldorf, where quarters had been engaged for me. Williams met me at the hotel, and we went over the papers and reports in the case. They looked pretty good, and he told me it was just the thing his associates were after. He was one of the members of an Anglo-American syndicate that had been looking for a good gold property for some time. He explained that they had supposed they had this proposition in their hands, through an agent holding a power of attorney from the vendors, but quite by accident it came to their knowledge that the same property, or what appeared to be the same, had been offered in Berlin and had been accepted. An engineer had been authorized to examine it and, if it proved satisfactory, to close for its purchase. It was to be my business to keep a sharp look- out for this fellow, and “ beat him to it.” It was to be expected that he wquld be a German, but there was ng certainty of that, or even that the information was reliable. Anyway, it was worth being cautious about. After arranging some details in regard to expenses, I sailed the next day by the Royal Mail—not the quickest line, but the first boat to run to Panama. We stopped a day at Jamaica, and I chafed at the delay. Even at that, however, I made better time than if I had waited for one of the faster American boats, and another point was that the Pacific boat that was to take me south to Mollendo ran in connection with the Royal Mail steamers. We made a good connection, and caught the old Iquiqui at Panama. Just as the warning was given for all visitors to go ashore, and the winches were beginning to haul in the anchor- chains, we were signalled from the shore to “‘ stand by,” and for hours we swung lazily with cables taut, the captain nervously pacing the bridge, fuming at the enforced delay. A cautious inquiry brought out the fact that we were waiting for the passengers of a German boat that had been delayed in arrival at Colon, and the passengers were being rushed across the Isthmus by special train. Finally we caught sight of a company launch approaching from the railroad dock. When it pulled alongside I saw

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A SEVEN-THOUSAND-MILE RACE FOR A GOLD MINE. 577 there were about a dozen passengers, and as they came aboard I noticed among them a tall, light-complexioned young German, with an unusual amount of luggage. To me he was the likeliest man I had met to fill the réle of the German engineer who was said to be on his way to examine the Bolivian gold property for the Berlin syndicate, and I determined to keep my eye on him. As soon as the belated passengers were safely on board with their luggage, the mud-hook was tripped and we were off. Things went pleasantly. I met the German in the smoking- was a mining engineer, a Freiburger, sent out to examine a gold property somewhere east of Sorata, in Northern Bolivia. He had been ordered to La Paz to receive detailed instructions as to the exact location of the property. My suspicions were confirmed; the story from Berlin about the German syndicate that wanted the property was correct. I had been just a little bit sceptical about this report, but evidently it was true—too true for comfort. The race was “on,” but I knew my opponent, and felt more assured on that account. The situation set room, where he consumed large quantities of his beloved lager beer. The old Iquiquiwas poking her nose south, loafing along over summer seas, dawdling at various insignificant ports, unloading quanti- ties of merchandise out of all propor- tion to the possible necessities of the towns where we stopped and the barren, sun - baked plains that sur- rounded them. The desert landscape faded away up and up until the scope of vision ended in that magnificent serrated horizon of snow-capped Andes that kept us com- pany for many days. There was the usual crowd of returning mer- chants, commercial travellers, and mining menaboard, and we celebrated the crossing of the Line with the customary sports and high jinks. No intimation of the object of his trip came from the young German, nor would the ethics of the case permit me to ask leading questions. There came a day, however, when he mixed too much whisky with his beer, and grew can- fidential. He told me his plans and his destina- tion—not that he was quite sure on that particular point—but, as he insisted upon telling me, he The object of the great race—The gold mine in North-Eastern Bolivia which the Autbor and his German rival were competing for. From a Photograph. me thinking. I must know whether or not thegold mine was worth fighting for, and to do that I must see it, even if the whole game was useless. If both of us arrived in La Paz at once, how- ever, the owners would try to set us bidding against each other. My principals thought they had the pro- perty tied up under a legal option, but evidently some body had lied to them. I did not want to make a fight that was going to be expen- sive, especially if the other fellow was inclined to be stubborn, without knowing whether the property was worth the effort. La Paz was several hundred miles off the direct route to the pro- perty. The Ger- man would have to come back to Sorata, making the two sides of a triangle, the base points being Puno, the point of arrival by rail at Lake Titicaca, and Sorata, lying directly east across the lake, with La Paz, a couple of hundred miles south-east, as apex. It would take him, with the time he would probably waste in the capital, six or eight days to get around to Sorata by that route. If I could hold off negotiations at La Paz for

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578 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a week, I could cut straight across country, look the property over sufficiently to enable me to judge of its worth, and then see the vendors in La Paz, armed with the knowledge of just how far to go in the effort to make a deal. Having decided on a course of action, I cabled to New York. At Lima I got instructions to go ahead ; they would take care of the situation in La Paz from headquarters until I arrived. Upon arrival at Mollendo, Peru, I immediately disembarked, as did my German rival. We took the Peru Southern for Arequipa, where we stayed all night, and here the German left me, as he had decided to go to another hotel, where he would probably rest for a few days. Early morning found me comfortably settled in the car for the long, slow climb over the Andes. Almost the first man to enter the car after me was the German engineer! It was early yet, and the morning was cool, but my friend was boiling mad, and said many things in his anger that did not sound nice, but I kept my temper until he had blown off steam. Then I found that his accusations of duplicity were founded upon the fact that the night before he had found the mail waiting for him and a letter from the vendors saying that Williams of New York was sending out a man to examine the property, and giving myname. This made himangry. He was going to have that property if he paid a million for it, he said. He accused me of all sorts of things because I had not returned his drunken con- fidences. I did what I could to cool him down, advising him to be careful and not let his anger lead him into acting foolishly before the vendors. I tried to show him that they were to blame and not I, but he was stubborn and sore at his own indiscretion, and would not listen to reason, so T left him alone. Going over the pass in the Andes, at Concero Alto, fourteen thousand six hundred and sixty- six feet above sea-level according to the sign- board on the station, the poor chap had a bad attack of “ sorocho,” that nausea from which some people suffer severely in high altitudes. Fresh fruit or onions seem to be the specific, and as I had provided a liberal stock for just such an emergency, I did my best to relieve his sufferings. ‘This seemed to soften him somewhat towards me as he recovered, while we slid down through the sparsely-populated and desolate region to the lake shore. Arriving at Puno, the terminal station on Lake Titicaca, we found that the steamer for Guaqui, the station at the south end of the lake nearest La Paz, was not ready to start, having been disabled by a cracked cylinder - head. Most of the passengers went aboard to make themselves comfortable, and with them went my German friend. I had my baggage taken to the posada, or inn, for 1 wished to arrange, if possible, to go directly across the lake to some town on the east side, and thence to Sorata, thus saving a lot of distance and consequently much time. After careful inquiry I was reluctantly forced to give up that plan as impossible. The only boat I could get of any kind was a gasolene launch that was almost out of fuel and could not get a fresh supply before the next train came up from the coast the second day after. The uncertainty of the arrival of the fuel and the delay made it impracticable to depend upon this craft. At the hotel I met an engineer named Brown, who was on his way out, en route to London. To him I outlined my necessities, without going too much into detail. He was quite willing to aid me, and I was delighted to learn that he had a train of pack mules in pasture at Carabuco, on the east shore of the lake. This would suit me exactly. The thing was to get across the lake—but how ? While we were talking I heard the tinkle of a bell and, looking out of the window, saw that it came from the lead animal of a mule-pack train that was just coming in from the south along the lake shore. After a good deal of effort we were able to get the man in charge of the outfit to agree to have a saddle mule, two pack mules, and a mulero to accompany me with my outfit along the south shore, until I could find something in the way of lake transportation at one of the villages that would take me to Carabuco. It was my intention to go, if necessary, to Copa- cabana, which is on a peninsula that projects into the lake, forming a narrow crossing where I knew I could get the mules ferried over if found it necessary to make a circuit of the lake. Early next morning the mules came clattering up to the door of the posada, and | was pleased to note that the “patron” himself was to accompany me. In reply to my inquiry, he said that the man whom he had selected to accom- pany me had got drunk and was still in that condition. Not desiring to forfeit the excellent wages I had offered, he had come himself. My trunks were packed with a view tc mule transport, so all I had to do was to take the cases out and lash them on to the aparego on the mules. In half an hour we were off, following the old mail road to La Paz. It was an exhilarating ride. The crystal-clear atmosphere of that high altitude, the cloudless sky, of a beautiful tur- quoise blue, the quiet lake, like an immense

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A SEVEN-THOUSAND-MILE RACE FOR A GOLD MINE. 579 emerald, with the magnificent snow-capped Andes as a background, formed a picture grand almost beyond description. Off in the distance, as though it floated in the air, was the island of Titicaca, while mirrored in the lake were the noble peaks of Sorata, Huayna-Potosi, and Illimani, raising their massive snow-clad heads from twenty to twenty- three thousand feet he had come from a long way south, near Coro- Coro, with cargoes of barilla, or copper con- centrates, and the mules had been travelling steadily for a week ; consequently they were pretty well worn out. I soon realized that if T was to gain any time on my German friend, who was still in Puno on the disabled steamer, I should have to improve my rate of travel. A breeze had come above sea-level, at a distance of from sixty to a hundred miles. At Puno I had Noticed several of the native boats, or “* balsas,” as they are called. These curious craft are made from a reed called ‘‘ totora,” which grows around the border of the lake. Thereedsare gathered, dried, and then woven into watertight rolls and bound together into a rude form of boat. An extra roll is fastened round the top to serve as a gun- wale. They are ex- tremely buoyant, and it is astonishing what loads they will carry. They have a large flat sail, also made of reeds, supported on an ““A”-shaped mast, and they scud before the breeze like a leaf. It is, however, next to impossible to tack with them, as, being so light, they make tremendous leeway. All freight on the lake was at one time carried on these crude affairs, but since the advent of steamers they have been largely relegated to the use of the Indians. _ It is interesting to see the heterogeneous collection of country produce, potatoes, clothes, Indians, and even llamas, that they carry. The lake is a treacherous body of water, and thunderstorms, gales, and waterspouts come almost without warning. Fortunately the Indian is a fairly good weather prophet, and skilful in the management of his unique craft, or he would be wrecked more often than he is. We started on our ride at a pretty fair gait, but in a few hours the mules began to lag. I found, upon questioning the “ patron,” that From a) 8 ne a . Some of the Aymara Indians who inhabit the Sacred Island of the Sun in Lake Titicaoa—The Author is seen in the with a cross. upacross the lake, and I could see several large “balsas” slip- ping along at a nice rate over the compara: tively smooth water. This set me think- ing. I tried to ques- tion the ‘ patron” about “balsas,” and the chances of making the other side with my outfit, but, as he said, he was a landsman. He could tell me a great deal about the trails and camping- places, but about the water he knew nothing. I did not say any- thing more to him, therefore, about my idea of cutting across the lake, but as we passed through each hamlet on the shore [ kept a sharp look-out for “ balsas.” It was not until we arrived at the little town of Nave that I saw any of these boats of sufficient size to tempt me. I felt as though I would like to have one as big as an ocean steamer, for the idea of trusting myself and my outfit on a lake that size on top of a bunch of reeds didn’t appeal to me particularly. However, it was imperative that I should make better time if I wanted to win the race. At Nave there were a dozen “ balsas ” drawn up on shore, the owners evidently having just completed a trade for their cargoes of chuno, or frozen potatoes. They had come from the other side of the lake, and I thought they would be glad to get a load back. Through the “patron” I talked with them, for they were Aymara Indians, and, like a good many of their race, could not or would not talk Spanish. They did not seem pleased with the idea. background, marked Photograph.

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580 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. As they explained, they had just sold their cargo, and now they wanted to put on their fine clothes and celebrate. This meant, as my man explained, that they would stop around the town and get drunk on the vile aguardiente until their scanty wealth was squandered. An old man who seemed to be the captain kept shaking his head and pointing to the north-east. He said it was not safe, as there was a storm coming. At last we compromised on my agreeing to furnish a jug of liquor, which we would take with us. We were to take two of the “‘ balsas ” and lash them together, making a catamaran, which would allow the use of more sail, and, I hoped, make better speed. It was about fifty miles across the lake, and what we might meet in the way of bad weather I could not tell. As the water of the lake is brackish and disagreeable to the taste, I had my canteens filled with good water and placed the aguardiente where it would be under my control continuously—in fact, I sat upon it. There were four of the Indians and two mule-loads of baggage. In less than two hours we had arranged everything and were off, with a favourable breeze behind us. We headed straight east for Mount Illampa, which loomed up twenty-one thousand feet above sea-level, and made a good point to steer for. I hoped to make the passage inside eighteen hours, and knew that if the breeze held I could do it in half the time. As I reclined on the deck, comfortably wrapped in my blankets, I could see off to the south-east the islands of the Titicaca archipelago, the largest being the island of Titicaca, famous in Inca legends, and better known as the Sacred Island of the Sun. This is the largest island in the lake, and is six miles long and about four miles wide. On the west end it rises to a high rock, which is the altar of the sun, and it is from this that the island and lake take their names. As we sailed along the old skipper pointed off to the north, and called my attention to the mail steamer ploughing its way along ; evidently they had fixed the machinery, and the race was “on” once more. I was making satisfactory time, however, and had little fault to find with the way things were going. The old man kept pointing to the south- east, to the Island of the Sun, and put his paddle over to make the “ balsas” head that way, but I forced him to put it back, though I gave him a stiff drink to keep his courage up. ‘The steamer passed quite close to us, and recognizing the oddity of our craft, saluted with her whistle, but I gave no sign, for obvious reasons, and they continued on their way. I now noticed for the first time that there was a haze over the waters to the north, and as I watched it grew in density. We were about five miles off the Island of the Sun. The men had been restless for some time, and when they saw that I realized the approaching change they began to talk excitedly, and two of them got on their knees. Whether they were praying to me or to their gods I could not tell, but it set me thinking. These Indians have navigated these waters for untold ages, and perhaps there was some reason for their fear. It was certainly new water to me, so I motioned the old man to head the craft for the Island of the Sun. At that the others each grabbed a paddle and began to work for dear life. We fairly flew through the water, but I could see that the fast-approaching storm would catch us before we reached land. I had put up the canvas from my bed-roll, stretched between the two masts of the “ balsas ” as an extra sail, but we were now forced by the wind to take this in, and it was not long before the old man ordered one of the reed sails to be taken down. A keen wind was blowing that seemed to cut right through me; it came straight from the ice-fields of Mount Sorata. The white-caps were running higher every minute, and presently a fierce gust of wind ripped our single sail from its fastenings as though it w.s tissue paper. I was thankful that we had tied the two “balsas ” together, and felt sure that as long as they were kept before the gale we should float in safety. We only had bare poles up now, but those cork-like rafts of reeds skimmed the waves like a swallow. We were travelling at a rare rate, but I could barely make out the bleak grey shores of the island through the flying spume and mist. Finally the island loomed up close at hand. The men, however, never ceased paddling, and no effort was made to pick out a landing- place. We came scudding in, and sailed right up on shore. I was thrown by the impact clean over the bows on to the dry land. Fortunately we had hit a little stretch of gravelly shore, and the “‘ balsas,” floating so light, did not touch the bottom until the water was very shallow. The first thing the Indians did on landing was to drop on their knees and cross themselves, evidently uttering a prayer for their deliverance. The next thing they did was to take a big drink of aguardiente, and I let them take a good one. I knew, if they felt as I did, that they needed it. It was not until I got ashore that I realized the fury of the gale; I could hardiy stand up

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A SEVEN-THOUSAND-MILE RACE FOR A GOLD MINE. 581 Vol. xxxi.—41. “Presently a fierce gust of wind ripped our single sail from its tastenings.””

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582 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. against it. Making signs to my men that I wanted a place in which to sleep, for it was getting dark, they shouldered my bagga e and started. On turning the corner of a hill, we came upon extensive ruins and, a short distance beyond, some tumble-down houses built with rocks taken from the ruins and roofed with sticks upon These houses which dirt had been thrown. were fully occupied with women, child- ren, dogs, and I shouldimagine nearly every species of ver- min in existence. The people seemed surly ; they resented my intrusion, and although I tried to explain my predica- ment they were quite unresponsive, After a hasty sur- vey of the situation, I ordered my men to return to the ruins, and, selecting a room, proceeded to make myself as com- fortable as possible in the circumstances. There was no roof, but as long as it did not rain I was all right. We levelled off the floor a bit and piled stones near the door so that we could close it when night came on. It was a protection against the howling, biting wind, and after we got a fire started with brushwood the men gathered it seemed almost comfortable. Fuel was extremely scarce, and I found out later that most of that which the men brought in was taken from the roofs of the various hovels of the inhospitable people we had visited. This act of reprisal may have been responsible for certain subsequent developments of a startling nature. For food the men had brought the usual chuno, or frozen potatoes, and made a meal of that and aguardiente, while I prepared coffee, bacon, and stewed chuno that tasted excellent. The fire being only enough to cook by, as soon as our meagre meal was over I rolled into my blankets to keep warm. We had _ previously closed up the doorway by piling hewn stone from the ruins into the opening. ‘Ine ruins of the Inca’s ps ce on the Island o the Sun— The room with the small door was where the Author passed the night. From a Photograph. My men were not on friendly terms with these natives, and stuck pretty close to me. I con- cluded it was because I was well armed, and they were carrying the money they had received from the produce that had been sold in Nave. Being strangers here, they were afraid of getting robbed. At any rate, they huddled together for warmth in a corner across the room, and things were soon as quiet as the grave except for the howl and lash of the wind outside and an occa- sional shower of gravel when some unusually strong gust from the far-off snow- peaks made an effort to tear down our ancient habitation. How long I slept I do not know, but I was awakened by a scream from one of the men. As I turned to free myself from the blankets I grabbed my revolver, and at that instant a rock sailed past my head and struck the ground beside me with a thud that shook the earth. Where it came from out of the darkness I could not tell, but I fired at random. As I did so another rock fell among the men, who, chattering with fear, were grouped together in their corner. I thought I could detect a head projecting over the wall of the room and promptly fired at it; whatever it was, it disappeared. The fire had gone out, the night was dark, and the wind was still howling. Quickly finding my electric lantern, I made an effort to locate the attacking party, but they evidently knew the paths around the ruins better than I did, and had made their escape. I fired a few shots just to frighten them, and then retraced my steps. My boatmen were thoroughly frightened, and breathed a sigh of relief when they saw me return. Investigation showed that the rock whichhad been hurled at me was a hewn block of sandstone over a foot square, and it would certainly have

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A SEVEN-THOUSAND-MILE RACE FOR A GOLD MINE. 583 been my tombstone had it landed where it was aimed. The first rock thrown had struck one of the men, and it was his scream of pain that wakened me and probably saved my life. Upon examining him I found that his leg from knee to ankle had been badly scraped by the falling rock, but no bones were broken. Filling up the doorway with stones once more, I crawled into my blankets, feeling sure we should be left alone until morning. The rest of the night passed uneventfully, and I awoke in a cold grey dawn to find the wind howling in fury and the lake thrashing itself into spray on the rocky shore of our inhospitable island. As the daylight strengthened, how- ever, the wind subsided, until by eight o’clock the weather had cleared completely. The water was still too rough to attempt the passage to the east shore, so I put in the time looking for our assailants and inspect- ing the interesting ruins. My efforts to locate our visitors of the night before were useless, but I managed to get on the friendly side of some of the inhabitants. Gradually the water grew calmer, and after a light lunch we launched the ‘“‘balsas.”’ They seemed none the worse for their rough experience of the day before, and the high wind had gone down. A favourable breeze was now blowing, and soon we were skimming along over the last lap of our journey to Carabuco by lake. By dint of paddling on the lee side we were able “I promptly fired at it.”

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584 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to make a quartering course, and landed some five miles from the town without further incident of note. I started on ahead, leaving the man with the packs to follow. On reaching the town I hunted up the arriero, named José Arce, whom my friend Brown had left in charge of his mules, and delivered the letter of instructions. It was to the effect that José was to accompany me at once to my destination beyond Sorata and to return with me to Carabuco. I was to pay three bolivianos (about one dollar twenty-six cents in gold) per day for the use of each mule, and the same sum to José. I was also to provide food for man and beast. Fortunately this José had been with Mr. Brown long enough to learn the value of time. At my demand for speed he sent a man off at once for mules. As I wanted to gain time, I decided to travel light, and take only one pack mule, loaded with absolute travelling necessities, and one mule for José and one for myself. At four o’clock the next morning we were on our way. A bright moon was just disappearing, and the air was clear and cold. We kept up a good gait, resting but once to feed the mules and eat a bite ourselves. Late that night we rode into Sorata. This city is a famous health resort, and was at one time a rival to Potosi in riches, for the gold- placers hereabouts in olden days yielded immense wealth. In 1781 the town was destroyed and the goldfields abandoned ; but it has since been rebuilt, and is to-day quite a flourishing city. We left again very early the next day, and by noon the day following had.feached the gold mines I had made such’ an arduous trip to see. There was no sign of my German friend, nor did I expect any. This much of the race I knew I had won, but the finish was to be in La Paz, still a long way off. I need not go into the details of my inspection —that is the affair of the syndicate I was repre- senting. Suffice it to say that six days from the time I left Sorata I was back there again with a very clear idea as to how far I would go in making an offer for the property. I had just ridden up to the hotel and dis- mounted, when I heard the clatter of hoofs. My friend the German had just arrived, and he walked straight into the cantina where I was taking a refresher. “Py golly, captain!” he cried, in surprise. “You chust got in, too?” I nodded. “You must come by anoder road.” I admitted that I had come by another road. “Ver dit you get dose mules, huh?” “Oh, I picked them up.” He swore under his breath. I did not under- stand what he meant until I got to La Paz. We had a drink to warm us up, but the German gave orders that his mules were not to be un- saddled, and in a few minutes left me. I never knew whether he went on that night in his effort to beat me to the mines, for I did not tell him I was on the back track, neither did I see him again, as I left at four a.m. for La Paz. When I arrived I found, as I expected, that the excitable German, in his efforts to beat me, had so raised the ideas of the vendors of the mine that they would not listen to reason. I had estimated what I thought the property was worth, which was very much less than the first price they asked, and I promptly made them an offer, which they as promptly refused, pinning their hopes on the German. I had not been in the town long before I realized that my German friend had framed up a deal for me that spoke well for someone’s ingenuity. He had enlisted the assistance of several German merchants, and I found it would be practically impossible for me to secure pack mules except from one man. It made no difference to me now, of course, but it would have made a great deal had I been following up the German. For several days I was watched, and when I made no effort to hire mules they began to make inquiries as to when I would move. It seems they supposed I had missed the steamer at Puno, and when I told them I had been to the property before coming to the capital they were much chagrined to think they had prepared a trap which I did not intend to walk into. The persistence of one mulero in trying to hire his outfit to me, and the repeated suggestions of several Germans that I should hire this man, and him only, aroused my suspicions. I there- fore invited the fellow into the cantina under the guise of making arrangements for the trip, and plied him liberally with aguardiente. When he was in a good humour I told him I had already made the trip he had in mind, and did not need his services. This seemed to tickle him, and in a sudden burst of confidence, brought on by a present of a large bottle of the fiery liquor, he told me that he had been bribed to take me part of the way. Then, under the guise of losing the mules through theft, he was to delay me in some small place, and hold me up until the German had made the trip. As his pay depended upon his carrying out the scheme successfully, he would no doubt have followed the directions to the intended finish. It was a plot that would probably have worked out to the entire satisfaction of the conspirators, but

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A SEVEN -THOUSAND-MILE RACE FOR A GOLD MINE. 585 as it was a race for big stakes, with no rules but one’s sense of honour, the German had ample means of justifying himself. Had IJ confronted him with this charge he could easily have accused the mulero of lying. The mulero could lie, certainly, but this time he was telling the truth. Well, the race was ended. I had won, but the winning was an empty victory. It had been a long and arduous contest, covering seven PACIFIC OCEAN in short. Their refusal of this offer caused me to decide that I would rather incur a small loss than go against my better judgment and grab something just to do another fellow out of what he thought he wanted more than I did. I was in town when the German returned. He took the property and imparted the news to me with great glee and glowing accounts of its wonderful richness. He talked a lot of TABLE OF DISTANCES GALLUP,NM. via RailtcoNEW YORK - 2442 Miles NEWYORK - 58. - COLON COLON ~ RR -PANAMA PANAMA MOLLENDO PUNO by Muke, Balsa, end Mule to SORATA (Bohra) UO SORATA by Make to MINES and beck to LA PAZ (Sofivia) 170 - 1970 This map shows the Aathor’s route during his seven-thousand-mile race for a gold mine. thousand one hundred and thirty-five miles by railroad, steamboat, “ balsas,” and mules. It had taken forty-three days to accomplish, with considerable expense, and apparently to no purpose. The mine was not as good as the vendors had declared, and they insisted on a cash payment. I offered to close the deal on the price first asked, with the provision of one year to work the mine and prove their claims to its richness—a lease-and-bond arrangement, rubbish, which convinced me that he had either been badly fooled or that he was a poor liar. A short time ago a statement by an interested person was sent to me showing the returns of three years’ operations on the property. This conclusively confirmed my estimate of its real value, and I was glad I had not taken it up, and so were my principals. The losing was worth the race, for had we made the deal our loss would have been more than doubled.

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making a trip through the “ back | country” of Queensland. I was alone, and was “ swagging it,” which is Australian for being on the tramp, with all one’s worldly possessions carried in a bundle slung over the shoulder. My journey took me past a little railway siding known as “ Baking Board Siding,” famous in the district at that time as the scene of what was called the “ Baking Board Tragedy.” Briefly, the facts were as follows. One of the police black trackers had applied for leave to go and see his tribe, and, on this being refused, he deserted, taking with him a police rifle and a few rounds of ammunition. This was a bad break, and so the police set to work to hunt him down. I may explain that a “ black tracker ” STALKED! By BOYD CABLE. ILLUSTRATED BY FP, WHITING, R.B.A. While tramping alone through the wilds of Queensland Mr. Cable found himself in a district where a black tracker—a deserter from the police —was believed to be in hiding. The black had already murdered one white man, and the con- stables warned the Author to be very careful, as the fugitive might attack him. Mr, Cable’s pre- cautions led to the astonishing and altogether unlooked-for result described in the story. is an aboriginal native who has been enlisted into the police to help them track down criminals, people who have been “ bushed,” or anyone else the authorities want to lay hands on. These trackers are most wonderful men, and can per- form feats in tracking, reading “ signs,” and so on, that rival the doings of Fenimore Cooper’s red men. The deserter, being very clever at his busi- ness, knew just how to baffle pursuit, and it was some time before the police got on his track. When they did, it was through another and more serious crime. A wounded and bleeding man staggered into Baking Board Siding one day and told a startling story. He and his mate, he said, were woodcutters a few miles from the siding, and on their return to their camp from work in the evening they found that in their absence the place had been rifled and some pro- visions and other things stolen. They had hardly made the discovery before a shot rang out and one of the men fell. Before the other could see where the shot came from there was another crack, and he fell wounded. Scrambling to his feet, he made off, and, strangely enough, was able to make his way to the siding without further attack. He had not seen his assailant, but on the police visiting the camp the trackers easily proved that

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STALKED; 587 the murderer—the first woodcutter was found dead—was the black deserter, and the hue and cry was redoubled. All this had happened before I came to Baking Board, but, naturally, there was talk of little or nothing else there, and I heard every detail of the crime gone over and over, and long talks and discussions concerning every feature of it. I went on, and some miles farther along the railway, at another tiny township, I found the “ Tragedy ” still the subject of discussion. Yet farther on still, at Chinchilla, I heard about it in the store where I was making some small purchases, and this time the cheerful information was added that the murderer was supposed to be around that very region, and that the police were even then scouring the country. I left the railway at this point and struck off across country to the River Condamine, down which I proposed to journey for some weeks. The roads in the back country of Australia are lonely, little-used tracks, and on some parts of my tramp I went for days without seeing a soul or a human habitation. On the first day out, however, I was on a more frequented track, and I amused myself, as I have often done on similar journeys, in watching the road as I went along, picking out tracks of people who had been there before me, trying to follow the signs in the thick dust and to reconstruct from them the description of the persons who had made them. This game helps wonderfully to pass the time on a lonely journey, and it is also good practice, for in the bush one never knows when an ability to read tracks may be useful, or, indeed, a matter of life and death. This tracking business naturally turned my thoughts to the tales I had been hearing for days past concerning the black murderer, and I idly tried to imagine situations in which I might find myself confronted by the deserter, and to plan ways out of them. I travelled slowly, at the regulation pace of the ‘“‘ swagger,” for it was now getting into hot summer weather—about October it was—and in a Queensland summer walking is exertion enough, to say nothing of the weight of the swag. : I camped the second night at the river, and next morning was up at daybreak and moving off before sunrise along a track that my sign- reading showed had hardly been used by more than one or two horsemen for several days. The river was low—little more than a succession of water-holes, with a thin connecting stream— and at about eleven o’clock I halted to make my “nooning.” On the other side of the river was a patch of thick grass under some invitingly shady trees, and I crossed over and climbed the bank to this spot. Here I made a little fire, boiled the billy for some tea, and rested. About two o'clock I was just thinking it was time to get on again when I saw a figure moving down the bank on the other side that gave me a rare start. It was a black, in police uniform, and he was slipping along in a furtive, crouching fashion, with his eyes on the ground in front of him and a rifle hooked under his arm. I had been lying behind a fallen log in a position which I knew would screen me from sight from the top of the opposite bank. Also, I had crossed higher up the stream, so that I guessed my tracks might not have been noticed, and, as the black’s eyes were scanning the ground, I concluded he had not seen me. As quietly as I could I slid back so as to be hidden by my log, and as I did so a jay flew down towards me and then—seeing me, I suppose—it chirruped harshly and swerved off. I knew that should alarm the black, but, to my surprise, he took no notice of it, and kept on till he reached the edge of the water. Here he lay flat down and seemed to be staring intently at something beneath the surface. I could not make out what he was up to, but I thought it as well to be on the safe side, so I cautiously reached out, undid the straps of my swag, and pulled out a light rifle I carried. It fires a tiny bullet, but the rifle is wonder- fully accurate up to about a hundred yards, and I carry it on trips of this sort knowing that I can depend on it to bring down a rabbit or any bird I get a fair shot at. It was a good hun- dred yards across to where the black lay, but I felt certain that, resting the rifle on the log, I could stop him if I wanted to, so I carefully shoved the barrel over and took a steady aim. I knew, of course, that he might not be the deserter, but his movements were so suspicious, besides the fact of his being alone and without white police, that I had almost made up my mind to bail him up and make him give an account of himself, when he suddenly moved and, leaving his rifle lying on the bank, began to search round in the grass, moving the stems and litter with his fingers, and gradually working towards a brush-filled gully that ran up from the bank. I could not understand what he was doing, but as his rifle was plain in my sight I felt safe, and continued to watch him. Presently he moved into the bushes, still stooping and searching, and apparently finding something of interest, for he stayed in the one spot for a long time. I could just see the top of his dark-blue coat moving slightly up and down, and I watched this, as I afterwards found, for nearly half an hour, though it did not seem nearly so long. Then, from the trees on the other bank, I heard the sound of two horses approaching at a

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588 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. canter, and soon a couple of mounted police rode out on the bank. I kept my rifle ready (half expecting every moment to see the black dash out to seize the weapon he had left) and, stepping out into view, called loudly to the horsemen to look out, as there was a black in the bushes below them. One of them waved an arm in answer and rode along the bank to where I could still see the blue coat. The other rode straight down and splashed through the stream and up to me, while his mate rode to the bushes, The two troopers swung off their horses. “Time we had a cup 0’ tea,” said one, and pro- ceeded to make up the fire. “ Lucky thing for you Jacob wasn’t the man you thought,” said the other briefly. ‘“ He wondered what was up when he saw you lay for him with that n? a was burning with curiosity, but I held my tongue till the men had made their tea and eaten a snack from their wallets. “ You'd better keep your eyes skinned,” said “I carefully shoved the barrel over and took a steady sim." picked up an empty jacket, and came after him. I stood staring at him carrying the jacket that I had been watching so long, and presently found the other trooper looking at me with something like a grin on his face. “ Well, young fellow,” he said, at last, ‘‘and who are you?” Then, raising his voice, he called: “All right, Jacob. You can come out now.” I wheeled round just in time to see a black rise out of a bush not fifty feet from me, a wide grin on his face and no tunic on his back. “ You’ve wasted a good half-hour for us,” said the trooper. “ Perhaps you’ll explain what you were up to with that gun.” “To tell the truth,” I confessed, “ I thought Jacob was your Baking Board murderer, and I thought I had him covered.” one of them presently. “Our man is some- where round here, and you might run across him. Don’t let him stalk you as Jacob did.” “That’s easy advice,” I said. ‘“ But perhaps you'll explain just how Jacob did it. You said he saw me point the rifle, but he was looking into the water.” 3 “He was looking straight at you,” said the trooper, complacently. “‘T assure you I wouldn’t have moved if he had been,” I said. ‘‘ He was staring down into the water.” Jacob grinned, and the two men smiled. “The sun’s on this bank, and the water’s a perfect mirror,” explained one, at last. I was nettled. “ When did he know I was there, then ?” I asked.

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STALKED! 589 “ Been following your tracks, off and on, all morning,” said the trooper. “Well, surely Jacob should know I wasn’t the man vou were after,” I said. “ Just how ? ” queried the trooper, quizzically. “T suppose he’d know the boots the man wore,” I said. “He might have got another pair, trooper. “D-esn’t a black walk straight-footed or in- toed, and a white man with toes out ?”’ I asked. “ Right,” said the trooper, with another faint smile. ‘“ But a black can imitate a white’s walk if he’s trying to mislead trackers.” “T give it up,” I admitted, laughing. ‘“ Now tell me, please, how or when did he know I wasn’t the man you're after ?” “T dunno,” said the trooper. “ He just came back and told us a white man was hiding here and pointing a gun at him. How did you know, Jacob?” Jacob’s grin stretched wider than ever. “ Bird make-it sit-down,” he said, and waved his hand in lifelike imitation of a bird’s dip-and- rise flight and floating motion to alight. Then, with a frightened cry exactly like the jay’s, he dashed his hand away in a straight line, the fingers fluttering to convey the wing-beats. “T knew it!” I exclaimed. ‘1 was sure he would have noticed that bird.” “You weren’t sure enough to act on it,” said the trooper. ‘‘ You might have known he couldn’t miss that any more’n he could have missed you if you’d stood on the log and yelled at him. And he knew it wasn’t our man then because it was certain a black would have known that another black would have spotted that bird. So he lay down, I suppose, and watched your reflection in the water. It was suspicious your lying hid, and worse when he saw you poke that rifle out at him. So he came back and warned us, and we gave him half an hour to work round behind you.” “ But the coat—I watched it move just as his back had been moving up and down.” “He slipped it off when he was behind the bushes, and left it swaying on some stems,” said the policeman. “We've been hunting along the river for the signs of our man crossing,” he added, a little later. ‘I suppose that was your last camp we saw beside the red rock? It was a white man’s camp.” “Yes,” I said, “I camped there last night. But if it’s not pestering you too much, do you mind telling me how you knew it was a white’s camp ?—always remembering what you said about a black trying to leave signs toread like a white’s.” ” said the “You camped right beside the road, you'd a big fire, you kept it going nearly all night, and you slept close beside it. A black might in itate a white in these things, but a hunted man wouldn’t camp where anyone passing on the road would see him, he wouldn’t sleep in the full light of the fire, and he wouldn't keep a big blaze calling to every- one within miles. After you’d covered your fire with earth before leaving it, you lit your pipe with a match—a wax match. A black would have lit his pipe before drowning the fire, and even if the pipe had gone out he'd dig out a hot coal. You’re smoking a cut tobacco instead of cake ”—he stooped and picked up the little plug I'd knocked from my pipe and, unrolling it, showed me the even-cut shreds—‘ you smoke a cigarette naw and then, and nae, it from the same tobacco. Also, you left a torn bit of paper —the Sydney Bulletin—and about the last thing on earth a black would bother to carry would be a paper. And there were other little things.” “ Then,” I said, “ after all, a black couldn’t imitate a white so that the signs would mislead a tracker.” “ That’s a different thing,” replied the trooper. “ He could imitate some white men so we'd be hard put to it to tell right. But he couldn't imitate you because you have a lot of little ways some white bushmen wouldn’t have.” * Then, as they tightened their girths before moving off, he added, casually, ‘‘ Bound any- where particular ? ” “Vm making for Condamine township pre- sently,” I said. “ But first I’m going to strike off and have a look at those lakes to the south. They tell me there’s plenty of duck there.” “That’s right,” said the trooper, swinging himself to the saddle. ‘“ Well, when you get to Condamine I wish you'd tell the constable there that you met Bill Mount, and that I may be round that way later. Leave word at the hotel if he isn’t round.” “ Which, in plain language,” I said, laughing, “means ‘ report yourself,’ I suppose.” “ Put it that way if you like,” said the trooper, with a little smile. ‘ You might run across our man, you know, and if you don’t turn up in a few days we might find it worth while to give a look for you.’ Jacob slipped down the bank to the river- edve and went off along it, his eyes flashing right and left as he went, and the two troopers, with a nod anda“ So long,” rode across the stream and down the bank on the other side. I rolled my swag and moved off, my mind full of the conversation and that ominous remark about looking for me if I didn’t turn up. [I’m not particularly nervous as a rule, but this thing was getting rather too much, and for a minute I

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590 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. half thought of giving up the side expedition to the duck lakes. They were right off the track and would mean two or three days of cross- country travelling through unused bush. Next minute, however, I laughed at myself for getting frightened by a thousand-to-one chance of mect- ing a black fellow who would probably run a mile to avoid me seeing him. That afternoon I swung off the faint track I'd been following and struck out for where 1 reckoned the lakes were. I knew I should have a dry camp that night, so I filled my billy-can before leaving the river. It held about a quart. and I knew this should see me to the lakes easily. It limited me to the time I had to find them, of course, as it is a serious thing to be more than a day in the bush without water. The country about there was covered with thick scrub, small trees, and patches of dead pine-wood, and I took care to leave a good clear trail so that I could follow it back if necessary without loss of time. When I camped that night I carefully made tea of all: my water and drank about a third of it ; then I put the lid on the billy and stood it well in the light of the fire, where I couldn't tip it over accidentally. Finally, after a meal of a cold duck I'd shot and grilled the day before, and a smoke, I rolled into my blanket and lay down by the fire, with my boots and jacket for a pillow. Ilay there for a bit. watching the fire and think- ing over the conversation that day with the police- man, and suddenly I remembered what he had said about sleeping full in the light of the fire. Of course. lying there, I was a fair mark for a rifle, and involuntarily my eyes peered into the shadows beyond the circle of firelight. I hardly know what made me do it, but presently I got up, pulled my boots on—the Queensland bush has plenty of snakes—and, carrying my blanket about twenty-five or thirty paves from the fire, lay down and made myself comfortable again. I slept without a break till that indefinable stir in the bush just before daybreak woke me, when I immediately got up and began to make ready for setting off. I walked straight to the fire, and the first thing I did was to lift the billy to put the tea to warm up. ‘The can seemed lighter than it should have done, and I pulled the lid off to examine it. ‘Then I] stared at it for a moment, hardly believing my eyes, for the can was at least two-thirds empty! My first thought was that the can must leak, but I soon saw that it was quite watertight. I was positive, absolutely positive, that I had not dr nk more than a third of the tea. I had planned the whole thing so carefully that there could be no mis- take—one-third at night. another third in the morning, the last third at noon ; and if I did not find the lake by the afternoon I would have to turn back and push for the river again. Then, with a shock, the thought of the mur- derer leaped into my mind. Had he sneaked up to my fire during the night and drank as much of the tea as he thought I might not miss? If so, he would at that moment probably be crouch- ing near by, watching me. At the very idea I felt the hair bristle on the nape of my neck. My wits got to work and told me that if he guessed T suspected he was there he would probably shoot, but if he thought I was unaware of his nearness he might let me pass—it would hardly be worth risking bringing the police up for the sake of the handful of provisions I carried. I made up the fire and put the billy beside it, moved over to my little. bundle, packed the things in my blanket, and rolled it carelessly, leaving the rifle out. It was in a thin cloth cover to keep it dry, and, much as I longed to, I was afraid to slip it out of this. As I worked I kept my eyes roving round the ground for any sign that would confirm my idea that the black had been there. I saw nothing at first, except that there was a dusting of flour sprinkled near the bag, and I could not decide if it had been opened or not. I was afraid to open it in case the action savoured of suspicion of tampering, especially after the way I had stared at that reduced quantity of tea. When I was moving back to the fire to get the tea from it, however, I saw something which set all my doubts at rest. On the other side of the fire, partly in the ashes and partly on the ground, was the clear and unmistakable print of a bare foot. I knew I had not been off my spread blanket while my boots were off—certainly I had not been round to that side of the fire in bare feet. I drank half the remaining tea, leaving a bare cupful, and while I was heaping earth on the red coals before leaving the fire I glanced round for other footprints, but could see none. The sun was just coming up when I moved off, my bundle slung on my shoulder (I remember trying to get it to hang so that it would lie well across my back and perhaps protect the most vital spot from a bullet). My ears were on the stretch to catch any sound behind me, although I knew this was foolish, as a black tracker would make less sound than a blowing leaf. I pre- tended to see something ahead of me, and went through a pantomime of standing rigid and slowly drawing my little rifle from its case and slipping a cartridge in the breech, and then of chagrin at seeing my imagined game move out of sight. I felt a shade easier with the loaded rifle in my hand, and, trying to make myself believe that there was no danger and that the black would not risk a shot, I pressed forward

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STALKED! sor rapidly, In that thick bush I knew that the murderer could stalk me to within nearly arm’s length without my hearing him, and I began to wonder if he had a boomerang or a waddy and would try to get me at close quarters. I would almost have welcomed such an attack as a relief from the nerve-stretching fear of a shot in the back. Instinctively I chose lines of advance through clearer patches of timber, till, with a shock, I remembered that this was an almost certain way of getting ‘‘ bushed,” and with less than half a pint of tea that was a risk I dare not run. ‘ All that morning I walked on tenterhooks. Twice I halted and sank down behind a bush, hoping the black would come in sight along my track. He did not, however, and I realized despairingly that he would certainly hear me stop. I walked on again as noiselessly as I could and tried again. Still he did not make his appear- ance, and I was afraid to keep the performance up in case he knew I was watching for him. Gradually I reasoned the whole thing out, always having that talk with the troopers in my mind. If a hunted man kept on my tracks, used the fires and the camps I left, covering his own tracks and leaving mine plain to be read, there was no need for him to imitate a white man’s move- ments and tracks. Any tracker who came across my signs would easily see they were a white’s, and would take no further heed of them. The thing was fiendishly simple, and the plan had evidently not been thought of by the police. One consolation was that such a plan needed my being unmolested to be followed out, and I took some relief at the thought. At noon I halted and climbed a tree to look for the duck-lake, and, as I could see no sign of it, turned back and struck off at an angle I knew would bring me across the line of the river again. In the afternoon I stopped and drank the last of my tea, ate a mouthful of damper, and lay down as if to rest I picked a spot fairly clear of undergrowth and lay with my head in the shade of a light bush and with my back to the sun, so that a shadow would warn me of anyone’s approach from behind, and pretended to sleep, keeping my rifle within easy reach. I lay there for about a couple of hours, with every nerve on the quiver and imagining every moment I heard bushes tustle or saw them move. Once my _ heart started thumping as I saw an unmistakable movement in the undergrowth a hundred yards away and caught a momentary glimpse of some- thing stirring there. Then a rabbit ran out, and after watching it for some minutes I pretended to wake and notice it. I shot it, cut the four legs off, and grilled and ate them. The rest I left, thinking it might be as well for the black not to be driven to desperation by hunger. I was almost satisfied now that he did not mean to harm me unless I drove him to it, though the uncanny feeling of being stalked all the time was still horribly unpleasant. I halted at sundown, taking exact bearings by the setting sun and the trees and, later, by the Southern Cross. I picked another clearing for my camp, and although I had nothing to cook (having no water), I lita small fire, gathered wood and laid it handy, taking notice of the position of the pieces so that I would know if they were touched. Then I rolled into my blanket and lay down, but for a long time could not get to sleep, and although I shut my eyes and tried hard to keep them shut, I had to keep opening them to peer at the trees and shrubs round the clearing. At last I could stand it no longer, and, jump- ~ ing up, made for the trees and threshed through the bush round the circle of the clearing. I knew that if the black was skulking there this would drive him farther back into the bush and I should have a few minutes undisturbed before he came back to watch me. I meant touse those few minutes to grab my blanket and find a fresh sleeping-place in the bush out of the light of the fire, but as I hurried back to the firelight a better notion came to me. It was the appearance of a stump of wood I passed that gave me the idea. The stump was lying half-hidden in the grass, and in the flickering light it had exactly the appearance of a man’s body stretched at full length. Picking it up, I ran back to where my waterproof ground-sheet was spread, dropped the stump on it, and muffled the blanket about it. Then I slipped the pillow I had been using— a bundle of twigs with a spare shirt folded over them—under the head of my dummy, and my hat over it so as to cover it from sight in the same way as I usually sleep, with my slouch hat over my face to keep dew off. This done, I slipped quickly back into the bush at the edge of the clearing, with my rifle in my hand. Here I settled myself snugly in a bush with my back against the stem and my rifle ready and my eyes fixed on the dummy lying in the winking fire- light. I was determined to watch for that black fellow, and if he came into the circle of light to bail him up. I don’t know how long I sat there, and I must have dozed off to sleep, because the next thing I remember was waking with a start and noticing by the wheel of the stars of the Cross that it must be well after midnight. The fire was out, too, and if the black went to it I could never see him. I was getting sick of the tension, and perhaps reckless. Anyhow, I stood up, walked

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592 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. boldly to the embers of the fire, and heaped fresh wood on. I was stiff and cold from my cramped position, and decided to strike out at once for the river. so went to get my blanket and roll my swag. As I approached, however, I stopped short. My hat was gone, and the block I had put it over showed, clear and fresh in the and in the morning would certainly ambush me or lay for me somehow. The thought flashed on me that even at that moment he might be drawing a bead on me, and I stepped over to the fire and kicked it away in whirling brands and glowing embers. Then I rolled my bundle and struck off through — “*My het was gone, and the block | had cat it over snowed, clear and fresh in the firelight, a deep tomahawk cut!” firelight, a deep tomahawk cut! My light tomahawk I found near the fire, where I was cer- tain I had not left it, and my hat I discovered a score of paces away—with a clean-edged cut in the crown of it ! That settled it. The black had evidently tumbled to my knowledge of his following me, the trees for the river. I knew I was fairly safe during the darkness, for the Australian black fellow doesn't love the dark, and won't travel at night if he can help it. I covered a good deal of ground before day- light came, and reckoned I’d got start enough to let me make the river before the black could

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STALKED 593 catch me. But it was nervy work towards the finish. I knew now that the murderer would lay me out the first chance he got,-and I kept wonder- ing how the attack would come—whether he still had ammunition, and, if so, whether he’d chance the sound of a shot, for the report a police rifle makes is pretty loud, and could never be mistaken for anything else. I felt a bit easier when I left the bush and started to cross a stretch of open country that I knew lay between me and the river, and I stopped a minute when I reached the trees again and took a good look back. I could see nothing stir, so I plunged off again, and at last came safely to the river. I was as dry as a bleached bone by this time, and I made haste to get a fire going and some tea made. While I waited for it to boil I mixed a hasty damper of flour and water and a pinch of baking-powder, and baked it on the coals. When I had finished cooking I carried every- thing up the river-bank to where the water had scooped out a sort of cave, with the bank over- hanging it, and settled in there and had a good meal. Didn't that tea taste good ! I had a definite plan now, and began to think that, after all, I might beat the black, for all his cunning and bushmanship. I would push on by night and lay up in a safe place during the day-time, till I came to the township. With my light axe I dug a shallow trench in the cave and heaped up the earth as a rampart in the entrance. ‘The river-bed was wide there, and even if the black got one shot at me I didn’t mind so much, as very few of them are anything like good shots or sure of a mark more than twenty paces from their muzzle. Anyhow, 1 should get one shot in return, and knew I could put it pretty close to the spot his shot came from. I had a smoke and watched for an hour or two, and then gradually commenced to snore as if Iwas sound asleep. I knew the keen-eared black would hear that quite a distance, and, if he meant to stalk me in daylight, might be persuaded to try it if he thought me asleep. I kept the snore up for near an hour, till my throat and nose were aching, but there was no sign of my pursuer. I judged then it might be safe to have a real sleep, so settled myself and went off sound. It was near sunset when I woke, but I didn’t stir, and presently dozed off again. Remember, I had very little sleep the night before and had done some fairly hard travelling during the past day or two. I had a beastly dream about the black chasing and catching me and commencing to torture me, and I woke with a nerve-racking shock—I’m not sure I didn’t scream—when I felt his axe chop my foot off at the ankle. It was some seconds before I got my senses clear, and then I found I was down in the river- bed, with one foot in the water and my billy-can in my hand. I suppose I felt thirsty in my sleep, and, without waking, got up and walked down to the water for a drink. . And then, in a flash, the meaning of the whole thing dawned upon me. I have always been addicted—at long intervals and usually after a spell of excitement or hard work—to sleep- walking, and the ‘“‘ Baking Board Tragedy” and that talk with the troopers had got on my nerves and started me off on the old game. Everything, when I went over matters care- fully, fitted in with the theory. The missing tea the first night I had drunk in my sleep. The bare footprint by the fire was my own—I was sleeping with my boots off, you will remember. The tomahawked log was my own work ; I had risen in my sleep and, I suppose, imagined I was the black fellow who had been so much on my mind. All the rest was merely my imagination and the discomfort of being hunted by an invisible enemy. I said nothing of my experience to the con- stable at Condamine when I reached the town- ship. And I was glad I didn’t, for he told me that the murderer had been seen by some of the blacks on a station a full two hundred miles away. But I must say I don’t think the real thing could have been any worse than the experience I underwent.

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The “*man of many shapes,” in his natural character. From a Photograph. UE — photo- graphs which ac- company this article Tepresent some of the various disguises in which an Indian mum- mer, or “ bahurupi ” (literally “many shapes’’), appeared before the writer at a small Indian station a short time ago. There are not a great many of these strolling im- personators about, and their performances—as in the case under notice —are often extraordi- narily clever. The actor was a fairly-educated young native of Orissa, and is depicted in ordinary costume in the first photograph reproduced. He “‘ stage-managed ” his one-man show most excellently to secure the maximum of effect, fuise be greatly terrified servants. From a Photograph. Asan Indian mad-woman, in which the THE “MAN OF MANY SHAPES.” BY MRS. J. A. CRAVEN, OF SUNDERGARH, IN A. A description of the performance of a somewhat uncommon type of Indian strolling player, the “bahurupi.” these men, having once obtained permission to exhibit their talents, Proceed to mystify their patrons in most extraordinary fashion, calling at the house in all sorts of clever disguises, and deceiving Europeans Invariably travelling alone, and natives alike. and paid his initial visit to the house in the garb of a native lady doctor seeking an appointment at the local hospital. The impersonation and acting were perfect, even the native servants being taken in by the assumed voice and bashful demeanour. In the evening of the same day a further A weird apparition seen in the dusk. From a Photograph,

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THE “MAN OF MANY SHAPES.” 595 deception ‘was vouchsafed the estab- lishment, no little sensation being created by the advent of a mad woman (photo. No. 2), whose entrance into the compound was announced by a stampede of terrified garden- boys and a rush of scandalized orderlies to eject the intruder. It was not until the gibbering, stone- throwing Indian Ophelia had been unceremoniously bundled out at the gate that revealed. Having by these two striking im- “her”? identity was personations proved his professed ability to assume and main- tain a complete dis- guise, the rest of the “ bahurupi’s ”’ _ per- formances were pre- arranged, one for the Morning and one for the evening, the latter being reserved for the display of parts of a highly spectacular or dra- matic effect. An example of this may be seen in the third photograph. This apparition was not a little startling when it emerged mysteri- ously and unan- nounced into our presence at dusk and commenced a weird pas seul at the foot of the veranda steps. The movements were mainly gyratory, the accompaniment being a rhythmic clashing of hidden anklet-bells and a droning reiter- ation of ‘‘ Bhoom- bhoom bhola - nath sibi sankar,” a chant- ing invocation to the The right-hand side of the “ apparition "—the fakir of Siva. From a Photograph, great god Mahadeva. A supernumerary in the shape of a half - naked village boy stood in the rear with a smoky hurri- cane lantern, which is all the limelight effect the performance received. At a sign from the chief actor the lamp was advanced and upheld, the “spook” pivoted slowly round, still chanting, and then, with a dexterous sweep of the right arm, it divided its draperies exactly in half, revealing the serpent-girt fakir who symbolizes the god Siva (photo. No. 4). One had hardly taken in the picture when the curtain closed, to reopen with magical swiftness over a side view of the goddess Parvati —Hindu female loveliness typified (photo. No. 5). The “ Kali” tableau (photo. No. 7) is another effective nocturnal achievement, as it is also one of the most difficult to stage-manage, contre- temps occurring when village boys grow tired The left-hand side —the goddess Parvati, the Hinda Venus. From a Photograph.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Though professedly allowed only two audiences, the “bahurupi,” once having obtained a footing, will “do” you and your domestics a dozen times a day if you are unwary. You will find him at all hours in your veranda either as a guttural-throated Cabuli, huckstering dried apricots and raisins, or a resplendent diamond merchant from Jodhpore holding forth trinklets from little tin boxes lined with cotton wool (photo. No, 9). He will dog your footsteps to your office as the importunate Eurasian loafer (photo. No. 10), or worry you for employment as a “khid-mutgar ” (butler). He will prowl about the gate as a fakir, a milk-seller, as a dancing girl (photo. No. 11), or a meek-eyed little Hindu widow (photo. No 12). There is no knowing what character he will not assume. You find him being ushered deferentially into your presence by unsuspecting orderlies as a venerable “pandit,” or as the Raja of Kurrybund, or he will gain admittance in the spotless garb of a native missionary - = = The actor as a “ dhobin,” or washerwoman From a Photograph. of the delights of being wigged and walked upon, and refuse to be recruited. The “ bahurupi” invariably travels alone, and has to depend on a persuasive tongue and the power of sweetmeats to collect his ‘company ’’ when neces The majority of his impersonations, however, require no support. His “props” are few, and al- though no detail is ever wanting in his get- up, yet everything is so skilfully man- aged that you need to see him many times before you recognize particular items of wardrobe. Nevertheless, a pair of spec- tacles forms an important and ever-recurring part of his equipment. He apparently considers these indispensable when portraying a “ sahib” or “mem-sahib,” and they are all donned in réles where dignity and importance are a first consideration. The actor’s conception of a Euro- pean lady, by theway,is rather interesting (photo. No. 8). . Hy Google " tableau, for which two village boys were recruited as assistants. From a Photograph.

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THE “Man OF MANY SHAPEs,” From ay The sahib and mem-sahib, (Photograph lady with a press- ing request for a subscription, will be brought bleeding before you Player, and he never Te-visits again the as the victim in a localities in which he has once gone through A Burasian loafer. The Nautob giri, He rom a Photograph, From a Photograph, “ marpit ” (assault’ his entire repertoire, Case, or claim at- tention asa “ nurse. mem ” answering an advertise- ment. Each success- ful deception, of Course, is a tri- umph for the actor, and before long he Positively 8ets on one’s nerves, so that one suspects genuine people of ing one’s per- Secutor in a new character, 4 In spite of all this, however, se the « bahurupi i is nothing more A Jodhpore diamond merchant, than a highly in- From a Photogragh, genious Strolling ,,,,, a) A Hindu widow, (Photograph, f i | “Vol. xxxi —4g,

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ODDS anp ENDS. The Water-bottle Market—A Mountain Village—The Terrified Cat, etc., etc. EBRON, one of the oldest cities in Pales- i ine, has always _ been Oriental water-bottles, made of goat-skins. Here are to be found large tanneries where these receptacles are turned out by the thousand, and our photograph depicts what is called the ‘‘ water- makers’ market,” which is situated to the east of the ancient city. Lying upon the ground in rows may be seen between two hundred and three hundred goat- skins awaiting purchasers. Each skin is inflated, either with water or with air, so that the buyer may know it is perfectly water - tight. odd “bottles” are sent to all parts of the East, thou- sands going down into Egypt and the Soudan every year. They are also used as rafts. A number of inflated skins are attached to a light wooden frame, which then not only readily floats, but is capable of carrying quite a heavy load. Such craft are to be seen upon the rivers of Syria and also upon the Euphrates and Tigris. Most of ‘the villages of Southern Italy are situated at the extreme summit of lofty mountains, being so constructed for purposes of defence in the stormy days of long ago. In many cases these village eyries are far removed from the The majority of the skins The water-bottle market at Hebron, in Palestine—The “ bottles” railroad, and are approached used come from Arabia, while a large number are also received from the Lebanons. They are brought to Hebron by the camel caravans, and are purchased by the tanneries and turned into bottles. They pass through many processes, and a tanner will spend a week upon a single skin before it is rendered water-tight and serviceable. From Hebron these are made of goat-skins, From a Photo. by American Colony, Jerusalem. by means of winding roads and trails. So steep are some of these mountains, and so correspondingly tortuous the trails by which they are ascended, that it may take as long as two hours to go a distance of little more than a mile as the crow flies. One of the most fascinating of these mountain hamlets is Anticcli-Corrado. The picturesqueness of this Anticoli-Corrado, a remarkable mountain village in South Italy—The houses ‘cluster closely round the summit of # mountain and From a) appear to be built on top of one er. [Protograph.

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