The Wide World Magazine. An Illustrated Monthly of True Narrative - Adventure, Travel, Customs and Sport. Volume 46 1920-1921 November-April

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY OF TRUE NARRATIVE ADVENTURE ‘ Bees “TRUTH IS CUSTOMS STRANGER SPORT THAN FICTION” VoL. XLVI NOVEMBER 1920 A PR I L LONDON: GEORGE NEWNES, LTD. 1921 SOUTHAMPTON ST. STRAND

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INDEX, sa PAGE ANTHROPOP-APOLOGY.. vs - «Written and Illustrated by J. R. Monsell. 162, 227, 428, 524 ASSAM, THE “CREEPY CRAWLIES” OF .. Ba 2s ao wa as “ Tea Planter.” 273 Illustrations from Photographs. BEAR, HUNTED BY A ar . . .» Robert W. Hoffman. 349 Mllustrations by George Soper, and from a Photogra aph. BERBERS, OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE .. Captain M.W. Hilton-Simpson. 249, 309, 429, 519 Illustrations from Photographs. BLACK PINE MOUNTAIN, THE * PINTO” OF GREAT .. . . o B.C. D'Easum. 54 Illustration by Lionel Edwards. BOLSHEVISTS, AMONG THE Se SS ~ - - ~ a Bc David Masters. 137 Illustrations from Photographs. BRAZIL, OUR HUNTING TRIP IN ~ ~ ~ - = ~~ Capiain F. A.M. Webster. 8 Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds. BROPHY WILL-CASE, THE oe o ~ ~ ~ ~ - o. +» A.S.Hall. 46% Illustrations by S. Abbey. CAPTAIN CERVANTES, THE LAST VOYAGE OF .. ~- - ~ Nlustrations by E. S. Hodgson. . J. Ford Mackenzie. 409 “CARDIUM.” THE SAVING OF THE .. o o on «+ Joseph Heighton. 95 Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson, and from Photographs. COFFIN, THE MAN FROM THE .. oe we oe H. E. Rogers. 179 ‘Tustrations by W. C. Nicolson, and from Photographs and Facsimiles, COINCIDENCE? WAS IT... o os oe oe a o ~» Richard Langdon. 443 Illustrations by Howard Eleock. COWBOY ADRIFT, A iS on ~ oy a or o «» Frank McMaines. 151 Iustrations by Ernest Prater. ‘ COYOTE, THE WILY . oo - on “ ~ ~- Roland Lester Tullis. 467 Illustrations by A. G. ‘Small. DONKEY ! THAT a on a . - ~ ~ Illustration by L. R. Brightwell. “DRAW POKER”. ee ee Harwood Koppel. 133 Illustrations by Frank Wright, and from a 1 Photograph. DREAM-SHIP, THE CRUISE OF THE .. Sf o o . Ralph Stock. 234, 297, 385, 499 Illustrations from Photographs. FOREST FIRE, A GIRL INA... - o ~ W. F. Gitchell. 377 Tilustrations by W. G. Whittaker, and from a Photograph. GERONIMO, ON THE HEELS OF we ewe newt Hugh Thomason. 267 Illustration by Stanley L. Wood. HINTON MURDER CASE, THE .. - - +» Henry G. Tinsley. 99 Illustrations by C, M. Sheldon, and from Photographs. bya. Lode ly,

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INDEX, HORSE-RACE ON EARTH, THE STRANGEST ~ Illustrations from Photographs. “HUMAN SPIDERS,” THE CAVES OF THE - Illustrations from Photographs. KEDAH BUFFALO-FIGHT, A an ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Illustrations from Photographs. LIFTED VEIL, THE . Tilustrations by Howard Eleock. and from. Photographs. iii PAGE. oo Lucy M. J.Garnett. 401 oe Eloise Roorbach. 347 w James F. Augustin. 158 Liew. E.H. Jones. 57, 115, 242. 337, 419 “LITTLE WOMAN OF FLAME” o . . ~ on Illustrations by John de W; alton. LONG ARM OF THE LAW, THE... oe oe oe ~ o o Illustrations by R. B. M. Paxton LUDLOW, THE BATTLE OF.. oe See oe ~ o- ~ on Illustrations by Albert Morrow. “LYCAON,” THE GHOST OF THE Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson, and from a Photograph. MAN WHO HESITATED, THE .. . os - ~ - “~ Illustrations by John de Walton. McNEILL’S LAPSE ... : be ~ ~ ~ - - ~ Tllustration by Leo Bates. MEXICO, MY TWO YEARS IN... ~ ~- - ~ ~ - Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson. MEXICO, MY VISIT TO .. . . - os ~ ~ - Illustration by Leo Bates. MOUNTAIN LION, STALKED BY A... ~ ~- Illustrations by A. G. Small, and from a Photograph. MOUNTAIN TOP, A FIGHT ON A . - = ailustrations by Leo Bates, and from a Photograph. “MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE ” :— My Eveninc Ott . o. ~ - -— oe Illustration by John de Walton. IN THE TiLLER-ROOM ~ a —- Illustration by E. S. Hovigson. THE Otp Swarr .. ey Illustration by Fred Holmes. Our Cup oF TEA ., ~ —- - ~ ~ Illustration by J. E. Sutcliffe. A Miver’s MisHaP - - ~ - - 7” Illustration by W. G. Whittaker. Tue Brack Bow. : oe ~ ~ - « ~ Illustration by “ Robin. 1 WHAT WAS THE Ficu' ah .. . ~ - ~ ~ Illustration by W. Smithson Broadhead. Tue Hipven Treasure oF Santa Fé. . - susteatons by W. G. Whittaker, and from Photographs. . a - . o ~ .G. Whittaker. - ~ on ~ ~~ ~ Illustration by G. Soper. My AEROPLANE TRIP. . . on . ~ - ~ NEW ZEALAND, HUNTING WILD PIG IN ~ ~ ~ Illustrations by A. G. Small, and from Photographs. NORMANDY, TWO EXILES IN .. oe . . ~ ~- ~ Robin.” Illustrations by ODL- AND ENDS... os o Illustrations from Photographs. ORANGE CROP, HOW WILLY SAVED THE .. Mlustration by R. B. M. Paxton. ORISSA, THE LEAF-WEARERS OF UMlustrations from Photographs. Captain F. A.M Webster. 104 oe «C. O'Mahony. 163 on ee K. Harwood. 173 oe A.W. Spencer. 74 ~ ee“ Baturi.” 448 seca aa C. Rose. 472 on +» Carl Clausen. 285 | Frank M. McMaines. 514 oe «. C.J. Lincke. 9 = Colonel John White. 39 ~ ~ - EW. 31 ~ Thomas Neill. 34 ~ «+ Louis Allen. 36 «Private J. M. Nicoll. 109 ee E Percy Woods. 110 ee: ALR. Wetgen. 11a Captain E. N. Bennett. 203 ee Hugh Thomason. 205 ~ oo E. Chase. 320 - oo R. Bates. 322 ~ Thio Chan Bee. 325 ~ J. A. Mackay 314 ee. Leo Walmsley. 277 of the World. 88, 171, 434, 525 aA H.G. Tinsley. 197 aa aw =B.Craven. 14

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iv. INDEX. PACIFIC, THE JEWELS OF THE.. ~- a ~ - Mustrations from Photographs. QUEEN-MOTHER, THE PASSING OF THE ~ ~ Illustrations from Photographs. RECTOR’S STORY, THE .. oe ~ ~ oe ~ Illustrations by G. Soper. REST-CURE, MY ne - ~ o ~ Illustration by T. Somerfield.” ROAD TO FORTUNE, THE.. oe o. o ~ ~- Illustrations by T. H. Robinson. ROLLING STONE, THE ADVENTURES OF A ~ ~ Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. ROOSEVELT CAME TO DAKOTA, WHEN .. oe SAHARA, LOST IN THE Illustrations by W. C. SHORT STORIES Nicolson, and from ‘Photographs. ; TRAPPED IN A FLOOD os Hlustrations by W. E. Wigfull, and from Photographs. Down THE RIVER .. . on Illustration by N. S Pitcher. Wuat HappENED TO ROBERT TIPP .. “ Illustrations by F. Holmes, and from Photograph. “SSILK MASK JIM” Illustrations. by W.c. Nicolson, and ‘from 3 a | Photograph. SINGAPORE, THE FIRE-WALKERS OF a Illustrations by John de Walton, and from Photographs. SING SING, MY ADVENTURE IN : Illustrations by Ernest Prater, and from a | Photograph. SOMALILAND, LION-HUNTING IN Illustrations by EG. Oakdale, and from Photographs. “ SOUIRAH,” THE PIRATES OF THE .. + Illustrations by Ernest Prater. TAPIRS, THE TEMPLE OF THE . Illustrations by A. G. Small, and from nn Photographs THREE TIMES! o oe Illustration by Leo Bates. TRAVELLING COMPANION, OUR ory oe oe oe Illustration by E. Prater. UNKNOWN, INTO THE Hlustrations by Stanley L. Wood, and from Photographs. VENICE OF THE EELS, THE ae a or ep oe Tilustrations from Photographs. VOLCANOES OF MANY LANDS .. ~ aes aa - Illustrations from Photographs. WHEN THE FIRE CAME .. 2 fee oe - oe Ilustration by Dudley Tennant. WHERE NO WRIT RUNS |. os oe Illustrations by T. Somerfield, and from Photographs. “WHITE ELEPHANT,” CLIMBING THE ne o on Illustrations from Photographs. WILLIAM PURVIS. THE ORDEAL OF .. on - a Ilustration by W. P, Caton Woodville. WOLVES IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING on ~ ~ a Illustrations by A. Ferrier. Thomas J. McMahon. F R.G.S. 326 Wilham W. Fegen. 228 oe o o “Nemo.” me Captain E. A. Evans. 91 V.F.Gitchell. 254 ~ ee G. O'Hara. 391, 481 oo ++ Joseph A. Ferris. 435 . oe Bampton Hunt. 355 Flora lif, 505 mee FL Vero. 508 ~ . Joseph Heighton. str - oe Geoffrey Johns 27 ~ oe L. F. Stockivell. 193 Harwood Koppel. 20 Major A. H.E. Morse. 489 “ The Wide World” Special Commissioner. a2 a o Harry H. Dunn. 124 o «+ James A. Jamieson. 261 see Richard Higby 365 Lieut. E,W. P. Chinnery. 47. 145, 209 on on Herbert Vivian. 453 oe Bernard St. Lawrence. 369 a ++ Roland L. Tullis 305 +e The Rev. W. A. Wigram. 63 ee ee CJ. Harrell. 4-6 + W.O. Perry. 333 eC. O'Mahony. 78 GEORGE NEWNES. LTD.. SOUTHAMPTON STREET AND EXETER STREET. STRAND, W.0.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a See WhatOur Students Say These are only a few of the thou- sands of letters we have received: “Since I’ve been tak- ing your lessons I've made over $200 with my violin. Your les- sons surely are fine.” —Melvin Freeland, Macopin, N. J. “When I started with you I knew nothing about the Cornet or music, Sut now I ean play almost any piece of music.” — Kasson Swan, Den- mark, Col. Co., Nova Scotia. “I want to extend the heartiest approval of your piano Course. It has done more for “The folks at home are delighted to hear me play the Organ so well. You have a wonderful system of teaching music.”— Piano, Organ, Violin, Cornet, Guitar, Banjo, Mando- lin, Harp, ’Cello, Trombone, Flute, Clarinet. Ukelele, Saxophone, Piccolo, Sight Singing, Harmony and Com- position, Hawaiian Steel Guitar, Tenor Banjo, Viola. No longer need the ability to play be shut out of your life. Just mail coupon or postal today for our new Free Book Let us tell you how you. can easily, quickly, thoroughly learn to play your favorite musical instru- ment by note in your own home, without a teacher, by our New Improved Home Study Method WITHOUT PAYING A CENT FOR LESSONS! Different, easier than private teacher way—no. tiresome, dry exercise— no inconvenience, no trick music, no “numbers,” yet simple, wonderful, amazingly easy for even a mere child. OVER 250,000 SUCCESSFUL STUDENT You don’t need to know the first thing about music to begin—don’t even need to know one note from another. Our new methods make every step amazingly simple and easy, Over 250,000 people, from chil- dren of 7 to men and women of 70, have quickly learned to play their favorite instru- ments by this fascinating method. You can Music Lessons in Your Own Home By Mail bay Ds ea Cara- do the same—no hard study required, no a big expense to stand in the way. U. 8S. iLESSONS FREE! W¢ want.to have ONE PUPIL IN EACH LOCALITY School | AT ONCE to help advertise our wonderful easy system of teaching music. FOR A LIMITED TIME we therefore offer our of Music marvelous lessons FREE. Only charge is for postage and sheet music, which is ’ | «mall. WRITE! Instruments supplied when needed, cash or credit. U. S. School of Music Beginners or advanced pupils. pupils. AMAZING FREE OFFER and fascinating New Book just issued. Don’t let this opportunity for free music lessons slip through your fingers. rs. 18611 Brunswick Bldg., Get all th f, et a e prootl NEW YORK CITY facts, letters from me your free Lessons in Your Own Home,” and particulars of your special offer, Write today for free book and full particu- Please send Send a posteard, letter or coupon. Write now. KM 18611 Brunswick Bldg. Please Print Name NEW YORK, N. Y. ae Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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DEAD.” 6 io ic) < a a fa 2 z Ed ° Qa a x a < 1-4 oO r: 2 9 < 5

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i Our iN. trip i in Brazil cli FA.M.WEBSTER | WeLusrRaTeD WARWICA RE. YVQLDS. With two companions the Author accompanied a party of native hunters into the interior of Brazil, where, what with giant snakes and prowling jaguars, they had their till of adventure. HERE were three of us kicking our heels and cursing our luck in our quarters in Northern Brazil, for we were all down with malaria, of varying degrees of severity. Mostyn, who was stretched at full length in a long wicker chair, stopped strumming on his banjo and swung his pyjama-clad legs to the ground as the doctor entered. Bartlett sat up in bed and asked for a drink. After he had taken our temperatures and pulses the doctor spoke. “What you boys want,” he said, “is a complete change. Why not take a run up-country ? ” As I was the only one of the party fully dressed, it fell to my lot to go across to the office and interview the chief of the engineer ing staff. ““Um!”’ said he, when I had put our case before him, ‘So the doctor thinks that you three would be better away from the coast for a while?” “Yes, sir!” ‘“‘And what do you propose doing up- country if I give you permission to go?” I had not the faintest shadow of a plan in my mind, but suggested that we might employ our time in hunting. “Very well.” he said, ‘ but mind that you do not get into trouble. So remember, any encarceramento (imprisonment), and you get yourselves out.” Three days later we took train from Pernambuco to Antao, about a hundred miles inland. At least, when I say we took train to Antao, I mean that we took train as far as the railway would carry us, and from railhead completed the journey in ramshackle vehicles driven dangerously fast along terrible roads. The hotel proved neither comfortable nor commodious, but seemed to meet all the Tequirements of the inhabitants of the town, Vol. xivi—1 for there the planters gambled and played cards incessantly, day and night, but, curiously enough, none of them drank intoxicants, Three days of hotel life bored us almost to the point of desperation, despite the delightful weather and cold nights, which were such a change from the fever-stricken, humid coast-line we had left. On the third evening Bartlett and I entered the bar, to find Mostyn deep in conversation with a newly-arrived party of Brazilians. As he was the only one of us who could speak Portu- guese we stayed in the background until he beckoned to us to join him. “These fellows,’’ said he, “are going snake-hunting for skins, and I have fixed up to go with them if you are willing.” We, of course, were only too glad of the opportunity, and so the matter was arranged. That night we overhauled our kit and cleaned up our Winchester rifles. Next morning we went out early, and, after laying in a good stock of provisions, purchased a couple ot mules apicce. Every time I looked at Mostyn, as we rode out of the town towards the hills, I had to laugh, for he presented a most curious spectacle. Both the mules he had bought were undersized, so that his exceedingly long legs almost reached the ground. His dark, lean features were well shaded by a high-crowned and enormous — sombrinha (broad-brimmed hat), upon his hip rested the butt of a Winchester ‘rifle, and at his back was slung his banjo, without which he would not move a yard. I remember that Bartlett annoyed him greatly by whistling “The Minstrel Boy to the War has Gone.” “I'm hanged if I can see the connection between a wild harp and a banjo,” said Mostyn, taking the point nicely, and at that we laughed more than ever.

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4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. In the woods we came across an insect of which I had heard often enough, but had never seen—the bird-eating spider. We watched him for a time. His methods are not at all ‘' nice,”” but he is about the quickest thing in movement I've ever seen. In these woods, too, we found wild dogs extra- ordinarily like our British foxes. ‘‘ Os lobos ” (wolf) the natives incorrectly term them. Even in Brazil they are comparatively rare. On the hills beyond the timber we met with our first adventure. I was riding slightly ahead of the party through a rocky defile when my mule suddenly shied so violently that I was well-nigh unseated. The cause of the beast's alarm was revealed by the insistent rattle of a rattlesnake. When the mule shied the Winchester fell from my hand, and the harder I tugged at my revolver the more firmly did it stick in the holster. Mostyn was immediately behind me in our strung-out line, and, as I tugged and struggled with that obstinate revolver, I heard the bark of his rifle. He had not hip with one hand. It was a beautiful shot —although perhaps a lucky one—for the bullet smashed the reptile'’s spine, just behind the head. the slope of the hills to the River Capi- baribe, where we saw a fifty-pound otter approach. We let him go, but watched the bubbles thrown up as he swam away beneath the surtace. how otters manage to live in this river, which we found to be infested with alligators. It took a long time to accomplish source of the river, as the Brazilians were looking for anaconda, which, they told us, are more or less stationary in their habits, and to whose existence river and hesitated a moment, but had fired from the We now rode down \ take to the water at our \ We often wondered afterwards the hundred-mile journey up to the pools are essential. No traces of the big reptiles were to be found in the vicinity of the water; but what puzzled us was why the Brazilians looked for them far inland, where the river had overflowed its banks in the rainy season. Mostyn asked them about this, and we learned that anacondas are often found buried in mud mounds, in which they go to ground when overtaken by the dry season. Having hunted unsuccessfully along the banks of the Capibaribe up to its source, the Brazilians decided to strike across the low- lying swampy land towards the River Parahiba. Before striking camp and setting out upon this new expedition, however, they devoted a day to overhauling the tackle they had brought with them on the pack-mules. I never such such a coltection in all my life ! There were nets and boxes of all strengths and sizes, and_ endless “ concoctions for dressing skins, but what these concoctions were we never discovered, for the Brazilians were very reticent about them, and so obviously jealous of the secret of their preparation that we did not think it wise to press the point. It was a jolly life we were leading, with plenty of hard work in the day time and cards every evening. We smoked inces- santly, consuming vast quantities of cigar- ettes, but these never seemed to harm us in that wonderful atmosphere. There was one incident in connection with the card parties which put us out of counten- ance for a day or two. On the evening in question play ran much higher than usual, and all the Brazilians got very excited. Towards midnight the game developed into a duel between two men, one having lost persistently all the evening, while the other had been winning as steadily. Pedro, the loser, was a good little fellow we all liked well, but I was not so sure of the tall, saturnine José, before whom a great heap of coins glittered in the lamp- hght upon the upturned packing-case which served as a table. His luck had been good beyond the ordinary, and I remembered two or three things against him in the past. There was a pause in the game as Pedro flung back his cloak and fum- bled in his pockets for yet more money. The hush of the wild shut us in; around the table were grouped the other Brazilians, who had dropped out of the game, muffled up in their ponchos, some with sombrinhas veiling their features, other with gaudy

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ae” handkerchiefs about their brows. All were smoking. Cards and money lay upon the case in a little pool of light thrown by the lan- ten. The leaping flames of the camp- fire illuminated the tense, eager faces of the two players. Pedro produced a small handful of coins and looked across at osé. Thegame went on, Suddenly José put down a card which I'll swear had been played before. “ Ladrao ! Cheat!’’ packing- ae i Pedro, and slapped his hand down yellec upenm the cards. Tnstantly José whippe: sith # fe hand. palm d out his knife and, fierce stab, pinned his opponent's downwards, to the wood. As OUR HUNTING TRIP IN BRAZIL. 5 José sprang back, upsetting his chair, Pedro drew his revolver and fired, José crum- pled up and lay still. There immediate alarmed was an scattering of the but Pedro, with his left hand onlookers, “As I tugged and struggled I heard the bark of Mostyn’s ri le.” .d, stretched out his right and is him the whole of his enemy’s which he told us volubly he still transhix¢ swept towar winnings, of had been cheated. After their first scurry to get out of gsible pistol-range, the others seemed absolutely unperturbed, which seemed strange to us, considering the seriousness of the situation. Mostyn askec e outcome 1 what was to be thi

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of it all, and was met by a volume of in- different, or suggestive, comment. ‘ It is a pity,” they said. “ Quien sabe ? (who knows?) José has many brothers ; perhaps he will be avenged.” The last forecast struck one as_ being highly probable, for life is cheap in Bra Luckily, we all had the frontiersman's know- ledge of rough surgery, and so we were able to dress Pedro's hand. The other man was buried by his fellow-Brazilians. In the swampy lands between the Rivers Capibaribe and Parahiba we found the first signs of the rare anaconda. The indications were plentiful enough, but of the reptile itself we could catch no glimpse. At last there came a day when, being somewhat short in the larder, Mostyn and 1 went out to shoot monkeys for the pot. These we found in plenty, and_ presently observed a small group behaving in a very odd manner. Getting to cover, we crept nearer and lay down to watch. Foot by foot and very unwillingly the monkeys dre Nearer to a certain tree, from the branches of which we saw presently the head of a big anaconda drop down and seize his victim. The reptile had evidently taken refuge in this tree at our approach. Then followed a most horrible sight. Fold after fold of the long, sinuous coils was wrapped about the wretched monkey and constricted, until he seemed’ upon the point of expiring; then he was allowed to revive before the awful pressure was slowly applied once more, It was for all the world like a cat playing with an unfortunate mouse. When the animal was at last suffocated, the reptile appeared to cover it with saliva before gradually swallowing it. The activity of the anaconda during the process of capturing and killing its victim struck me as remarkable, for, as a rule, they are slow-moving, apathetic reptiles. When the whole business was over, Mostyn touched me lightly on the shoulder, and we slid back through the bushes. For, as he said, it would not be fair to kill the brute without letting the others take a hand in the game The Brazilians were overjoyed at our news when we got back to camp, and specialiyv were they pleased to learn that the reptile had fed, as he would now be unlikely to quit the spot where we had discovered him. Incidentally, it is interesting to note that the anaconda, which is prehensile, is so strong that it can support the whole length of its body—usually between twenty and twenty-four feet long—by the last two folds of its tail, wrapped around the branch of a tree. i After the midday meai we all moved off to the place where Mostyn and I had located the anaconda. The honour of first shot was allotted to Mostyn, partly because we had found the quarry, but principally becuse he was, undoubtedly, the best shot in the whole party. As we approached, the anaconda was seen coiled up close to the foot of the tree from which we had first seen hiin hanging head downwards, but from which he had descended to make his meal. The snake looked enor- mous, but Mostyn’s pulse could not have varied a single beat, for he raised his weapon, took careful aim, and let drive The bullet, going straight through the head, at once killed the reptile. but it continued to writhe and lash about for a considerable time. When we came to measure the “ kill” it proved to be twenty feet seven inches long, and forty inches in girth at the thickest part. The skin was beautiful and, of course, very valuable. On further examination we found that the teeth—with which, incidentally, the reptile never bites his prey—all inclined backwards, and so are evidently only intended to prevent the saliva-covered food slipping backwards from the gullet. That anaconda was the only one killed during the expedition. Following the advice of the natives, we ate some of the flesh and found it excellent. During the ensuing weeks we collected a fine ‘' mixed-bag ”’ of snake and other skins, but never another anaconda, nor, curiously enough, did we meet with a jaguar for a long time. Of the jaguar we had heard a great deal— about his strength, his cunning and courage, and of the beauty of 1 in. One thing we found it hard to believe about this member of the cat tribe was that he was as much at home in the water as in the branches of the trees hunting monkeys, and yet his taste for fish and his ability to whip them from the water were well vouched for. Moreover, Mostyn had seen the large shells of turtles which had been emptied by jaguars, who go to the beaches in the laying season, where they surprise the turtles and turn numbers of them upon their backs. They turn over far more than they can possibly devour, in fact, so that the Indians profit greatly by watching the ways of the big cats. Mostyn explained to us how hard it is to separate the upper and under shells of the turtle to get at the meat, and further pointed out that the paw of the jaguar is so supple that it can be squeezed into the victim’s shell, when it cleans out everything. Pedro, who had seemed to favour our company more than ever after the incident of the gamble which had culminated in tragedy, told us of a jaguar which attacked two horses harnessed together, and, killing one, dragged the pair a considerable distance,

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OUR despite the frantic struggles of the living but terrified beast. A few days later we fell in with an Indian, who stated that, quite - - recently, he had seen a jaguar kill a horse and drag it a long way to its : lair. Nor was this all, for he told “v us that the beast had had to crossa °.. deep and_= swiftly- flowing river to ‘3, Teach its destination. It may well * be believed that all these stories : firedour imaginations and set us longing for a chance to add (= “ José whipped out his knife and, with a fierce stab, pinned his opponent’s hand to the wood.” one of the hand- some skins to our collection of trophies. Particu- larly was this the case with Bartlett, who had not yet shot any important animal since his arrival in the country. In fact, I believe he dreamed of jaguars; certainly he talked of nothing else by day. He does not say so much about them now, but there is a reason for that. Acting upon information given by the natives of the localities through which we passed, we made several unsuccessful expedi- tions in the hope of fulfilling our desires, With our holiday almost up and the end HUNTING TRIP IN BRAZIL. 7 of our travels well in sight, we gave up all hope of bagging a jaguar that journey, and decided to push forward to our base without further digressions, more especially as the Brazilian “snake- hunters were anxious to get home and complete the curing of the they had obtained. fhe morning after this decision was arrive! at we struck camp and started early. About mid-morning we picked up a narrow path hedged in by big trees, the branches of which ertwined about our heads > rode / along in single file, Bartlett A first, Mostyn fifty yards behind | him, and then my own mule, 4 /} close up to the tail of my friend's mount. Mostyn had been riding half-turned in the saddle and talking over his shoulder to me when we entered the forest path, but, being an experienced and cautious frontiers- man, he turned to his front as the leafy boughs closed in over our heads. Now Mostyn had preternaturally sharp sight, and lucky it was for Bartlett that he had. Just as the latter was about to ride under a good-sized brarch which grew low above the path, Mostyn’s quick eyes dis- covered a big jaguar concealed amongst the foliage, his colour and markings blending marvellously with the chequered light and shade among the leaves. There was no doubt that the beast had seen Bartlett, and only awaited a favourable Opportunity to drop upon him. It was a tense moment, for every second brought our unsuspicious friend nearer to the lurking death. We knew that it was no use shouting a warning, for old Bartlett was always “slow in the up-take,” and

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. unsusceptible to quick impressions. At the sound of our upraised woices he would probably have brought his mule to a stand- still right beneath the branch where the jaguar waited. Mostyn did better than shouting. He acted, and acted quickly too, for he took his great length off his little mount Tike a flash of lightning and dropped on to his knee in the middle of the path. I remember the banjo was still upon his back, with the thin end of the case poking up over iis shoulder, but his rifle was in his hands and his eye looking along the sights before a man might draw a couple of breaths. There was a sudden stab of flame, a sharp report, and the jaguar crashed down—dead, but still kicking—beneath the feet of Bart- lett’s badly-scared mule, which snorted and shied violently, When we dashed up to the spot the jaguar was dead, and Bartlett, with outspread legs, open mouth, and horrified eyes, was staring at the corpse of the beast which had so nearly got him. His nerves were badly upset, and it was a si‘ent Bartlett, very undesirous of meeting another jaguar, who rode into Antao with us a few days later. In Antao we spent the last two nights of our holiday with our Brazilian friends, and very merry nights they were, too. They insisted upon our acceptance of a small proportion of the skins taken during the expedition, and, of course, Mostyn kept the pelt of the jaguar. That pelt was a source of constant annoy- ance to Bartlett, for, after it was cured, Mostyn kept it thrown over a chair in our quarters, but poor Bartlett could never manage to repress a shudder when his eye travelled to the beautifully-marked skin of the trophy. ee ‘A remarkable snapshot of a Sulphur Bottom Whale, the largest of the whale family, leaping Tur above photograph is said to be the only picture ever taken of a“ flying whale.” It was secured off the coast of California, where lives the Sulphur Bottom Whale, the largest creature in the world to-day. This variety of whale attains a length of about eighty feet and weighs several tons. To fishermen it is of little importance, fer the head is flat and contains no oil, making the Sulphur Bottom commercially valueless. In the spring the female whales and their young travel in droves or “ pods,” and go far out to sea, where they are safe from danger and disturbance. The bull whale, on the other hand, roams up and down the coast seeking what he can devour. In the present instance the leviathan of the sea had discovered a large school of sardines and was en ng a feast in their midst, taking in ten barrels or se at a bite. Large flocks of sea-gulls had collected to snatch up from the water the scraps of mangled sardines which came to the surface. Hardly had the tug-boat arrived on the scene when a swordfish, accompanied by a thrasher, approached the whale and prodded the great Sulphur Bottom in the stomach with his sword. The whale rose out of the water almost directly in the path of the tug-boat, his massive bulk rearing thirty or forty feet out of the water as the result of an attack by a swordfish. into the air. During this instant the photograph was taken. When the monster dropped back tons of spray were thrown over the boat. These fights between swordfish and bull whales are common occurrences, the swordfish usually gaining the victory; but it is only on very rare opportunities that the chance is presented for a picture. Here it may be added that the whale, or rather certain species of this interesting creature, is fast becoming extinct. At a meeting of the New York Zoological Society a resolution was adopted urging the protection of whales by inter-- national agreement. The great Bowhead and the Right Whale of the Arctic seas are now seldom seen, owing to the persistent manner in which they have been hunted. Against the modern harpoon gun the whale has little chance of escape. once it is sighted. Many years ago it was proposed that a restriction be placed upon the number of these sea mammals a vessel could take, but unfortunately no universal agreement could be arrived at on this point. Recent statistics collected by zoologists show that unless something can be done in protecting this great creature of the deep it must finally become extinct, or so rare that it would not pay to hunt it.

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Ctdked b a ountain Luion CV C-0-LINCKE BLISTRATED BY NE may hear endless arguments pro and con as to the disposition of America’s largest cat—the moun- tain lion, puma, cougar, or by whatever other name he is known—and I shall not attempt in this narrative to supply a brief in support of the statement that he is dangerous and vicious or that his reputa- tion belies his true characteristics. What I propose to do is to allow the reader to draw his own conclusions and decide for himself whether he would rather meet.a full-grown mountain lion or a house- cat. It was midwinter, and the snow lay deep along the high reaches of the Selkirk Moun- tains in British Columbia, where, with a lone companion, I had “holed up” at a copper mine in an endeavour to get a bit of necessary tunnelling done before spring. Having stored ample supplies of provisions, and being provided with every facility for combating a Canadian winter high up in the mountains, including heavy mackinaw short trousers, ‘“‘ Dutch” socks, moccasins, and the usual mackinaw slip-over, plus caribou skin-coats with the hair on, we were fairly comfortable. Domiciled in a snug log-cabin at an alti- tude of eight thousand feet, with the mine workings but a short distance away, it mattered not if three joints of stove-pipe protruding through the roof failed to reach the surface of the snow in January and that it was necessary to employ my mining skill in driving a tunnel down to the door. Once inside, our hut was as comfortable as the best steam-heated hotel. To break the monotony of the long winter, my companion—a young mountaineer named “This adventure befell me,” writes the Author, “while engaged in mining in the upper reaches of the Selkirk Mountains, near Golden, British Columbia. It is correct in every particular, and the events are well known to a number of people in the district.” Charles Johnston—and myself laid out a short trap-line, which we visited between times, picking up much valuable fur, includ- ing a black marten that fetched the record price of sixty-five dollars. It was in con- nection with this embryonic trapping indus- try that the adventure I am about to describe occurred. Owing to a heavy snowfall, which oblit- erated the usual markings, placed about five feet above the ground on the trees beside which the traps were set, many of them became lost. A few days later, while making the rounds in the hope of remem- bering the correct location of the traps, we discovered that each of the lost traps had already been located. A well-marked track led from trap to trap, and at each one a hole had been dug at the rear of the stake-house built for lynx and marten, and the bait, as well as some valuable fur, was gone. Knowing the customs and characteristics of the furred family, especially the wolverine, our first impression was that this bane of all trappers had paid us a visit. It is as well to lift your traps and quit when a wolverine appears, unless you are one of the rarest of experts in the trapping line and can trap the wily wolverine himself. However, having other and more impor- tant matters to engross us, we did not worry about the appearance of the trap- robber. Moreover, within a few days we were due to go out on snowshoes to civili- zation, in order to escape the heavy snow- slides that come with the February thaw. The season was late, and the night before we had arranged to depart the entire country began to move. From the high

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To THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, cliffs the overhanging snow had been _pre- cipitated into the smaller gulches, whence it sped downward until the entire valley was one mass of hummocked snow, piled in some places fifty feet high. It was over these masses of snow that we were compelled to pick our way until we reached the dense forest, where the snow lay five feet deep on the level. During the day the sun came out hot, and, anticipating further slides, we hurried on to a point where an old camp- ground lay in-the edge of the big timber. The resulting thaw made the going hard, for with every step the web of the snowshoe picked up several pounds of slush, mean- while sinking several inches into the“ rotten ”’ surface. Reaching the camp, we decided to lay up and await the coming of night, when the cool air would give the snow a crust and make going easier. While scanning the hills with my field- glasses I picked up a track running along the mountain-side several hundred feet above the floor of the wild gulch we were following. The position of the track, the distances between each impression, and the position of the trail—up along the mountain-side— told us as much as the actual presence of the maker of the tracks. It was the trail of a mountain lion, It then occurred to us that this was the secret of the disturbed traps and the dis- appearance of the fur therein. Dismissing the subject with casual com- ment, we whiled away the hours by the camp- fire until the shades of evening began to fall. Then, shouldering our packs, we set out along the line of trail through the timber, intending to make for a small cabin some four miles farther on, where we could sleep comfortably for the night, and where my rifle had been left on an inward trip. Among the equipment carried in our pack-sacks, in addition to blankets and food, was what is commonly called a‘ bug ” light. This is made by making a hole in the side of a tomato tin large enough to admit a candle and punching a few nail holes in the bottom of the tin to allow the air to escape when the open end of the tin is opposed to the wind. Attaching a handle, this is a light that will withstand a hard wind, After travelling some distance, I touched a match to the candle, and walked behind my companion so as to light a way for us both. Owing to the heavy going little conversation was indulged in, and apart from the “crunch, crunch" of the snow- shoes, no sound y¥ audible save the usual night noises of the dense forest. We had proceeded about a mile when I was attracted by what appeared to be a faint echo of our footsteps coming from the rear. Turning to look back, and swinging the light, | was rewarded by the appearance of two balls of green fire some fifty yards behind us. A second later they disappeared, followed by the faint outline cf a tawny shape that lost itself in the dense timber. A council of war was immediately held, and as we were armed only with an axe, we made preparations to make a stand and fight if the lion approached. Hearing nothing further, however, we resumed the weary march towards the little cabin. The route now led through a dense forest and along a hillside trail where the going was extremely difficult. Recalling that a mountain lion will never attack human beings unless ravenously hungry. when cornered, or when he has the advantage of ambush cither on a branch above his intended victim or is_ safely concealed on a ledge of rock, from which he can spring unawares upon his victim, we suffered no qualms of fear. But our fancied security was but short-lived, for chancing to turn the light off the trail on the elevated hillside, the same two balls of green fire greeted us not many yards ahead, and direct!y alongside the trail: Again the light served to disconcert Leo, and- when we reached the spot and examined the snow, we discovered that his tracks led away from the route we were travelling: For the remaining distance to the cabin ved a game of hide-and-seek with the rst he would appear in the rear, as if bent upon stalking us, then he would Tesort to ambush tactics, only to be fright- ened away by the light. © Thus, for mile after mile, we trudged along helpless against the big cat, save for the fast-disappearing candle in the “ bug ” light. We exchanged very few remarks, save precautionary suggestions in case- Leo sprang from some limb upon one or other of us. It was decided that, should this occur, the man attacked was to fall prone in the snow and protect his head and face, his pack-sack serving as a shield to his back, while the other swung the axe in a counter- attack. At last, tired out and much annoyed at having to suffer being stalked when we should have preferred to do the stalking, we reached the little cabin and prepared to spend the night there. We found that the deeply-drifted snow was level with the roof, necessitating crawling down several feet to gain en- trance. When we had got a fire going in the little camp-stove, Johnston opened the door to get some snow to melt for the tea billy. As the flare from ourcandles was reflected

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STALKED BY A MOUNTAIN LION. I yelled to Johnston.”

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12 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN against the snow-face in front of the door, I glanced out just in time to see the two bal!s of green fire hanging over the edge of the snow-face, glaring down at the doorway. “Look out! The lion!’ [yelled to Johnston, and reached for my rifle over the bunk, which was in the rear of the eight- by-ten cabin. Johnston promptly slammed the door—only just in the nick of time, for there was a crunching of snow and a resounding thud outside. Presently Johnston cautiously opened the door again, while I stood ready to send a soft- nosed bullet at those eves if they were still on guard. But Leo, evidently fied that our den was not easily entered, had drawn off. Supper over, we lay awake for long hours planning revenge. It was decided that, should Leo still be hanging about the place next morning, he should have an opportunity of trying his prowess when conditions were more equal for us. I had a good rifte, and having hunted every species of big game on the American continent, knew how to use it. Inspection of the surroundings next morn- ing showed that the lion had hung about all night, circling the cabin, all the time drawing nearer and nearer, until his tracks actually passed over the roof several times. All the time, too, we were sleeping so soundly that we did not hear the big pads as they broke the crust of snow. Taking three days’ provisions, the rifle, blankets, and the axe, we picked up the trail where it led off along a hillside into a particularly dense growth of big hemlock and spruce. It was interesting to read the language of the forest, and especially what Leo’s tracks had written in the snow. The trail wandered about apparently aimlessly, but at one point approached a Jeaning “deadfal!,”” whence it leaped twenty or ‘more feet into the deep snow. A mark of wing feathers on the snow, repeated a foot or more farther on, told us that a Franklyn grouse had barely ‘escaped supplying the lion's breakfast. At another point Leo had explored the precincts of a pile of fallen trees, where a snowshoe rabbit had taken refuge from his time-honoured enemy, the Ivnx. Again Leo was foiled, for on the opposite side were a series of splashes in the snow leading to another pile of deadfall, and in close proximity was the mark of Leo's great pads. Brer Rabbit had saved his skin and bones by his superior agility. In anticipation of a long and arduous journey that might last days, we trudged along in Icisurely fashion, folowing the track. About two hours had elapsed when, on turning to look back, we beheld Leo just as he leaped behind a large tree, but so quickiv that a shot was impossible. We turned and started back to meet him, circling the tree, but when we arrived he had disappeared, and all we had to guide us were the tracks in the snow. Several hours elapsed in futile efforts to come within range of the beast. It was another game of hide-and-seek, with first ourselves and then Leo citer Profiting by the evidence in the snow where the lion had broken through in his plunges, we put on pace and began to prac- tise tactics that eventually decided the game in our favour. We worked to get Leo out of the timber and into an open gulch half a mile away. This necessitated separating and closing in again to prevent the lion from circling and turning. We knew that directly he was aware he was being hunted, instead of being the hunter, all his courage would ooze away and he would be thrown on his inherent resources to save his own hide. The strategy worked admirably, for as we emerged from the timber into an open glade, we beheld Leo many hundreds of yards distant, ploughing heavily through the snow, which by this time, having felt a touch of the morning sun, afforded no surface to buoy him up. At every step he sank to his belly, and when he attempted to increase his speed he was in worse straits than ever, for every now and then he sank completcly out of sight. The only refuge for the lion lay in a tongue of spruce that came down from the timber-line to the floor of the gulch. For this he was heading as rapidly as the going would permit. On- several occasions he mounted logs sticking through the snow, and through my field-glasses I could see the malevolent expression on his face as he laid back his ears and bared his teeth in a defiant snarl. All the time, however, he was too far away fora sure shot. Satisfied that we were equal to Leo in endurance, and that it was only a question of time before he would be compelled to make a stand or take to a tree, we simply followed on, each at a sufficient distance to be well in evidence, but barring his way to other copses of timber. Arriving at the woods, which were several hundred yards in width and ran for thousands of feet up the mountain-side, another game of hide-and-seek began, with Leo sometimes hunted and occasionally ourselves. Having a southern exposure, the sun found inter- stices in the dense timber at many points and began to soften the surface, making the going desperate for us and still more so for the lion. We were hoping the big cat would make a stand, but instead of doing the obvious thing, he made a détour and re-entered the dense forest in which the cabin was located.

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We had covered some seven miles by this time, and if the reader has ever broken trail on soft snow that does nut sift through the web of a snowshoe he will appreciate what endurance was required in the chase. However, our s#renuous training had put us into good con- dition for any kind’ of exertion, and we trudged me- chanically on. The trail, as I have said, led back towards the cabin, and as it neared this point Johnston facetiously re- marked that per- haps, having noted that wehad secured safety in the cabin, Leo had similar ideas, and we should find him smoking a pipe by the stove when we arrived ! But he had no such notion. As we approached a thick growth of hemlock I caught sight of the lion as he leaped from a deadfall to a large log. I tried for a shot, but merely . grazed his throat. This evidently burned, for he leaped to a long-fallen tree leaning against a huge hemlock and darted up it. From that point, owing to the thick- ness of the timber, it was impossible to note his refuge accurately, so we began circling the trees, drawing closer each time. Johnston was on one side, I was on the other, both of us straining our eyes to locate the beast, when I was just in time to note the tawny form sitting on a limb not more than twenty-five feet up, staring in the direction of Johnston, and prepared to ene as soon as he was satisfied that the istance was right. I called a warning to Johnston, who ducked immediately behind a free, The lion, attracted by my voice, turned Just in time to receive my bullet under his eye. The next instant he crashed to the ground, half buried in the snow, and STALKED BY A MOUNTAIN LION. 13 The Author with the lion a few minutes after it was killed. The animal measured eight feet six inches from his nose to the tip of his tail. after a few spasmodic twitchings lay still. When we took our bearings we found that we were within a hundred yards of the cabin, and therefore doffed our hats and thanked Leo for his consideration in coming close, where we could skin him in comfort. When we examined the skin we discovered that he was the animal who had robbed the traps. Among the fur lost was a lynx, and the story of the battle between the trapped animal and the lion, as written in the snow heside the trap, was most inter- esting in itself. Along the lion’s front legs and belly we found several long incisions, made by the lynx’s claws. Evidently he had given a good account of himself before he “ cashed in.” The lion measured cight feet six inches from the tip of his nose to the tip of his tail, and in the form of a rug he now lies beside my bed.

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She LLAF- BY B Craver. COUNYUUUYUPUENNQUUNEEDSDUDUPNOEEEMIY UCSSOEEROQOU DD TENTED AMRUDANUULLEOCUICELLCTU In the dense jungles of the inaccessible Feudatory States of Orissa, in India, dwell the survivors of a most interesting aboriginal people—the Juangs, or Leaf- Wearers. They are veritable “ missing links,” as nearly like primitive man as it is possible for latter- day human beings to be. The men now sport loin-cloths, but the women steadfastly refuse to wear any other costume than an Eve - like girdle of leaves. These queer aboriginals keep very much to themselves in their remote forests, and eke out an existence on a diet closely resembling that of the wild animals around them. A family group. Muni Naik, headman,

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WEARERS o ORLSSA TTT Ee eee Ht IDDEN away among the densely-forested hills of the most inaccessible Feudatory States of Orissa, in India, there exists to-day a primitive aboriginal people whose manners and customs take us back to primeval times. These interesting folk are the Juangs, or Leaf-Wearers of Orissa. The information about the Juangs which has been embodied by Colonel Dalton in his ‘‘ Ethnology of Bengal” is very limited, and beyond a brief survey of their appearance and general characteristics he leaves our with his mother, wife, and three children.

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16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The drummers of Kantala. Curiosity unsatisfied. Perhaps this is be- cause there is so little to tell, for the Juang has few traditions of any kind wherewith to link up a history. He exists just like’ the monkeys in the remote fastnesses of his jungles, as ignorant as they of his source or destiny, and needing just as little to keep him satisfied with life. Yet one of the legends connected with his origin claims that the Juang is a direct descendant of the first- created of the human species. No admix- ture of races enters into his composition, and the place in which he is found to-day is the identical site on which he was launched in the first dim era of creation. There is a rock, shaped like the nostrils of a cow, near the source of the Baiturni River, in the Keonjhar State, which is supposed to be the birthplace of both the river and the tribe, and succeeding generations have certainly not wandered far from this legendary start- ing-point. The entire Juang population of India, numbering some eleven thousand souls at the present day, is to be found in the highlands of Keonjhar, Dhenkanal, and Pal Lahara, three adjoining native States whose intermingling hills form, in their wildest portion, the tract peculiar to the Juang people. It was in Pal Lahara, the smallest and most sequestered of these States, and the one in which the. Juang element, if scantiest, is most unsophisticated, that the accompanying photographs were obtained. Pal Lahara numbers amongst its other in- habitants only four hundred Juangs, these being dispersed in eight tiny jungle villages scattered about the slopes of Malvyagiri, the third highest peak in Orissa. It was under the bold outlines of this hill, and in the crudest apology for a hamlet that it is possible to conceive—a_ place called Kantala, consisting of only five huts and forty residents all told—that the writer made his first acquaint- ance with the “ Leaf- Wearers " of Orissa. The women depicted— who, by the way, represent the entire female population of the village—are fair specimens of Juang femininity at its best, or worst. It will be seen that they alone wear the charac- teristic leat costume, the men having long since discarded this sylvan attire for the scanty loin-cloth of comparative civilization. Is it on this account that the Juang race is slowly but surely dying out ? The Juang women, if they knew anything of Census statistics, would assure you that it was. Their own conservative opinion on the subject of dress is said to be based upon a superstition that the life’ of the race depends upon its adherence to a garment of leaves. Ages ago a curse was pronounced upon the Juangs by the goddess of the Baiturni River, in Keonjhar, when she first emerged as a stream from the ‘‘cow’s nostrils.” The cause of her displeasure was the spectacle of a party of Juangs dancing naked in her path. She forthwith issued a decree that they were to adopt a vesture of leaves on the spot, a garment which they should never more relinquish under pain of death. Whether or not this legendary threat really underlies the Juang females’ objection to a change of fasbions it is difficult to sav. As we are elsewhere informed that the Juangs “have no religious beliefs of any kind, it is more probable that the ladies never heard either of the goddess or the curse, and that they _ wear leaves because they like them, finding them “cool and convenient ” for everyday purposes, to say nothing of their economical advantages. Anvhow, even free gifts of cloth held out time and again as inducements

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THE LEAF-WEARERS OF ORISSA. 17 by well-meaning reformers have failed to convince Mrs. Juang of the superiority of any other form of garment to her own. Although she may now occasionally be seen with a skimpy rag, as grimy as it is inade- quate, draped fichu-wise over her shoulders, and leaving a comical tail of leaves hanging down behind, this concession to popular custom is only made on the occasions of her rare visits to such public haunts as fairs and market-places, its object being to protect her odd personality as much as possible from the scrutiny of the curious. For our hamadryad is a shy creature of the forest, and seldom quits her leafy haunts for the broad highway, transactions necessitating an incursion thereon being undertaken ex- clusively by her men-folk. In the recesses of the sal jungles, where her daily life is spent, the Juang woman clings stubbomly to the arboreal costume of her ancestors, and 1s never to be seen in any other. The intricacies of the leaf toilette are not hard to grasp, and Muni Naik, headman and general interpreter, who introduced to the camera the only three girls the village possessed, was of much assistance in ex- plaining details of construction and ar- rangement. The girls themselves, who spoke not a word of any language but their own, stood mute as mannequins, obligingly allow- ing themselves to be turned about in all directions so as to display the most striking aspects of their “ silhouettes.” Ihe founda- tion of the costume is the /atup, or girdle of several strands of string threaded through small red tubes like pieces of pipe macaroni. These beads’ are made by the wearers themselves of sun- Juang dancing girls performing a characteristic step. Vol. x! baked clay, and, with use, they acquire quite a good polish. The Jatup is never removed, the leaves that compose the “‘ skirt’ being daily adjusted in front and behind in two flat broomlike clusters that retain their position in a marvellous manner, considering that the sprigs are simply gathered together and stuck loosely into the girdle. The leaves employed are usually those of the asan (Terminaha -tomentosa), but if these are not readily available when the Juang girl goes hunting for dress materials of a morning, she uses the sal, kuvat, or any other long flat leaf with an elongated stalk. These stalks are plucked in graduated lengths, the longest being placed in the centre of the bunch and the others disposed symmetrically about it so as to produce a somewhat scale- like effect. The leaves are supposed to be changed every morning and buried when discarded, in order to prevent the wearer from falling a victim to tigers. But this superstition was apparently unheeded in the particular village visited, the outskirts of which were ankle deep in ‘‘ cast-off clothes.” Several of the ‘older women, too, who had lost interest in such personal vanities as dress, were perilously dry and “ crinkly ”’ as to draperies. The collected stalks that appear above the girdle and go half-way up the back are apparently the only “ thorns in the flesh " of the Juang leaf garment. All the women had their backs crusted with scars and scratches where the constant friction of the rough stalks had abraded and irritated the skin. While Rai, Subni, and Tunti, aged sixteen, fourteen, and ten respectively, posed as models, the rest of the female population sat solemnly on their leaf-tails, for all the world like a troop of mon- keys. The mere ap- proach of strangers up the glen had sent them skipping away to a safe dis- tance, whence they eyed the unusual proceedings with a certain slinking dis- trust. The Juang woman in Pal Lahara does not avert her features from the gaze of men, as is the al- most universal Indian custom, but meets glance for glance with some- thing of the wild animal’s cautious

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18 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. curiosity. Indeed, the predominant im- pression carried away from a visit toa Juang village 1s that the borderland between man and animal has been very nearly crossed. The grotesque appearance of the women, together with their shy, wild habits and the isolation of their surroundings, is chiefly re- sponsible for this; the men themselves do not look strikingly out of the common and would not attract notice in a crowd, except for their diminutive stature, their height scarcely ever exceeding five feet, and that of the women four 4nd a half feet. Their dwelling-places, as described by Colonel Dalton, “‘ are among the smallest that human beings ever deliberately constructed. They measure about six feet by eight and are very low, with doors so small as to pre- clude the idea of a corpulent householder. Scanty as are the above dimensions for a family dwelling, the interior is divided into two compartments, one of which is the store- room, the other being used for all domestic arrangements. The head of the family and all his female belongings huddle together in this one stall, not much larger than a dog- kennel.” The headman’s house shown in one of our photographs gives an idea of the size of a comparatively large Juang hut, An_ in- spection of its dim interior was only rendered possible by going down on hands and knees at the front door. There is, however, in all Juang hamlets a somewhat more pretentious structure named the Mandapghar, which is always situated at the entrance to the village. This is a low-eaved hut, open on three sides, with the fourth walled in and forming a sleeping chamber or dormitory for the beys and youths of the village, who are evicted from the paternal dwelling-place on attaining years of discretion. The musical instru- ments of the village are stored in this place, as the Mandapghar, essentially the bachelors’ abode, is also the centre of all entertainments, feasts, and public functions. The open portion of the hut serves as club room, concert hall, hostel for strangers, and village workshop combined. Here the men of the village lounge and chat, receive and put up guests from neighbouring villages, and weave the split bamboo baskets the sale of which, together with the proceeds of their rough hillside husbandry, is their only source of income. Hours of idleness are devoted to dancing, a pastime of which the Juang is as fond as his fellow-aborigines of other races. But while the dances of the Santals and Kols closely resemble his in their formation, they are infinitely superior in point of verve and execution, and not to be compared to the lifeless amble evoked by the exertions of the Juang “ band.” These musicians are not unimpressive in themselv and though, perhaps, it would not be wise to inquire too closely into the meaning of the lusty shouts that rhythmically accompany the thumps on their flat, shield like drums, the general effect of the chorus is rudely harmonious. It is the women’s efforts that are quite devoid of charm. Linked awkwardly together, and bending low, they go backwards and for- wards in an inane little hopping movement which, repeated ad infinitum, is as wearisome to watch as it is lacking in effect. The Juang’s means of subsistence are chiefly provided by his own foragings in the jungle. His dietary is, in consequence, varied and uncommon, and_ includes—be- sides every edible root and fungus under the Indian sun—such rare comestibles as snakes and monkey The snake usually selected is the fleshy and non-poisonous variety known as the dhaman, and the Juang has a sort of paper-bag method of cooking this delicacy by wrapping the cut-up pieces in leaves and burying them in hot ashes until ready: He also eats rats and frogs, but professes to eschew the flesh of tiger, bear, and leopard— three strong meats which are in considerable request among certain other aboriginal tribes in Ori He is, however, extremely partial to cows and buffaloes, which explains the abhorrence in which he is held by the Hindu. In order to incline them towards agriculture and to better the economic conditions of the Juangs, the State gives seed grain and a plough bullock annually to every village of the tribe ; but the continued non-production of crops worth mentioning, coupled with the mysterious disappearance of the bullocks, raises the grim suspicion that they are promptly put to less pastoral if more appreci- ated uses than the plough. The Juang’s chief characteristic, however, is his love for strong drink, a failing which is shared by every member of the community, men, women, and children alike joining in the carousal that invariably follows any ac- quisition of cash. Most of his earnings at the weekly markets, to which he takes his periodical load of baskets, mats, and vege- table produce, are left in the wine-shops of the neighbourhood, the rice and salt pur- chased being in very small proportion to the amount of liquor carried back, both inside and outside, to stir up the monotony of village life. It is curious that with this passion for intoxicants the Juang should not have acquired the art of distilling some form of liquor from the many materials obtainable in the jungle. He is, however, ignorant of any such process, and, it is said, cannot even brew the simple, if cheering and inebriating, “rice beer’ that forms the solace of most aboriginal tribes. Asa cultivator the Juang is as rudimentary as his forefathers, who jhoomed the hillsides

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THE LEAF-WEARERS OF ORISSA. 19 Juang men and boys in front of one of their diminutive huts. with their queer little hand-ploughs, much as he does, or would like to continue doing, to-day. Jhooming is, or was, a primitive method of hill agriculture, and consisted in burning down patches of forest, spreading the ashes on the cleared ground, and raising such crops as might be coaxed to grow thereon. When the transient virtues of the soil thus prepared were exhausted, the site was abandoned and a fresh area of forest taken up and destroyed, the Juang moving his home in nomadic fashion along his path of devastation. The strict rules recently imposed for the preservation and protection of Indian forests have put a stop to this cheerful practice, which has, however, left its.scars on all the Orissa hills. The Juang’s cultivable area being now so considerably reduced, he has to rely more assiduously on the small crops that can, with the minimum of effort, be raised about his own door. : The cycle of existence in a Juang village is punctuated with little ceremonial. When a man wants a wife he sends his friends to propose to the parents or guardians of the girl of his choice. If they accept, a date is fixed upon, when his emissaries are again dispatched to fetch the bride to his village. On her arrival with her relatives and friends the bridegroom regales the wedding party to a night of feasting, dismissing the girl’s people the next morming with some measures of husked and unhusked rice. And thus is the newly-wed bride installed in her future home and considered ‘‘ well and truly” married. Births are attended with even less fuss, although even the Juang babe is subjected to the time-honoured Indian custom of being rubbed with turmeric and laid in the sun to harden. The dead are burnt and their ashes thrown into the nearest stream. During the period of mourning, which lasts three days, no meat or salt must be partaken of. The Juangs have no officiating priest to preside at their ceremonies, since they have no worship or cult of any sort to justify his appointment. Their villages contain no fetish, tutelary god, or even sacred branch or stone to typify the supernatural. Among a people whose language has no word for ‘God” this is scarcely to be wondered at. But if the Juang’s consciousness of things supernal is limited, he is also happily untrammelled by fears of evil, “‘ Hell ’’ being a word which is equally absent from his vocabulary. There is no evidence that the Juang has any leanings towards sorcery, witchcraft, devil- worship, or any of the darker cults of the savage, his life being, in fact, as analogous to the irresponsible tenor of the animals as it is possible for humans to make it. Even the noisy high days and holidays of the Hindu, which permeate with their festive influence so many tribal households around him, raise not an eddy of response in the quiet backwaters of his leafy abode.

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—“Adver nture —anSi to Sing, HOOOOEEEE !! Whooooee ! ! The big siren of Sing Sing—the great penitentiary of theState of New York, and America’s most famous prison—sent its screeching, blood - tingling warning that an escape had been made, echoing over the countryside. Again it rang out, and although it was broad day- light, 1 shuddered involun- tarily, for it had a most un- canny sound. I had just left the train from New York at ee OD ~ KOPPEL. ILLUSTRATED BY ERNEST PRATER A very unusual story. to Sing Sing—America’s m famous prison—in fulfilment ef an ordinary journalistic appointment to interview the new Warden, Mr. Koppel dropped straight into a most exciting adventure, wherein he found himself in convict uniform endeavouring to Going the Ossining station, and as I elucidate a baffling mystery. threaded my way through the narrow, tortuous paths from the station to the heights, and thence to the broad road which led to the forbidding gates of the grim, grey pile that housed the blasted hopes of so many hundreds of my fellow- ,men, I could not but wonder who, among all those hundreds, had made his “ getaway. Major Lewis Lawes had been installed as Warden of Sing Sing a short time previously, and as one of the staff correspondents of the United News, a Press association furnishing news to some of the foremost dailies of America, I was on my way to inter- view the new Warden. This was better than I had expected, I reflected, for as a newspaper man the journalistic instinct was naturally uppermost in my mind, and I felt that I had arrived just in time for a good story. It was the last day in January. The The Author, Mr. Harwood Koppel. weather had been bitterly cold and huge snowbanks were piled everywhere, while the ground all about me was buried deep in a mantle of purest white. It made the tramping toward the great prison a trifle heavy, but the dreadful echo of that mournful siren kept ringing in my ears, and I bowed my head and plunged man- fully on. As I neared the prison blue-uniformed guards came swarming out of the great gates and began to spread fanwise over the adjacent territory. With repeating rifles in their hands, their grim, determined faces told only too well what the fate of the quarry they sought would be if the hunters got within rifle-range of their game. It would be surrender or death. “ Did you see anything

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MY ADVENTURE IN SING SING. 2n of a couple of convicts going by as you came up?” one of the keepers asked me, as he and a companion halted for a moment in the wide roadway. “Not I,” was my brief reply, for I did not wish to be delayed. I was all impatience to reach the Warden himself and get permission to take part in the man-hunt. The guards hurried away. and I plodded on to the gates of Sing Sing. The men in the outer office informed me that the Warden was busy hunting for two desperate criminals, known as the “ Brooklyn Car Barn Bandits,” who had escaped but a few minutes before, or rather, who had been missed just then. At that moment Major Lawes himself ap- peared on the scene, and I realized that if I was to take part in the chase I must act quickly. “ Major Lawes,” I said, hurriedly, ‘“‘ 1 am the staff correspondent of United News, with whom you were good enough to make an engagement for an interview to-day. I realize that you are very busy now, and don’t wish to bother you at this time, other than to ask permission to accompany you on the hunt for the men who have escaped.”” The Warden stopped for a moment to grip my hand, and with a pleasant smile said : “You are quite welcome, sir, to join us. I must warn you, however, that these men are desperate young criminals who will stop at nothing, and I have every reason to believe they are armed. If you accompany us you do so at your own risk.” “Tam delighted to be of your party,” I assured him, heartily. “Are you ‘heeled’? he inquired. No; I do not carry a revolver,” I replied. 7 “Then you had better take this one,” he said, reaching into a desk drawer and pro- ducing a “ thirty-eight.” With the Warden ag our head, another party of us left the penitentiary and began to scour the suburbs of the little town of Ossining. As we walked, with our eyes ever alert for suspicious, skulking figures, the Warden explained the circumstances of the escape. The getaway of these two young des- peradoes, Alfred Friedlander and Percival McDonough, was so mysteriously accom- plished,” he said, “ that the sentinels in the watch-towers, the guards who patrol beyond the walls, and the keepers who came up when the men were found missing at supper roll-call were all baffled. _\ Friedlander had a sentence of from cight to sixteen years, while McDonough’s bit was thirty-nine years, because he had a very bad past and the judge gave him the limit. Both men had been in the peniten- tiary only two weeks. Personally, I don’t believe they have got out,’”’ the Warden said this with such emphasis, that I looked up at him astounded. “ You don’t think they've got away?’ I asked in amazement. “Then why the sounding of the siren and the armed guards swarming over the countryside ? ” “* Because I am taking no chances,”’ re- turned Major Lawes. “If they are outside I am going to make every effort to get them, but I have an idea the men are still within the walls. If they're inside, I can't conceive how they expect to get away, nor can [ imagine where they're hiding, for we have naturally searched the place from top to bottom. “It is next to impossible for a convict to get out of Sing Sing,” he added, “ and I will back my official reputation that these two will not make a clean getaway. If thev're inside, I can’t fathom their game; but [am a good poker player and I'll call their blutt, whatever it is.”” : The convicts of Sing Sing do not wear the striped garb customary in nearly all State penitentiaries in the United States, but are clad in suits of a dark mottled-grey pattern, cut on the lines of civilian clothing, with grey caps of the variety commonly termed “golf.” Their shoes, prison-made, are heavy and strong, much like those of soldiers. In the fast-approaching winter twilight we all realized that it was going to be a hard matter to distinguish those grey figures on the snowy landscape. No fresh tracks had been found in the snow leading from the gates or walls of Sing Sing, and this served to add a certain amount of plausibility to the Warden’s belief that the men were hidden inside. When night had fallen, and Major Lawes realized that further searching would be hopeless until daylight, he ordered our party back and then had the signal blown on the siren for the recall ef the other groups of searchers. When all the guards had reassembled in the large walled-in yard, Major Lawes told the keepers of his belief that their quarry were still within the walls, and ordered another minute search of the cells, shops, mess-halls, kitchens, and other buildings to be made. The structures were examined from top to bottom, but all to no purpose. No trace of Friedlander and McDonough could be found. All night long every light in the prison glowed ; searchlights Hashed here and there, and the sentries in the watch-towers and the corridors of the cells watched with alert eves every corner of their beats. Never, through all the hours of darkness, did the keepers relax their vigilance for an instant. They realized that if the men were still inside they might make a break for freedom at any

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22 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “I found myself, with plate and cup, standing in line waiting. for my ‘grub.’ ” moment, and when that dash was made it would probably mean death for the guard caught unawares. So, with rifles held in the crook of the arm, or with nervous fingers grasping the butt of ready revolvers, they watched and waited, but nothing happened. For myself, with my borrowed gun in my outside coat-pocket, I accompanied the Warden as he went peering and poking about in odd corners of the formidable group of. buildings. We discovered nothing. When midnight had passed and = every conceivable place in Sing Sing had been over- hauled, Major Lawes admitted himsclf non- plussed, but would not concede defeat. “They are still somewhere inside,’’ he persisted in saying, ‘and when daylight comes I'll find them, if I have to tear the prison down block by block to do it.” Feeling that further efforts that night would be futile, unless something unexpected developed, the Warden posted double guards everywhere, and advised the rest of the party to get as much sleep as possible, so that they would be fresh to take up the search in the morning. He placed a room in his own quarters at my disposal, and bade me good- night. While I was breakfasting with the Warden and his family next morning, Major Lawes said :— “T have thought of ad scheme by which I believe you can assist me in locating those felons.” “You may rely upon my assistance,” 1 assured him. “ The plan, briefly, is this. I need all my keepers to take up the search outside; and,

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MY ADVENTURE besides, they are too well known for what I have in mind. The convicts have not seen you except in fleeting glimpses last night, and would not Tecagnize vou in prison garb. My men have been able to ascertain nothing from questioning the prisoners. They will not ‘squeal’ on their pals. I should like vou to don the grey uniform of the prisoners and I will order you to be confined in the same tier of cells from which Fricdlander and McDonough made their escape. Word will be dropped that vou are newly-arrived this morning from New York, and are a desperate character, capable of any crime. You will felicitate the convicts you come into contact with on the escape of those two men yesterday, boast that at the first op- Portunity you intend making your ‘ fade- away,’ and discreetly hint that a word as to how Fricdlander and McDonough did. it IN SING SING. 23 would be of inestimable assistance to you. Are you game?” “T have done my share of detective work in my career as a newspaper man,” I said, “but the task you now set before me seems unusually difficult.” “For that reason, it should appeal to your detective instinct all the more forcibly,” argued the Warden. ‘Here is a_ real mystery, Two notorious criminals have vanished from the greatest prison in America. There is no sign of them—absolutely no clue. No one, apparently, saw them go, and yet scores probably did. “It was an inside job. These desperadoes got away from the inside and it will take a detective, professional or amateur, on the inside to ferret out their hiding-place. I will admit that there is a great deal of danger attached to the work, for if the convicts dis- covered that a detective was in their midst, they might rend him to pieces before the guards could come to his rescue. You are under no obligation to take these risks, and I have mentioned the scheme because I felt it would appeal to your sporting instincts.” ry¥ Google ij Cc

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24 THE WIDE “‘Say no more,” I interrupted, quickly. “Tam not afraid, but I simply doubted my ability to discover what your own men could not find out. Bring out your Sing Sing uniform, and Iam ready. Must I have my head clipped in some prison fashion ? ”* “No,” laughed the Warden; “ we have abolished all such signs of servitude long ago. That went with the striped garb and the lock-step.”” Thus it was that at breakfast time I found myself, with plate and cup, standing in hne waiting for my ‘grub,’”’ although I had breakfasted some short time previously with great relish at the Warden’s table. A whispered word to a companion in line that I was “‘ Kid ” Anderson, the well-known crook and gunman, had earned for me much deference by the time breakfast had been concluded, and since there was no ban on conversation I was soon being initiated into the mysterious “‘ inner circle ’’ that rules the lives of the convicts far more strictly in its own secret manner than the rules promul- gated by the authorities. As it was the custom to boast of one’s misdeeds, I painted for myself a past so lurid that my hardened auditors almost shuddered —but not quite, for they were a ‘‘ hard” bunch, and listened mostly with blasé in- difference. When I boasted of my determination to make an attempt at escape at the first op- portunity, one of the less discreet members of the ‘inner circle ’’ told me of the “‘ get- away’ of the day before, but not all my most adroit questioning could bring forth any information as to how it had been accomplished. “Wait till yer gits ready to make yer own jump, an’ then somebody'll slip yer a wise word as to how yer kin git away,” he said. Evidently they were not quite ready to trust me thoroughly yet. They had not doubted my record as a crook, but even crooks had been known to “ snitch,” and they weren’t taking any chances. The hours moved swiftly, for everything was so strange to me that I did not have to watch the clock. I was put to work in the printing shop, where the Stay of Hope, the monthly periodical published by the convicts, was got out, and with a keeper ever near me —ostensibly because I was a desperate and untried criminal so far as prison discipline was concerned, but really to protect me in the event of my identity being discovered I plaved my réle. Men employed at various tasks were per- mitted to take their meals to the structures in which they worked and there eat alone or in groups if they so desired, the discipline in this respect being very elastic. I had noted with surprise the many tools lying around WORLD MAGAZINE. unguarded in the motor-car_ instruction school. This was a small one-storey building in which the prisoners were taught the operation and repair of motor trucks and passenger cars, and all the tools necessary in the repair of a car were to be had here. | had taken my plate and cup into this building to dispose of my supper alone, as the constant companionship of the convicts was already proving extremely disagrecable, and had ensconced myself in the rear part of one of the trucks, when I heard voices. Two con- victs had entered the building. “T tell you,” growled one of the men, “if ‘you try to fade away now you'll spoil it for them as has gone an’ only queer it for yerself. Wait till they gits out, an’ then you kin make it by th’ same underground route.” At the last words I started up. ‘' Under- ground route!” Here, indeed, was a clue! But the conversation was continuing. “I've got jist as much right to make a gitaway as them birds has,’’. argued the second man, ‘‘an’ I ain’t goin’ to wait no longer. I’m droppin’ out of sight right now. When th’ guards make th’ twilight count, ‘Tony th’ Wop’ is goin’ to be among them what ain't here.” : “Don't do that,” argued the other. ““You know what a row has been kicked up already through Friedlander and McDonough gittin’ clear. If another one of us guys beats it, th’ Governor (Warden) will be puttin’ all of us on bread an’ water or, maybe, cut out th’ movies. It ain’t fair to th’ gang, Tony, to make th’ whole bunch suffer jist "cause yer wants to fly th’ coop now.” Peering cautiously out, I could see the two men standing near a tool bench while they conversed. As 1 watched I saw the one who had announced his intention of making his escape seize a large iron file and slip it into his trouser leg. Next he took a heavy hammer, which he put into the bosom of his shirt. He was looking around for other tools, when his companion spoke again :— “What you takin’ them fer?” ““T got to have somethin’ to fight with, ain’t I?” replied the other. “Sure, man, you ain't goin’ to hit none of th’ keepers with that hammer, is yer, or stick ‘em with th’ file ?”’ “Let one of them guys try to stop me an’ you'll see how quick I'll send him ‘ West.’ ” “ "Then I'm through with you,” said his pal. “I washes me hands of th’ whole business.” With that he turned and passed out of the doorway. He had been gone but an instant when Tony also left, and I decided that at last my chance had come to find the hidden trail that led from Sing Sing to freedom. Shadowing Tony as closely as I dared, I plodded through © the deep snow in his wake for a short distance.

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MY ADVENTURE IN SING SING. © 25 “The voice of Friedlander came from out of the darkness: ‘We'll come out. Don’t shoot !’”

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26 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Skulking along in the lee of the penitentiary buildings, Tony made his way to the north end of the yard. Finally, he reached the prison coal-pile and, skirting it, stopped at one end and began a peculiar movement which, from the distance I was forced to keep, I could not understand. At last it dawned on me that Tony was making some measurements by pacing off certain distances from fixed spots. In my eagerness I started forward to get a bit closer. In keeping my eyes on Tony, I overlooked a large lump of coal and tripped. As I fell I gasped in a stifled way, and the sound brought the man to a halt, with his features as taut as though he had been suddenly frozen. Then he spied me, and with an angry growl came bounding toward me, hammer in hand. I thought my last day had come, for I was unable to get to my feet before he reached the place where I had fallen. He leaned down and grasped me by the shoulder with one hand, raising the hammer on high with the other, and I realized that nerve alone could save me. “‘ What's eatin’ vou ? Can’t a pal make his gitaway too, without you wantin’ to brain him?” I asked, in my best underworld dialect. * Oh! ’—Tony chuckled nervously—‘ vou sure give me some scare! Fact is, you throwed me into a cold sweat. I thought you was some keeper what had followed me. When did you slip away ?”’ “Just a bit ago.” I answered.“ Some of th’ boys in my cell block told me as how I would find th’ ‘ gate’ under th’ coal pile, an’ I was jest tryin’ to locate it when I stumbled. I didn’t see you at all till you came at me with that hammer.” “Well, th’ hole’s jest over there,” and Tony indicated with a pointed finger a spot where L concluded a dug-out or tunnel must have been made. *‘ Come on, let’s git busy, I'l” But whatever it was Tony was guing to do, I never knew, for at that instant there was a noisy commotion from some other part of the yard, and cries were wafted in our direction :— “Another one’s got away ! Tony the Wop has gone! Call the guards! Another face blanched, and his boasted nerve dropped from him like a shell. “'Tain’t no use, mate,”” he said to me, ‘it ean’t be did now! I’m goin’ back before they comes huntin’ me. They might shoot. Here; you take these an’ fade away.” Before I could protest he had pressed the hammer and file into my hands and was trekking back toward the part of the yard where the men were lined up for the twilight count. Evidently Tony the Wop had a broad yellow streak A quarter of an hour later the beams of a powerful prison searchlight were playing on the coal pile and watchful keepers, with their rifles ready, patrolled its outskirts. It was comparatively small in circumference, but Major Lawes decided that if his men were hiding in a dug-out they should not break through the cordon of guards. Other keepers with pickaxes were put to work digging. A few minutes’ work, and then a keeper’s pick struck something that rang hollowly, He pulled, and a board came up from the snow, stuck to the pick. Now the keepers worked with redoubled vigour and others, crowding around, peered with anxious eves at the rapidly-clearing show-patch, Rifles were levelled at the spot and the rays of the searchlight concentrated as much as possible on the very small area where the boards were being found. At last off came a sort of cover, and the vaice of Friedlander came from out of the darkness :— “We'll come out. Don't shoot! We ain't got no guns.” Up clambered Friedlander, a youth of eighteen, and following in his wake was McDonough, a good bit older, and looking pale and ghastly in the light of the search- light. With hands aloft the guards marched the two back to their cells, while the Warden and other officials, as well as I, peered down into aS neat a six-by-six dug-out as ever housed a group of snipers in France. Several keepers dropped into the dug-out and lifted up three blankets, a box that had been used as a table, an abundant supply of tobacco and matches, a handful of candles, a frving-pan, two cases of canned heating material, which the men had used for cooking, and several dozen cans of foodstuffs of various kinds. The digging was continued until a tunnel had been uncovered that led down to the bottom of the dug-out from another part of the coal pile. This was in reality an air shaft, covered over with a board and a thin film of snow which let the air filter through. The tale would be more complete if I were able to explain how all this had been done, but Friedlander and McDonough—knowing that they would be punished in any event, and stoically refusing to “* peach” on their pals—just averred that they “ stole the food and crawled in when nobody was looking.” Thev were going to wait until the man-hunt had simmered down and then some night, after all the convicts had been locked in their cells and the night guards had been withdrawn from the yards and outside patrols, “take a chance.” é “It was taking a chance what got us here, said Friedlander, in an attempt at non- chalance, albeit his voice trembled, “and we jist took a chance to git out.”

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GEOFFREY JOHNS ILLUSTRATED BY W:CN/COLSON SiikMaskchim The amazing story of a dual personality—a Jekyll and Hyde case in real life—re-ently unearthed by the Chicago police. Apparently a private detective, and later an hotel clerk, “Silk Mask Jim" was actually a master-criminal, head of a great thieves’ trust that was responsible for more than seven hundred robberies in a single year. College-trained and speaking no fewer than seven languages, he developed a highly specialized intelligence service, and employed a large staff of assistants, including several women. “Jim's” accidental arrest led to a midnight pistol-battle to the death with some twenty policemen, after which his identity was discovered and the details of his remarkable career came to light. Polish and other foreign languages so well, seeing you have an Irish name?” “Huh! Some people are too inquisitive. Look here, though, Tierney, you've an Irish name yourself, and you've been a pretty good friend of mine, so I don’t mind telling you.” Hugh Tierney was employed by the Mooney and Boland Detective Agency, of New York, and Harrigan worked under him as a private detective. They had been connected since the latter part of 1916, and the above con- versation took place at the beginning of 1918. Harrigan was a handsome man, whose face might have been his fortune as a ‘‘ juvenile lead’? in the “ movies.” He had a fine forehead, from which the dark brown hair was thrown back in a curling mass; large dark eyes, full of fire; a well-shaped nose, and a firm mouth and chin. He was reticent, quiet, of select tastes in wearing apparel, fond of art and music, and spoke no fewer than seven languages. Hugh Tierney had always found him honourable, upright, and honest, and had already had many long conversations with him, in which he had _ talked freely of his exploits as a private detective and strike-breaker in labour uprisings, especially in Minnesota, where he had been employed in connection with the Iron Range strike shortly before he began work for the Mooney and Boland Agency. Lolling back in his chair, facing Tierney, Harrigan pro- i SE Harrigan, how is it you spcak ceeded to unfold the story of his lifo—with certain reservations which will appear in due course. ““T was born in a small town in Penn- sylvania,” he said. ‘‘ My father was Irish, hence my name—James J. Harrigan, at your service. My mother was a German. When I was about twelve years old my father died, and my mother took me back to Germany, to her old home. There I was educated in the best schools. I learned Polish and most of the other languages I know while I was there. Later I went to college, where I graduated. When my mother died I travelled quite a lot in Europe, improving my acquaintance with the languages. I came back to this country in 1909, and got a job with the Ordell-Mann Detective Agency in New York. “TI had always wished to be a detective, having a liking for a life of adventure. From New York I went to St. Louis, and from there to Pitts- burgh. And that’s pretty well the whole story, save when I acted as a strike-breaker in Vir- ginia, Minnesota, which portion of my career I have already mentioned to you in our con- versation.” Not long after this chat Hugh Tierney received the surprise of his life. One day James J. Harrigan disappeared, and later two detective-sergeants, named Russell and Kilgore, waited upon Tierney and informed him that they held a warrant for “ James James J. Harrigan, alias J.’s’’ arrest for the theft of an “Silk Mark Jim.” automobile.

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28 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “For all his fine education and manners, he's a downright wrong ‘un—a proper crook,” said Sergeant Russell, one of the officers, “ As a matter of fact he’s fairly well known to the police. He was mixed up with a gang of stick-ups in 1915, when he was arrested by Sergeants Neary and Vaughan. He originally came from Erie or Philadelphia.”’ “Well, Tam surprised!” gasped the astonished Tierney. Harrigan was not to be found, but, un- known to the baffled police, a man strangely like him arrived in Chicago about the same time and, under the same name, obtained work as a night-clerk at the New Wellington Hotel, 215, East Thirty-fifth Street. Here he speedily won a reputation for his courteous treatment of women and the fact that he spoke seven languages. Before long the Chicago police found them- selves greatly worried by a perfect epidemic of burglaries in the cit “Gold Coast’ or North Side territory, which includes the homes of some of the wealthiest residents. Almost nightly some gentleman's house or garage or some big store was entered and looted, the robberies including motor-cars and accessories, expensive furs, silver plate, jewellery and trinkets, clothing, and valuable bric-a-brac. The officers of the law were completely at fault, and could trace neither the stolen goods nor the thieves. All they did succeed in discovering, after months of active search and inquiry, was that the master-mind behind the robberies was a man who habitually wore a blue silk mask while engaged in his nefarious work, was known as “ Jim,’’ and always attended to the “ big jobs "’ himself. Suspicion fell upon a man of gentlemanly address who had gained entrance to some of the houses by the judicious use of the card of an celectric-light inspector of the Commonwealth Edison Company. Just about the time when a description otf this individual was sedulously advertised James J. Harrigan vanished from the New Wellington Hotel. Curiously enough, six hundred dollars were found to be missing from the safe. Automobiles appeared to be “ Silk Mask Jim’s "speciality, but his wide tastes included anvthing of a valuable nature, as already indicated—" anything from an electric weld- ing machine, weighing a ton, to a woman’s vanity bag.” Within a year the thefts of hundreds of motor-cars were unaccounted for, and all were ascribed to his activities, The certificate of a notary public, issued to Mr. William F, Borg in October, 1918, by Governor Lowden, was stolen from the Borg residence at 6247, Kenmore Avenue, and it was believed that ‘ Silk Mask Jim —who displayed remarkable attention to detail in all his work—got possession of this document and made frequent use of it fn preparing bills of sale for the stolen automobiles. By means of the certificate he was able to satisfy persons who might otherwise have questioned the validity of the sales. The robberies had gone on for some time, the property stolen amounting to more than one hundred thousand pounds in value, when a mysterious man, accompanied by two beautiful women, was noticed frequently in a limousine touring the fashionable residential districts. The police instituted — inquiries about him, but failed to discover his identity. Suspicion also fell upon a strange woman, who was often seen carrying a large hamper ; but she also eluded all trace. The robberies still went on and had totalled considerably over seven hundred, when, towards the latter part of April, 1920, Dr. J. Murney Nicholson, of 5456, Lakewood Avenue, Chicago, had his car stolen, along with a medicine-case, a camera, and a case containing a pair of binoculars. The auto- mobile was taken from in front of his resi- dence, and the other articles were in the car. The binoculars had only recently been sent to Dr. Nicholson by Secretary of the Navy Daniels. Subsequently the car was found abandoned on a prairie, stripped of its tyres and other equipment. - ‘ Less than a week later, on Sunday, April 25th, Police-patrolman Frank Weimer, while on duty late at night, met a man coming out of a dark alley between two large build- ings of flats at Buena and Clarendon Avenues. “What were you doing in there?” he demanded. ¥ E The stranger laughed good-naturedly and exhibited a special policeman’s star which he wore, bearing the number 4043. “It's all right, patrolman,”’ he said.- “I was looking for my girl, whom I have to mect on the quiet. I can’t find the right house. Perhaps, as a brother-officer, you wouldn’t mind helping me ? ” Weimer, however, was suspicious, “Guess the best thing you can do,” he replied, “is to come with me to Town Hall Police-station.” “All right,”” said the stranger. suspicious, so I'll go with you. you that it’s quite all right. My name is James—Henry J. James. I'm a special, as my star testifics, and I've been for years a private detective for the Mooney and Boland Agency.” He accompanied Weimer to the police- station, where he repeated his story, and presented his card and star. The card bore the name of “ Henry J. James, Private Detective, The Mooney and Boland Detective Agency.’ “ Your card and star appear to be regular,” “You're But I assure

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““SILK MASK JIM.” 29 “He leaped back and, drawing an automatic pistol, opened fire upon the two astounded police-officers.” said Sergeant George Giernan, the officer in charge. ‘‘ You can go.” Hadn't we better search him first ?’’ sug- gested Patrolman Weimer, still unsatisfied. James, who had been unconcernedly smok- ing a cigarette, made a motion as if to flick the ashes off. Instead, he dropped the cigarette, leaped back, and, drawing an automatic pistol, immediately opened fire upon the two astounded police-officers as he backed towards the station door ! Patrolman Weimer received the first bullet in the leg, and Sergeant Giernan had his kneecap shattered by another bullet, which may cripple him for life. Reaching the door, “ James" bolted into the street. But the shots had aroused the whole police-station, and half a score of officers specdily poured out after him, and a tunning battle ensued, the police firing in the dark at the flashes of the desperado’s pistol. ‘‘ James,” in trying to dodge behind

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30 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, a wall, stumbled and fell, but at once picked himself up and continued the fight. The police made a concerted rush, but the fugitive fired swiftly and unerringly, and soon three more officers fell wounded. More police rushed up, until there were fully twenty on the scene, and these ex- changed shots rapidly with the desperado. Over a hundred shots in all were fired, when a police-chauffeur named John Byrne, although hit himself, mortally wounded James ” with a bullet through the head. He dropped and ceased firing, whereupon the police cautiously advanced and found him unconscious. He was brought back to the police-station and searched. In his pockets were found skeleton keys, a chisel, a drill, a flashlight, and a blue silk mask, thus identifying him with the mysterious and long-sought-for “ Silk Mask Jim.’’ Moreover, his overcoat contained two wigs, one of black hair, the other of blond. This lightning-change outfit was completed by a folding soft hat and horn-rimmed spectacles. These, however, were not the only articles in his capacious pockets. There was a diary, a most remarkable book, in) which were listed with minute care the names of “‘ prospects” or likely “cribs to crack.” The book divided the city into zones, and was cross-indexed, so that when >. place was robbed it could be checked off. The amount of loot taken was stated on a separate page, while yet another section of the book was given over to the classification of pawn- brokers, with a list of the articles they pre- ferred to buy. The prospective ‘cribs’ were headed “ Fair,”” “ Excellent,” ‘‘ Much jewellery,” “Rare Oriental rugs,” etc.; and the book also contained “ James's’ boarding-house address and the address of a warehouse he rented at 2214, North Clark Street. There was also a letter from a telephone girl at the New Wellington Hotel, in which she said: “I shall probably go my way pecking at the switchboard through the Jong years, but henceforth IT shall have in my heart a vision of one real man.” The unconscious desperado was immedi- ately removed to the Alexian Brothers’ Hospital, where he died early on the Monday morning without regaining his senses. The police, however, had already been to. the addresses found in the diary, and learned much concerning him. The first place visited, of course, was the boarding-house, The proprietress, a widow, stated that a man answering to the descrip- tion of the desperado had lived at her home under the name of James Harrigan, but had left suddenly. She was taken to the hos- pital and identified the man as her lodger, The warehouse, or garage, that the dead man had rented at 2214, North Clark Street, held a great surprise for the officers of the law. It was found to be a perfect treasure house of stolen property. In a secret room at the back were stored a hundred and fifty Oriental rugs, valued at eight thousand pounds, and a heterogeneous collection of furs, jewellery, and silver-ware of all kinds, estimated in all at about fifty thousand dollars’ worth, as well as more than two hundred licence-plates from stolen cars. The sales of these cars, it is believed, must have netted nearly a hundred thousand dollars. All the goods were removed to the Town Hall Police-station, which soon resembled the bargain-counter of a large department store. Needless to say, the affair created a tremendous sensation, especially when a fuller investigation of Harrigan’s books and card-indexes revealed him as the engineer of more than seven hundred robberies from North Side Chicago homes during the past year. A luxurious limousine was also found in the garage, and proved to be the one in which “the man of mystery’ had toured the “Gold Coast’ with his two lady assistants. The recovered loot had advanced in value, so that the owners received back goods worth nearly double what they were when they were stolen. For the whole of two days gentlemen were coming and going identifying articles at the Town Hall Police- station. Mooney and Boland’s Detective Agency had been communicated with, and Hugh Tierney came to identify the body of his old subordinate, and told at the inquest of the conversations they had had in 1917 and 1918, thus disclosing the dead master crook’s dual personality. Neither Policeman Weimer nor Policeman Byrne could attend the inquest, as both were confined to bed with their wounds. Some of Harrigan’s fellow-members_ of Chicago's underworld, who had kept silent while he lived, now gave the authorities information concerning other activities of this amazing criminal. He was not only a drug“ addict” himself, it appeared, but the head of a gigantic “* dope ring,”’ and as such was known as “ Doc. James.’ His gang constituted what was virtually a burglary and “dope” trust, and stole hundreds of physicians’ prescription blanks, which they utilized at drug stores, Efforts were made to trace his leading accomplices, who, it appeared, were chiefly women ; but for the most part they managed to evade detection. It was expected that his body would be handed over to the Chicago Demonstration Convention of Surgeons for anatomical purposes. If this happens in James's " case, the study of his brain may prove invaluable to criminal science,

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LWY STRANGEST — EXPERIENCE” This competition has been a great success, and hundreds of stories have been sentin by readers in all parts of the world. Here ‘s a further selection of personal narratives dealing with out-of-the-ordinary adventures. I.—-MY EVENING OUT. By E. W. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN DE WALTON. ‘What happened to a man who went fishing off the Irish coast. T is surprising how soon one may become engaged in an adventure.- 1 was trawling for rock-cod from my little sailing boat off the West Coast of Ireland when my line got tangled up in a mass of seaweed. Leaning rather far over the side of the boat in an endeavour to disengage it, I was busily occupied when a sudden puff of wind heeled the boat over and altered my centre of gravity to such an extent that I went head first into the water. I came up gasping and half-choked; I certainly swallowed more sea-water than ever before or since. Moreover, I came up practically blind, for my glasses were stream- ing wet. : My surprise at the ducking was rapidly succeeded by annoyance at the thought that I should have to go back and walk up through the little town wet to the skin. When I could breathe freely again, I trod water long enough to get off my glasses and slip them into my pocket. Then I became possessed by a feeling a good deal more intense than either surprise or annoy- ance—the desire to find myself safely back in my little boat. For, although what happened took place in less time than it takes to tell it, the boat had already removed itself a distance of some yards and was in the process of remov- ing itself to a greater distance still. I struck out wildly in pursuit of it. Although a fair swimmer, I had_ never previously attempted to swim with my clothes on, and I found them a terrible handicap. The breeze gently wafted the boat along, and at the end of a few minutes I was farther away from her than ever, and in a fair way to becoming exhausted. I had perforce to stop for a rest. While I did so the boat drifted beyond all hope of reach, and I was left to consider my position. I had been trawling over some rocks which are never entirely exposed to view, and which were now covered by about fifteen feet of water. The tide was still rising. The nearest land was about a mile away. I could not remember to have seen any boats about when fishing, and it was most unlikely that my plight would be observed from the shore. It seemed as though I should have to swim for it, and as I had never covered more than a quarter of the distance the feeling of panic which suddenly assailed me was, perhaps, excusable, particularly in view of the fact that the shore at the nearest point was steep and rocky. With an effort I recovered my self-control. I rested on my back for a little while, getting my breath after my wild spurt for the boat, which was still continuing its solitary journey. I looked all round to see whether any other craft was in sight, and presently I saw something which turned my thoughts in a different direction. This something was the buoy which marked the channel, warning vessels off the dangerous rocks over which I had been fishing. It was about a couple of hundred yards away—a good deal nearer than the shore—and, without stopping to think too much what I was doing, I struck out towards it. Even the swim to the buoy seemed a long, weary business, but at last I reached

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32 ‘THE WIDE it. A wooden rim which ran round it at the water's edge formed a sort of: hand- hold. 1 commenced to circle round the buoy and presently came to a chain. With the aid of this 1 pulled myself up until I was standing on the rim, with my body out of the water. The top of the buoy, which seemed to be flat, was somewhere on a level with my head. A chain ran from a ring in the top of the buoy and disappeared into the water through a hole in the wooden rim, What its purpose “was, unless to afford assistance to unfor- tunate people in my predicament, [ cannot say. I found it very useful, however, and was able, with its assistance, to scramble on to the top of the buoy. This was about five feet in diameter and proved to be slightly convex. Standing up, I had a good look round, The sea was empty of any kind of craft except my own, which was now a considerable distance away, and the shores all round looked barren and bare of life. Even as I stared about me, a_ broken gleam of sunshine faded slowly out, showing that the sun was dipping behind the moun- tains, and a faint curl of mist on a distant hillside confirmed the fact that night was rapidly drawing on. I wrung out what water I could from my clothes—and then it came home to me very forcibly that I could do nothing more except wait. Every moment the light was waning, and I realized with feelings akin to horror that I was doomed to spend the night on top of that buoy. I also realized that I was not made of the stuff that produces a St. Simon Stvlites. Ina very short time my teeth were chattering and my thoughts growing morbid. The distant hills, as they became darker and more shadowy with the oncoming of night, looked terrible and sinister, and the sea had a poisonous look. The chill of the iron on which I crouched seemed to eat into me, and my sodden garments clung to me clammily. Crouch and huddle as I might, there seemed no respite from the deadening cold. I was soon wishing that I had taken my chance of getting to the shore; I reflected .Tuefully that by this time my troubles would have been over one way or the other. Curled up like an animal, with my knees close to my chin and my arms clasped round ithem, I grew more and more despairing. Time crawled along with incredible slowness. IT commenced to count, and by the time I reached fifty I seemed to have been counting for an hour. My head began to grow dizzy, and such a longing for a smoke came over me as I had never experienced before. Both cigarettes and matches, however, were WORLD MAGAZINE. soaked as the result of my immersion, so my craving remained unsatisfied. My longing for a smoke was followed by a terrible desire for a drink of water. By this time it was pitch dark, there being neither moon nor stars; the only light was the ghostly phosphorescence of the water as it rippled against the buoy or was disturbed by the jumping of a fish. Gradually the keenness of my feelings began to be blunted, but my head grew more and more dizzy. The top of the buoy seemed to narrow until I felt that the slightest movement would make me fall off into the water. Then drowsiness began to steal over me, accompanied by nightmare terrors as my partially relaxed limbs began to slide down the gently sloping surface of the top of the buoy. Suddenly I was conscious of a ghastly sensation, It seemed that I was dead and summoned to judgment. I stood alone in the midst of a dreadful, unearthly light. The sensation was simply annihilating, and I struggled back to wakefulness to find that the light was real. A wide, white beam was creeping along the hills, lighting up everything it touched. I watched it with some curiosity. It came nearer and nearer, and then suddenly the darkness around me was lit up by a blinding glare. ‘ I realized that a warship must have come in and anchored, away at the far end of the harbour, and that it was engaged in searchlight practice. The beam rested steady, moved away, and came back. By this time my mind had grasped the possibilities the light afforded. I struggled to my feet, waved my stiffened arms, and began to cry wildly for help. Not for an instant did I realize how futile it was to shout for help to a vessel several miles away. When the light was switched off again, I could feel hot tears rising in my eyes. Before long, however, it returned and remained steady, centred on the buoy. I waited tensely, hope and fear struggling for the mastery. The light swung away once more, and I could see its course far away on the oppo- site hills. Then from the ship began a series of dots and dashes, thrown by a much smaller light. After a time these ceased. The searchlight came round, rested on the buoy for an instant, and then went out as though a giant extinguisher had _ been dropped over it. Alone in the darkness again, I strove to keep alive the hope of an early rescue, but it slowly died out as time went on. Inwardly I raged against the cruel, callous creatures on the ship, for I felt sure that glasses had

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- “MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” 33 “1 struggled to my feet, waved my stiffened arms, and began to cry wildly for help.” Vol. lvi.- 3

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34 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, been used in connection with the search- light, and that I had been seen. Then I imagined that there must be some red-tape regulations designed to prevent those on board from performing an act of mercy, and I consigned the. whole British Admi- talty to a worse fate than mine. Filled with a sombre bitterness that even made me forget my cold and wet condition, I composed biting letters to high Government officials, filled with wild complaints at the way I had been left helpless in my marooned state. Then, in the middle of these scathing effusions, I imagined I heard a new sound. I listened eagerly. The water lapped softly against the buoy, but, through the noise of its lapping, I seemed to hear some- thing else. The suspense was more agoniz- ing than anything that had gone before, but a few minutes resolved all doubts. Round the spit of land that divides the upper from the lower end of the harbour a couple of rescue boat ! How I had misjudged that crowd of good Samaritans aboard the cruiser! They explained with real concern how it happened that the only pinnace available could not be sent off at once. The dots and dashes, it appeared, were a message to me, could I have understood it, that they would rescue me as soon as possible. They warmed me, fed me, lent me clothes, dosed me with brandy, and would have done any mortal thing I asked—except stop laughing at me. In the end it did not seem much more than a laughing matter, for my boat floated ashore at the height of the flood tide and was recovered uninjured. Thanks to the atten- tion I received, I took no harm either; but, all the same, I am very careful now how I lean over the side of my boat, and I still have a foolish prejudice against sailing near that buoy. lights came swerving—the Il.—IN THE TILLER-ROOM. By THOMAS NEILL. ILLUSTRATED BY E. S. HODGSON. A naval steward describes a most nerve-trying ordeal, reminiscent of Edgar Allan Pce’s stcry “The Pit and the Pendulum.” N May, 1898, I joined H.M.S. Raleigh, ] flagship of the Training Squadron, as chief steward. Each cruise was of four or five months’ duration, so it was necessa to take in an ample supply of provisions, wines, and spirits —sometimes more than could be stowed in) the accommodation provided. When this happened one had to hunt round for spare room in which to stow some of the numberless cases. The tiller-room was always a favourite place of mine, and on this occasion I obtained permission to stow a few cases there. I am afraid the few cases became a great many. The huge steel tiller, worked by steam, made a clean sweep of the compartment from port to starboard about twelve inches above my heap of cases. I used to lie on my back when I saw it coming, and it would just clear me, bnt I was always afraid that the chains fixed in the head of the tiller would catch in my clothes. On the night when my adventure happened it was very stormy. The time was the middle of November, and we ran into a gale off Berchaven, on the Irish coast. The ship was rolling heavily. The chief quarter- Master warned me to see that my cases did not jam the tiller, for the safety of the ship depended upon it going hard over to port or starboard when required. Things were soon sliding about merrily as the ship rolled from side to side, so presently I made for the tiller-room to inspect my stores. When I entered I saw that the tiller was half-way over to port. Nearly all the cases had shifted, and as I watched they went tumbling from side to side. Owing to the motion of the ship it was impossible +o stand unaided, and everything I grasped at gave way with me. I fell down repeatedly, and at one time I had as many as six cases on top of me. By the time I struggled clear seven or eight boxes, piled up anyhow, were preventing the tiller from going to its limit. I was bruised in several places, and had re- ceived ana knock on the back of the head, but I realized that the way of the tiller must be made clear at all hazards. The light in the compartment was very dim, casting heavy shadows around, and it was dangerous to move with the many things that were falling abont, but at any moment the order might be given to put the helm hard over. Then, if it did not act, I knew there would be a vacancy for a chief steward the following week, By crouching on my stomach I managed to get under the tiller and up to the

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EST EXPERIEN “Farther and farther over came the great steel arm. It caught me under the chin and forced my head pitilessly back against the cases.”

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30 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, obstructing cases. I pulled this way and that, and even butted them with my head, striving desperately to get them out of the way. Presently the rattling of the chains warned me that the tiller was moving, and I turned on my back to meet the danger. In doing so 1 lifted my head. Just then the ship gave a tremendous roll, and several big cases rolled down upon me. One of them fixed itself behind my neck, forcing my head up on a level with the tiller; the others fell on my chest and toppled over in front of me. To my horror I found 1 could not move; I was firmly fixed between the cases! Again the chains rattled and the great steel arm moved towards me, appearing twice its natural size in the dim and shadowy light. Steadily and relentlessly it came on, while 1 struggled madly to release myself, but withont success. The tiller struck the cases in front of me, tearing the tops off and crushing them as it passed. Some pieces of brok n glass, with a sprinkling of wine, flew up into my face, making my eyes smart; then the tiller itself was upon me. Frantically I shouted, putting my hands up in a futile attempt to thrust it back—to hold back stceam-power, mind you! I had about as much chance as King Canute when he ordered the sea to retire! Farther and farther over came the great steel arm. It caught me under the chin and forced my head pitilessly back against the cases. I felt my neck cracking ; I was choking; my head was swimming. Rudder-chains seemed to be rattling and bells ringing all round me. The rattle of the chains grew to a roar; then, merciful Heaven! the great tiller was going back, dragging me with it! Both my arms were firmly gripped around it, and such was the tenacity of my hold that it pulled me with it from amongst the cases to safety. Directly I was free I struggled away to one side. I tried to stand, but fell on the deck, with my head swinging from side to side. I have never been sea-sick, but now a kind of nausea came over me that I had never experienced before. My throat felt very sore—if the tiller had gone another inch or two at most I should have been strangled —my chest and legs were bruised, and my clothes were torn in several places. It was a very limp and hedraggled chief steward that staggered out of the tiller-room that night, but with the help of the sick-herth steward I was all mght again in a few days. II.— THE OLD SHAFT. By LOUIS ALLEN. ILLUSTRATED BY FRED HOLMES “To this day,” writes the Author, “I cannot look down an ordinary well without a feeling of cerror.” This little story explains the reason. OME boys learn to swim and never have occasion to prove the life-saving value of such an accomplishment ; others go in for boxing and meet no great opportunity to exercise their special ability, while others take up gymnasium work and never face a crisis wherein their gymnastic ability saves life. I once figured, however, in a situation when any less gymnastic ability than I possessed would probably have caused my name to be en- rolled with the long list of those who have inexplicably disappeared. : In 1911, shortly after my arrival in Cuba City, in the centre of the Southern Wisconsin lead and zinc field, I started on a “ hike” through the surrounding rolling — prairie country. In every direction around the little town were “ diggings.” Some dis- played great piles of ‘' tailings ’’—the rock waste or dirt left after the ore has been extracted in the mill. Others showed fine big) mill buildings and = standard mining machinery, but no “‘ tailings” pile, usually indicating a mine in which perfectly good machinery had been sold to investors for the mere profit of the construction wcrk and installation, but which had never turned a wheel. Shafts in great numbers were sunk in this district when not a trace of ore had been uncovered by the drillers, Indeed, many were sunk on the mere supposition that ore might be found. I made the rounds of two or three distant mines, saw two of them in operation and marvelled at the capital tied up in the third, which had evidently never lowered a bucket into its shaft. The machinery in the mill had never even been assembled ! From the latter mine my attention was called to what appeared to be a little mining outfit on the side of a knoll half a mile away. The usual ramshackle sheds of the prospector covered the crude hoist- ing and pumping machinery, and the rem- nant of an ore-pile cluttered the ground, although there was no mill machinery at hand.

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“MY As I approached, the abandoned charac- ter of the mine grew more and more apparent, for not a living thing could be seen. Arrived at the mine, I found the usual smai! square shaft, sheathed with wide planking, although in this instance the shaft was not more than five feet square. Down one side of the shaft extended a makeshift ladder. A heavy frayed rope, dangling from a pulley over the shaft, hung down into the depths. Peering into the cavity, I could make . STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” 3/ “ As I fell I twisted round instinctively and with a sweep of my arms caught the bucket-rope.” out little beyond the first dozen feet. A _ bit of rock thrown in hit the shaft walls once and quickly splashed, indicating a depth I judged to be about thirty fect. Having made an inspection of the dilapidated machinery, I came to the shatt again. I had been in the district only two days, and had not made a trip down a mine shaft. Here was a shaft that I could go down either by ladder or by rope. The idea rather fascinated me, and as I felt

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38 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN there could be no risk in the undertaking, I quickly removed my jacket, shirt, and shoes. In a moment I was over the side of the shaft and slowly descending. Carefully I reached down with alternate feet and tried each rung. The first few rungs, near the top, were strong enough, but as I moved downwards the ladder showed signs of weakening, until at a point about ten feet from the top of the shaft a portion of the ladder suddenly gave way altogether, and T lost my hold. As I fell I twisted around instinctively and with a sweep of my arms caught the bucket-rope. ‘To my_ horror, however, the line gave with my weight and ran out for several feet ; then it stopped with a jerk that broke the hemp just a few inches above my hands, and I went flying downwards. I dropped with a mighty splash into the icy black water at the bottom of the shaft. About me were portions of the broken ladder, parts of which came within my reach as I struggled to keep afloat. Even the broken end of rope was still in my grasp as I threshed about, trying to locate the lower portion of the ladder, which I hoped had not given way. At last my hand caught hold of it, and presently I drew myself clear of the chilling water. Then I took stock of the situation. There I was, hanging precariously to a ladder, the middle section of which had apparently dropped to the bottom of the shaft. Beyond the dark walls of the shaft the unclouded heavens appeared, and, although it was still several hours before sunset, the stars shone almost as clearly, viewed from my perch at the bottom of the shaft, as on any clear night. By this time I began to realize the serious- ness of the position. Unless someone had seen me approach the abandoned diggings and noted my failure to reappear, not a soul would think of looking into an aban- doned mine shaft far off the beaten path. Calls for help would not penetrate a hundred feet from the shaft. It was the realization that salvation must depend on my own efforts that drove me to prompt action. It was plain that I must climb that ladder remnant as far as it extended and then, if possible, reach the rope. Even if I could accomplish this, I realized that the treach- erous hemp might again precipitate me to the bottom of the shaft. But, risk or no risk, the rope offered my only chance of escape. Slowly and deliberately I) wormed my way up that slimy, treacherous ladder, never allowing my full weight to come on to any one place, and striving continually to distribute the pressure over several points of contact, The rope-end now dangled not more than twelve fect above me. I reached up to discover if the ladder-rungs still continued intact. 1 counted one, two, three—then nothing but the smooth plank sheathing of the shaft. For a moment all hope of escape from a lingering death left me. Then, gravely facing the problem, I realized that I could not possibly leap up and grasp the rope from where I stood, for my feet were on the third rung down, while my hands grasped the topmost rung. I gauged the distance much as I should have calculated that, between rings in the gymnasium, and con- cluded that, even if I made a supreme effort, I should miss the rope-end by two feet. “If I could make the leap from the top rung,” I mumbled to myself, ‘ I’m almost certain I could reach it.’’ Then, while groping above my head, hoping to find even a knot-hole or a projecting nail, my arm touched the side wall of the shaft. Almost instantly the significance of the discovery dawned upon me. The shaft was about five feet square. Standing on the ladder I could exert a strong pressure, with both arms outstretched, against the two sides of the shaft. By keeping up this pressure steadily I could mount to the topmost rung of the ladder, whence the leap to the swaying rope-end might be possible. Instantly 1 put my plan into action. Turning my back to the ladder, I pressed both hands hard against the opposite walls. Then, without releasing the pressure of my hands, 1 moved up a rung at a time, shifting my hands as I moved up. Three steps, and I stood on the topmost rung. The rope-end dangled not more than three feet above my head ! After a rest of several minutes, I prepared for the leap. Then, gathering all my strength, and_ relinquishing my _ pressure against the two side walls, I leaped straight for the rope-end. My left hand caught the rope a few inches above the frayed end ; the right followed it. After swaying back- wards and forwards for a few moments I hung motionless, dreading that the slightest extra pressure on the rope would bring dis- aster. Then, hoping against hope that the line would hold, I slowly began to draw myself upward, hand over hand. When almost within reach of the pulley I caught the top of the shaft with one foot and swung myself clear, For probably half an hour I lay outstretched on the ground, absolutely exhausted from my effort ; then I made my way slowly back to town. Since that day I have never visited a mine shaft alone. Indeed, even now I cannot look down an ordinary well without a feeling of terror,

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Fight on a Mou , ntain lop 7 N ~a~— i SS, _ FS gk ae —~ - J ——— COLONEL story from the (JOHN WHITE J noid on the summit of a Philippine Islands, showing : . 2 mountain, overcoming all how a_ handful of native =f RA. sorts of obstacles, and finally Constabulary attacked and driving the bandits from captured an outlaw strong- HE Philippine Constabulary con- sisted in rg02 of a body of some five thousand Filipinos commanded by about three hundred American officers. To this force was given the task of clearing the mountains and jungles of the Philippine Islands of the outlaw bands which remained after the backbone of Aguinaldo’s insurrection of 1899 had been broken. These outlaws were well armed with Mauser and Remington rifles, and had forts on inaccessible mountams whence they descended to harry the towns and villages of the lowlands. The Constabulary, orga- nized in 1901, was at first often less well equipped than the outlaws, who were also usually superior in numbers; but the force soon got a grip of the situation and one by one the outlaw bands were suppressed. The fight here described is typical of many similar encounters. In May, 1902, I took a ragged handful of Filipino soldiers to the pretty little white- washed town of Isabela on the island of Negros, which is in the central part of the Philippine archipelago.’ Isabela is in the foothills of rugged) mountains which, rising many thousand feet, are clothed with jungle forests, where prickly rattan and many species of bamboo and cane grow beneath giant trees of hardwood. There are few trails, and these scarcely worthy of the name --little more than tracks along the banks of the rushing, rock-strewn mountain streams. Below the mountains, from Isabela to the coast ten miles away, the valley of the Binal- bagan River is well cultivated in sugar-cane and rice and dotted with hacwndas and villages. With my twenty men I relieved a company their eyrie. of the Sixth U.S. Infantry, which had for a year past been, kept busy hiking after bands of outlaws—in Negros called babay- lanes—commanded by a chief known as Papa (or Pope) Isio, who added to his authority by declaring himself to be directly inspired to lead his men against the con- stituted authority of the island. The Ameri- can soldiers had several brushes with the fanatical outlaws, but had never been able to hit them a smashing blow. As well hunt snipe with a high-powered rifle as pursue outlaws in a tropic jungle with troops organized for warfare on a larger scale; it took the Constabulary shot-gun to wing the criminals as they flitted through the mountain forests. Papa Isio’s men had made many raids on the lowlands, dashing down to bum hacrendas and rob the villages, escaping to the mountains again before pursuit could be organized. Before coming to Isabela I had been stationed for a few weeks at Himamaylan, on the coast, where [ drilled my ragged detachment and also found time to make several expeditions into the mountains. On these trips [ was led byan old Visayan Filipino guide named Julian, an ex-habaylan himself, who fled from Papa Isio’s band because that chief took Julian’s daughter for his harem. Julian told me of the An “ Pope's ’’ camp on the sum- Impregnable mit of a high monntain— Stronghold. called Mansalanav— and de- scribed it as impregnable. The mountain, he suid. was so steep that ladders of rattan were let down from the outlaws’ trenches to the trail beneath ; while in the fortifications were piles of stones and sharpened hardwood spears or planquetas,

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4o THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ready to throw down on an attacking force. Also, there were huge rocks, as much as ten men could move, poised on the parapet of the fort and held by ropes of rattan so that the slash of a bolo would send the boulders crashing down the meuntain. There was only one trail up Mansalanao, and that was Narrow and sown with man-traps— siyacs {sharp-pointed stakes) underfoot and balatigs (spring traps) in the brush. Outposts were stationed on the mountain-side, so that it was impossible to surprise the defenders, who had good rifles and plenty of ammunition, Altogether, it was not a cheering prospect, and, as this narrative will show, every detail of the old man’s statement was correct. Quietly I prepared for an expedition to Mansalanao, but it is uscless to pretend that I relished the job. 1 did not; I was scared to death, for I knew that the chances against success were a hundred to one. But pride of race and corps drove me on; while I knew that if we could defeat Papa Jsivo in his stronghold the Constabulary would thereafter have a comparatively casy time. Moreover, it is usually sound strategy to attack first, and an assumption of confi- dence has won many a fight against odds, One mght towards the end of May, 1902, we left Payao, a village three miles from Isabela, at moonrise, about nine o’clock—- seventeen soldiers; old Julian; fourteen picked cargadores (carriers), and myself. By moonlight we crossed the rice paddies beyond Payao, forded two rivers waist- deep, and at daybreak were out of the grassy foothills and in the depths of the forest. After hours of hacking our way through the jungle we finally emerged about noon on a grassy upiand, It had been a hard night, but we were soon revived by the cooler air of the plateau, for we were now some two thousand feet above the Binal- bagan Valley, whose smiling fields of sugar- cane, dotted with little white villages, glittered under a high sun. Ahead stretched the grassy upland, shimmering under the heat haze, through which we saw a line of dark forest into which we must later plunge ; winle above and bevond the forest a moun- tain peak was silhouetted clear against an azure sky. * Mansalanao,” — grunted Julian, and a quiver of excitement ran The mountain was twenty bee-line, and that meant hard travelling through the jungle, over intervening ridges and through ravines. But there it) was—-our goal or our grave, or both. It looked to be about five thousand feet high and was trineated below its apex, showing that 1t had at come remote period © blown its head oft.” As one fascinated I gazed at the mountain, How clear and commanding it rose above through my men. miles away on a two or three days lesser peaks, how steep its slopes! Could we hope to win up them against great odds ? I looked at my men; they looked at me. Then I snuled, in perfect dissimulation of my feelings. Ha!" 1 said, in broken Spanish. ‘The Pope is much afraid of the Constabulary. See how he hides on the highest mountains |” The contagion of my forced spirits ran through the easily-intluenced scldiers, though 1 noticed that one or two of the older N.C.O.’s shook their heads Goubtfully. For this desperate venture I had carefully chosen my men, picking the youngest and most dare-devil fellows, but including one or two old non-commissioned officers as ballast. We took our siesta beneath some giant rocks that cropped up above the cogon grass. Then we went up and on over a rolling plateau of park-like country—contrasting strongly with the dank jungles we had left behind—where tree-ferns filled shady bollows and thorn-trees dotted the cogon, which was nowhere tall enough to impede our passage. Xow and then a frightened deer dashed off at our approach, It was a pleasant bit of trail—but aliwad lay the gloomy forests, Suddenly we came out on a broad, hard; beaten path, cutting a swathe through the cogon and curving ahead until Jost in the forests in the direction of Mansalanao, * The highway of the brigands!” cried a soldier, and the others laughed at his joke. It was a fine broad trail, showing that there was much unsuspected traffic between Papa Isio’s headquarters and the lowland villages, Julian) grinned. The old scoundrel had Jong known this trail, but had for months taken expeditions im every direction but the one that led to the Pope’s real head- quarters. However, not much blame at- tached to him, for he doubtless fully believed that by attacking Mansalanao we went to certain death. We pressed forward across the plateau : the wall of forest loomed nearer, and at las} the trees sheltered us from a sinking sun. Behind lay the sun-washed plateau ; ahead loo-red the dark, damp jungle forest. There was something forbidding in the contrast, something ominous in those shadowed depths, Julian ran over to where a giant bamtoo drooped gracefully outward from the forest wall, and with a well-directed slash of his talibong bolo cut down a thirty-foot stem, while with a few more strokes he made a sharp-edged stick about two feet long. I asked him for what it was intended. ‘ Leeches, sir,” he answered. We were to enter a belt of forest infested with these blood-sucking pests, so the soldiers and cargadores also cut bamboo scrapers with which to remove them from their bare limbs. Then we dived into the forest.

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A FIGHT ON A MOUNTAIN TOP. 41 The hard, dry trail of the cogon was ended, and now underfoot was dank, leafy mould, with rattan and other vines criss-crossing the path, festooning trees, climbing up towards the life-giving sun that never pene- trated the forest depths. And in the mould, on every twig and leaf underfoot, alongside or hanging from above, were the terrible leeches which, though scarcely longer and thicker than a pin, would swell to the size of a man's little finger after a few minutes’ adhesion to human skin; so that every little while I called a halt in order that the cargadores might scrape them from their skin, while the soldiers and myself removed our shoes, often to find leeches that had wormed through the eyelet holes or between our clothing. Nothing kept the pests out entirely. able river. As, knee-deep in water, we stumbled up-stream, the canyon widened, and the banks became less precipitous and clothed with giant figbao grass instead of forest growth. Then, splashing around a bend, we suddenly opened up in full view the cone of Mansalanao, now quite close and towering straight up from a strip of level land that here bordered the river. Down the mountain echoed the roar of a waterfall. Our river, apparently, issued from Mansalanao’s bosom. At sunset we found a clearing The in the jungle at the foot of Outlaws’ Mount Mansalanao, which Eyrie. stood out like a lone pine on a ridge. A few hundred yards distant the foot of the peak ran into A group of Philippine Cons‘abulary. The old native in fzont guided the Author on many hazardous expeditions. If the leeches got into one’s nose, eye, or ear, they were really dangerous; and their bites anywhere, if not rendered aseptic, might result in a frightful tropical ulcer as big as a dollar. For two days we hiked through the forest —down one: mountain, up another, across rushing rivers; along steep hogback: through thickets of bojo bamboo. j the towering tree-trunks rose around us like cathedral columns, while verdure vaulted overhead so that we rarely saw the sun. We passed no clearings. At night we camped in the jungle, and the men cut bamboo and leaves of the anajao palm with which to erect fragile sleeping shelters. At dawn we rose, stiff and damp; at dusk We camped, tired and wet. Finally we crossed a last mountain ridge and descended into the canyon of a consider- comparatively level land along the river, but above the mountain rose up at an angle of forty-five degrees, and was heavily covered with forest and jungle growth to within a couple of hundred feet of the summit or crater. On the rim of the crater were several huts, which, so Julian said, were shelters at the trenches; the bandits’ village, however, was farther back, over the rim. Among the huts moved ant-like human forms who must be the /abaylunes; one of them might even be Papa Isio himself ! We were near the end of our journey— perhaps in more senses than one. Through my field-glasses I studied the mountain. The summit appeared to be about two thousand five hundred feet above our resting-place, while the jungle-clad slopes offered no opportunity for approach except the babaylanes’ own trail, winding Digit \(,00Q9 Pa)

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42 up a ridge which to the naked eye appeared a mere furrow down the mountain-side, but which the glasses revealed as a precipi- tous hogback, flanked by gullies hundreds of feet in depth. It was late forenoon on May 26th, 1002. I ordered the men to make a meal of the cooked rice and dried fish that had been prepared that morning, while [ sat alone on a log and thought out my scheme for attack. Private Fernandez, who served me as cook and butler, brought a handful of cooked rice in a banana leaf, with a piece of fed Spanish sausage; but, with my thoughts on the ticklish work ahead, I ate little. I felt a little sick, as I have often done before going into great danger. It was not the impending fight against odds that mattered, so much as the lack of medical assistance for such wounded as we were sure to have—including myself. We were three days’ journey distant from any assis- tance, over difficult mountain trails, and everything depended on my own. safety. If I were wounded or killed my recruits might stampede, yet 1 must expose myself in order to carry them forward and win the day. The horns of the dilemma were equally sharp. Meanwhile the soldiers finished a scanty meal, sprawled around smoking their c:gar- illos, and frequently cast glances up at Man- salanao, where a thin column of white smoke rose from the outlaws’ trenches. That column of smoke fascinated me. The men who had lit that fire were doubtless Papa Isio’s picked fighting men; thev had every advan- tage of position; they even had better arms than the Constabularv. Was it any use to lead my men to almost certain death and possible torture ? But these were no thoughts for a Con- stabulary officer! My usual buoyant optim- ism, drowned for the moment by the fatigue of three days’ hiking, reasserted _ itself. After all, the babaylanes were mighty poor shots, and I knew my men would follow me to the death. Then the lust for physical combat that is strong within every healthy young male surged over me like strong drink, and I snapped out an order. The soldiers gave their haversacss and all extra equip- ment to the cargadores, and with rifle and belt alone stood ready for the attack. I looked at the sun —my watch had stopped when we forded a neck-deep river —and saw that it was just past the meridian. Three hours’ climbing, I figured, would bring us to the fort, and that would leave veral hours of daylight to decide issues with our friends aloft. At another command the men shuffled into line. In front went Julian; then Privates Fernandez and Mon- tino, both good shots and daring youths, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, just in front of me, while behind me were Sergeant Basubas and six of my best men - the tag-rag and bobtail and the cargadores brought up the rear. Thus we began the ascent of the outlaws* mountain, and soon found the trail so steep that in places the babavlanes had cut steps in the yellow earth. From these steps Julian scrapetl away mould and leaves which bid many sttvacs— sharp-pointed bam- boo stakes that would have pierced naked feet or even my own shoes, now soft and rotted by days of marching in the water. Presently Julian halted us by raising his holo; then, gliding into the brush, he slashed at withies that held a long sharpened stake to a bent sapling, and the baletig spear went darting viciously across our path at the height of a man’s breast. These deadly traps were so arranged as to be sprung by our feet tripping on withies laid across the trail in a most natural manner. In places the path was but a foot or two broad, with deep canyons yawning on each side, and in such spots our progress suggested the idea of walking up a knife-edge canted to an angle of forty-five degrees. At a score of places the babavlanes could have made a determined stand, but they evidently relied on their trenches and pendant rocks above. At times [I could see the winding column of our cargadores toiling up hundreds of feet below us. It was a stiff climb to cap our three days’ hike—and the immediate prospects of a rest on top seemed far from A Deadly Trap. good, 2 About three o'clock, Julian made a sign that he saw something ahead. Pushing past Fernandez and Montino, I saw ep a ledge of overhanging rock almost imme diately above me a little roofed plattorm, undoubtedly the enemy's look-out, Lut new seemingly untenanted. The trai: wound steeply around the rock, and, as we clambered up, [ began to think that we were going to take Mansalanao by surprise. Suddenly, however, from far above, a man challenged in the Visayan dialect! About two hundred feet beyond and above us I saw several heads above the edge of a trench, and as the challenge was repeated, and the babay- lanes showed that they recognized us, I took a shot at one of the heads. That did it! Wild ‘ yells split. the air, pandemonium broke loose on the mountain, Pandemonium Breaks Loose. and a hail of stones and _ frocks hurtted down on our heads. I s€urriet behind the roots cf a big tree, Fernandez and Montino shouldering me close on each side. Julian had vanished as if he possessed wings, while Sergeant

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A FIGHT ON A MOUNTAIN TOP. “The startled babaylanes now cut loose their suspended boulders, which crashed past us down the mountain.”

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44 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. . Basubas and the other men crouched behind a huge rock immediately below us. The startled babaylanes now cut loose their suspended boulders, which crashed past us down the mountain, carrying all before them. One smashed by within two feet of me, tearing down a stout tree as though it had been a twig. What with the yells of the babav/anes, the crash of the boulders, the rending of trees, and the rattle of rifle fire, it terrifying enough ; but the very narrowness of the trail saved us, for most of the flying rocks leapt harm- lessly into the canyons on either side. The outlaws, I discovered, were in two lines of trenches, the first about two hundred feet above us, the second on the rim of the crater, perhaps a hundred fect above the first. Upwards, all herbage had been cleared away, the trees felled, and rolled into the canyons: but the trail broadened out a little, and there were a few rocks and stumps that offered cover. From the comparative shelter of our stump we “ potted " at the heads in the first trench so successfully that within a few minutes the babavlanes had scrambled out and back to their upper breastworks. To aim better at the climbing figures we showed ourselves for a moment, whereupon several Reming- tons and Mausers cracked from the upper trench. The brigands, however, were poor shots, and could not hit us at three hundred feet. On the other hand we killed at least one babaylane who, when shot, rolled down at first as though he would tumble right on top of us. After vain clutchings at the earth and rocks, he finally disappeared into the yawning canyon to one side. I called down to Sergeant Basubas that we must make a rush for the first trench and use it as our defence from the fire above. Exhorting my men by name, I yelled, “ Subet Sube! Avance!’’ and clambered from my protecting stump up the mountain, dodging from stump to rock, and rock to stump, through a veritable hail of stones and spears until at last I sheltered behind the wall of the first trench. Fernandez and Montino were close behind me during that hazardous climb: and three other soldiers —Presquito, Lores, and Cabo—gained the shelter of the trench soon after. All of us were badly cut by spears or bruised by rocks, and breathless from our scramble. There we lay for over an hour while rocks, planqueta spears, and bullets passed in @ Continuous stream overhead, My voice scarcely reached the soldiers below, for the din of falling rocks, cracking rifles, and agun gongs beaten in the upper trench drowned every other sound, But = from where we lay the trench above was clear- cut against the sky, and every time a head showed we fired at it; and when our shots went true a stricken babaylan leapt up, perhaps to get another bullet through the body. It was pretty shooting, and took a quick eye. : The babaylanes continually derided us ; my men told me that they said we could never get up and wonld all be killed— which seemed likely, as they had all the best of the argument. At intervals Papa Isio’s voice urged them to resist, and prayed for our defeat; but the five soldiers with me were not slow in responding with all manner of taunts and threats; and as the minutes went by without serious casualties on our side they grew bolder. : After an hour or more of Oratory such fighting and shouting, Under however, we were no nearer Difficulties. the top. Although many of the outlaws must have been killed and wounded, there were plenty more to take their places, and the situation was becoming desperate, for with five men I could hardly hope to storm the fort, and the other soldiers would not? leave their pro- tecting rock. So I climbed out of the sheltering trench and stood on the top of it, where my men below could see me. Then, between dodging rocks and _ spears, I berated them by name for cowards. Individually and collectively I criticized their ancestry, exhausting my stock of expletives in English, Spanish, and Visayan. Nevertheless, fear overcame shame, and the men below stuck fast. Meanwhile rifles cracked merrily from the babavian trench, and one bullet went through my shirt. At that distance—a hundr feet—every bullet should have found a billet in my body. But the rocks and spears were worse, and, between exhortation and threats to my reluctant men, I dodged and twisted to escape thé shower, but despite much show of agility I was soon bruised and cut in many places. The ‘five soldiers lying be neath me in the trench wanted to come out with me, but I bade them lie low and keep down the babaylanes’ fire by potting at the heads as soon as they appeared. At last I began joking with the white livered gentlemen behind the big rock— told them that I was like Papa Isio, and that rifle-balls would not touch me. I enlarged on the virtues of an anting-anting (charm) that I possessed, and asked them what they were afraid of, and if they wanted to go back to Isabela to have their women sneer at them. At last Sergeant Basubas_ timorously emerged, with several men. Once in the open they became brave enough, and I saw that the moment had come for a charge. So for the thousandth time I yelled, ‘‘ Sube /

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A FIGHT ON A MOUNTAIN TOP. 45 Sube! Avance! Vivalos Estados Unidos 1" and the men, joining in one wild fight- ing chorus, followed me madly up the hill. Then the shower of rocks from above ceased—the lull after a fierce storm. Never- theless, the slope was so sheer and slippery that it was several minutes before we gained the uppermost trench, and in places we had to haul ourselves up by ropes and ladders of rattan that hung down for the purpose, and which the outlaws in their hasty flight omitted to cut. Had Papa Isio’s men kept their nerve we could never have reached the summit. Fernandez was first on top; and as I crawled over the edge I saw him brandishing a long spear. The trench contained only two decd men, both shot through the head; but there was another dead outlaw in the brush near the trench, and yet another near by, while trails of blood leading from the trench showed where those killed and wounded earlier in the fight had been carried off by their women. “The men, joining in one wild fighting chorus, followed me madly up the hill.”

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46 THE WIDE WORLD Beyond the trench there opened up a pretty little concave plateau, dotted with houses and gardens. On the farther side, some four hundred yards away, we could sce many babaylanes scurrying off into the forest, carrying several wounded men. We gave them a volley and another outlaw dropped, while the rest, leaving their wounded, fled the faster. But we were now too exhausted to pursue; moreover, our ammu- nition was running low, and I was suffering from the effects of severe bruises. However, I sent Sergeant Basubas with a few soldiers to make a round of the plateau, gather up the wounded, and clear out any lurking babavlanes, although I felt pretty sure that they had received a scare that would keep them going. We followed the trails of blood to the huts in the centre of the plateau, where I called the roll in front of Papa Isio’s resi- dence. Miraculous to relate, not one of my men was seriously injured. Seven had nasty cuts and contusions about the head and shoulders, but after a little rest would be fit for the trail. With first-aid packages I bandaged the soldiers’ cuts and my own ; then I turned my attention to the wounded babaylanes whom Basubas had brought in. There were several of these; and the job of bandaging up your enemy's wounds, when every nerve and fibre of your own system calls for rest, was a not unusual ending to a Constabulary officer’s ‘ perfect day.” The cargadores now came up and we all quartered ourselves in the Pope’s mansion, which was supplied with running water, piped in bamboo tubes from a spring farther up the plateau. There were food and loot for all, as the houses were full of the outlaws’ plunder from half the hacrendas of Negros —mirrors, women’s dresses, china dishes, pots and pans, and all sorts of household goods and farming implements. In the sweet- potato patches pigs were rooting: and a couple of fat porkers soon rooted no more, but) were roasting whole over the coals of our camp-fire. It was sunset. Chickens were flying to roost on the ridge poles of the huts, whence my men ingeniously removed them by means of a long pole with a crosspiece at one end. The gardens vielded | fresh ears of corn, with camotes, ubis, melons, and other fruits and vegetables, What a meal that was! After it, the men gathered round the fire puffing cigars made from the Pope’s choicest leaf tobacco— which we found hanging under the eaves of his house—and sipping pangassi (rice wine) from his great earthenware jars. Victory ! MAGAZINE. When daylight came again—the night having passed without incident—we buried the dead babaylanes and spent the day loafing on the plateau, healing up our wounds and preparing for our return to Isabela. 1 was prodigiously pleased with the results of the expedition, for although Papa Isio had escaped we had dealt him a blow from which he would be long in recovering; and we had established the prestige of the Constabulary in Negros for all time. The captured outlaws said that the Pope himself had been wounded, and that that was why their resistance had broken. Two of their leaders had fallen, Aguacil-cito and Felipe Dacu, while it was safe to estimate their total killed at a dozen. Some years later, when I The Caged was Superintendent of the Eagle. Iwahig Penal Colony, I went to see Papa Isio, then a ptisoner in Bilibid Prison, Manila. The old scoundrel had remained in the mountains until my successor in Negros, Captain Bowgrs, by clever work, obtained his surrender. I had a long talk with the Pope, but got little out of him, for he posed as very stupid. The plight of the old brigand chief, cooped in his narrow cell after so many years of freedom in the mountains, excited my sympathy. I gave him some little luxuries, and, soon afterwards, in conversation with the then Governor-General of the Philip- pines, James F. Smith, took occasion to say a good word for the Pope, who was under sentence of death. General Smith had once commanded in Negros and knew the history of Papa Isio and his babaylanes, and he commuted the death sentence to life imprisonment ; but the prisoned eagle pined in confinement and soon died. On the morning of May 28th we left Mansalanao, first burning all the houses— except one for the wounded babaylanes— and all the plunder we could not carry away. The manner in which those soldiers and cargadores loaded themselves with loot was astounding. Despite wounds and_ stiffness it was a jovful column that wound down the moun- tain. When we marched into Isabela the populace turned out to greet us, incredulous at first that we had captured the babaylanes’ stronghold, but our loot was the best of evidence, and the townsfolk were able to pick out belongings lost many months or years before. That night there was a big baile to celebrate the victory, and Isabela rang with music, merriment, and dance. And from the day we took Mansalanao there were no more haciendas burned by the outlaws in the valley of the Binalbagan

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So popular were the Author's prev:ous articles, “In: Quest of Cannibals,” that we commissioned him to write an account of his adventures on another most hazardous expedition —the hunting down of the mysterious nomads of the Mount Victoria region of Papua, who, descending I. EEPING through the clouds from _ her majestic height of thirteen thousand feet above sea- level, Mount Victoria overlooks the hunt- ing grounds and habitations of the nomadic, copper-coloured Biagi tribes, five thousand feet below; the Government outpost of Kokoda, with its small staff of officials and armed native constabulary, still farther down; the Yodda Goldfield, with its sprinkling of white miners and their native labourers; and the Koko tribes who, with the miners, inhabit an auriferous pocket in the mountains which has lured many sturdy pioneers to a lonely death since its gold- bearing potentialities became the subject of rumour more than twenty years ago. At that time the whole country was peopled with savage tribes who contested every inch of ground with the advancing gold-scekers and fought hand-to-hand with the Govern- ment parties protecting them. The history of the struggle fills many thrilling pages, for it was not won by civilization until both sides had lost heavily. One Government outpost was wiped out and its white officer and native defenders eaten by the owners of the soil, while on another route the trail was marked at intervals with the dead bodies of those who had fallen on the way, worn to death with the hardships of the rapids and LIEUT-E-W-P CHINNERY ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L:\WooD CHASING MOUNTAIN OUTLAWS IN NEW GUINEA from their hill-top villages, killed the native labourers of the Yodda goldfield and then disappeared into the unexplored fastnesses of the mountains. In_ this article Mr. Chinnery de- scribes the series of mur- ders that led to his patrol, . and the beginning of the march “into the unknown.” precipitous gorges which stood between them and the goldfield. But the spirit of the Britisher con- quered both the forbidding forces of Nature and the stubborn resistance of the wild men, for the year 1899 found nearly a hundred white miners, with native labourers they had brought from civilized districts, sluicing in the Yodda Valley, where, in a couple of years, the gold output was estimated at forty-eight thousand pounds. After having won through the savage races of the lowlands and the innumerable hardships of the route, the miners had earned the right to carry out their operations in peace, but this, alas! was not to be, for scarcely had they settled to their work when new enemies began to trouble them—the Biagi, the nomads of Mount Victoria. Now, the mountain men are very skilled in bush- craft. Unknown to the whites, the opera- tions on the goldfield had been watched from the jungle by many curious and unfriendly eyes. To people who used stone implements there was a wealth of attraction in a steel hatchet ; and before they had been long on the field the miners found their stock of hatchets rapidly decreasing. Another fact which interested the Biagi greatly was the absence of weapons as they knew them— t.e., spears. How was it, they wondered, that these men with white skins, who

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48 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, controlled people of their own colour and used them as servants, could fight their way through the tribes of the lowlands, who—as they knew from their own experience—were strong and brave? Did those qucer-shaped things which they carried either in their waist- belts or in their hands contain the secret of their success? They decided to watch and see. The miners, lulled to a sense of com- parative security, and knowing nothing of the curiosity they were arousing, plied their trade, the while shooting game and _ birds to supplement their own diet and that of their native labourers. Then rifles began to disappear in the same mysterious manner as the hatchets. A watch was kept, and strange swift-footed natives were observed to enter the shanties while the occupants were at work on the claims, and to move away with whatever had attracted them. Just at this time, also, the Biagi had learnt what they wanted to know concerning the movements and methods of the gold-seekers, and events moved very quickly. Among the Biagi a boy may not become an adult member of the clan until he has killed a man of another tribe, and until he has been permitted to enter adult member- ship of his tribe he may not marry one of the girls. So, almost as soon as the miners learned to account for the thefts of hatchets and rifles from their camps, some of their boys, on duty at the heads of water-races and other isolated parts of the gold-diggings, were suddenly pounced upon and killed by the strange men of the mountains. In con- sequence there were many weddings in Biagi-land, but there was no rejoicing on the field, for the task of punishing the murderers meant many days of weary climbing in the mountains and so much time lost from work. The man who follows the gold trail doesn't like to have his attention taken away from it, but as other labourers were lost the diggers assembled to discuss a means of coping with this new menace. As a result, about forty of the white men, with a large number of native labourers, set out one day to climb the mountains and punish — the marauders. Day after day they cut their way through the forest, climbing the water- falls and precipitous mountain-sides, until at last they entered one of the villages of the Biagi. Here they found some of their stolen property, which had been left behind by the mountain men in their flight to the bush. The natives themselves remained elusive, and only one slight engagement took place, during which the Biagi used the rifles taken from the camp and wounded two of the miners, It is said, however, that the miners obtained some satisfaction before they returned to the ficld, and certainly they were not molested again for a time. One of the diggers, who had lost his eye, had it replaced by a glass one, which, though not so con- venient as the natural one, compensated him in other ways. It is said that its good qualities were particularly useful in con- nection with his labourers, for if he wished to leave them during working hours he would take out the glass eve and deliberately place it on a stick or stone facing in the direction of the workings. He could then leave the job for any length of time, knowing that the superstitious natives would work just as hard with the uncanny orb fixed on them as if he were personally superintending their labour. ‘ From this time onwards the development of the Yodda goldtield proceeded without any great hindrance from the natives of the vicinity. Though isolated cases of murder were fairly numerous, the establishment of a Government station at Kokoda, nine miles from the field, prevented any serious outbreaks, and meantime the advance of civilization gradually led to the pacification of the tribes between the field and the coast, so that communications were moderately safe. A Government station was eventually established on the coast as well, and near by stores were erected by traders to provide for the men on the field. So progress con- tinued until 1909, when the LBiagi, who had given comparatively little trouble since the first outbreak, became restless again, and two more native labourers were mur- dered on the Yodda and their bodies hidden. The Resident Magistrate of the district visited the scene of the outrage with his armed native constabulary to solve the mystery of the missing boys, and while they were searching in the forest two of the native constables heard a ghastly shriek from the creek just below them. Rushing to the spot they caught one of the Biagi in the very act of dragging into the bush the body of a labourer he had just killed with a tomahawk. The Biagi warrior fought desperately with the constables, but was overpowered and securely handcuffed. His village was identified and the party, has- tening there, eftected the capture ‘of the other men concerned in the outrage of that day, though the mystery of the two men missed the day before remained unsolved. In toro other murders followed in quick succession, I had just come to the division from the German Boundary to recover from a particularly virulent form of malaria prevalent in that region, and was resting with the Resident M. rate at the coastal station of Buna Bay, Kokoda, being at this time in charge of an Assistant Resident Magistrate. The recurrence of murders on the Yodda gave rise to considerable alarm among the miners on the goldfield, so every

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effort was made to discover the perpetrators, but, as in the two cases of 1909, the crimes remained a mystery. The Assistant Resi- dent Magistrate, who had resigned owing to ill-health, was awaiting relief, so, after completing an important patrol in the coastal ranges, I was instructed by the R.M. to proceed to Kokoda and join the Assistant in hunting the Yodda murderers, Upon my arrival at Kokoda that officer proceeded to the Yodda to further investi- gate the recent murders, while I unpacked and repaired my patrol gear and equipment teady for mountain work. In this part of New Guinea special attention has to be paid Vol. xlvi.— 4. INTO THE UNKNOWN. 49 to all accessories to patrol work. Food and transport must be packed in single loads, about forty pounds in weight, while to protect the stores against the rain, which invariably falls every day, everything is carried in canvas bags carefully painted with oils to make them waterproof. These bags, or “ swags” as thev are called, are fastened on the back by means of canvas slings which cross the chest. The medicine chest had to be restocked with cough mix- ture and snake-bite remedies; carriers in this part are liable to colds on account of the rarity of atmosphere and the intense cold of the higher altitudes, whither the mountain people always re- tire when pursued, Finally, rifles and “The Biagi warrior fought desperately.” ammunition had to be tested and put in order While thus engaged a messenger brought a note from one of the miners stating that two of his boys who had gone to the head ot his water-race eariy that morning, to turn on the water used for sluicing his claim, had not returned. This letter [ dispatched to the A.JR.M., who was actually in another part of the Yodda at the time, and that officer found evidence of foul play, though the bodies were not recovered. When he returned to the station the A.R.M. became very ill, and it was decided

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50 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, that he should rest and prepare for his journey to Port Moresby, a hundred miles on foot over the mountains. Accordingly I took charge of the Yodda Goldficld mur- ders, and immediately began arrangements for a patrol. Choosing a number of con- stables skilled in bushcraft, I left the station early the following morning with rations for three days. We arrived after a couple of hours’ walk at a large tributary of the Yodda, known as the Owi. This river tumbles down from the Biagi mountains, and when in“ fresh ’’ after a heavy rain presents an awesome spectacle of foaming rapids and whirlpools. At this place I decided to halt a while, so that the boys might enjoy a few minutes “*smoke-oh.’””’ One of the constables, a boy named Keloia, whom I had already marked for promotion on account of the quiet strength of his personality, wandered away up-river in the direction of its water- shed, and returning a few minutes later asked me to come with him. I followed his lead, and on the opposite bank he pointed to the remains of a fire in which were some pieces of taro—the native food of the locality—not quite cooked, though the embers of the fire were cold. Alongside lay a knife, similar to the long-bladed scrub- knives used on the Yodda, and in a tree near by, with its point embedded about threeinches in the sappy wood, was a spear. A few pieces of half-eaten food lay about the fire. Evidently someone had been eating there, and while waiting for the food to cook had been disturbed by something of which they were afraid. Only in this way could we account for the evident haste with which the food-cookers had left, for natives do not leave such things behind without very good reason, and as none of the people who habitually use that area had cause to fear one another, the disturbed party must have been people who had no good reason for being in the locality. Calling the party together, I directed a search of the vicinity, and we found tracks (made by natives departing in great haste) leading in the direction of the Owi headwaters, where the Biagi villages are situated. Presently the tracks diverged and ran in all directions, as if the fugitives had scattered to avoid pursuit. Returning to the fire, we picked up the tracks by which they had come to the cooking place and followed an easy trail coming from the direction of the Yodda. But here again the tracks began to diverge, as if those who made them had arrived at a certain rendezvous by separate trails. Certain that we were on the tracks of the men who murdered the Yodda boys, we left them for the time and made all haste to the Yodda, where we examined the scene whence the boys had disappeared. Just above the head of the water-race Keloia found some leaves on the ground and other indications that men had lain there. A small clump of shrubs grew in front of the bed of leaves, and some twigs which would have obscured the view below had been snapped off. The slope showed that the natives had crept very carefully down to where the boys worked, and the sides of the race gave indications that a short struggle had taken place. No signs of the bodies were discovered, nor could any tracks leaving the place be found ; whoever had done the work had carefully covered their trail. 2 Nothing was to be gained by a prolonged stay, so we returned to the station fairly certain that the Biagi people were respon- sible for the disappearance of the two boys. I had been carefully studying Keloia, and on learning that he was a Hagari boy, related by language and custom to the Biagi tribes, I decided to test him, for if he proved reliable .1 felt certain that the solution of the difficulty could be safely left to him. His record on the constabulary roll showed that he was a quiet, well-behaved man, though not of much account because of his ignorance of broken English. As the native language used by the constab- ulary was known to me, his ignorance of English was not of much concern, What interested me chiefly was his quiet dignity and strength, rare in a native, and apt to be passed over as stupidity by a careless observer. His personality, his interest in his work, and his extraordinary skill in the art of tracking and reading bush-signs won my confidence. That night I called him into the home-made building of adzed logs and grass thatch which served as the office, and said to him, in the vernacular: “ Keloia, you look likea man. Iam pleased with the way you are doing your work. I want a man to undertake special investi- gation work which will relieve him for a time of his police duties and make him a sort of general adviser. That is the sort of man I want for hunting these murderers. Are you the man?” He replied with just one word—" Master.” That was all. ‘ All right,’’ I said. ** Now go and think it over, and when you have decided how we are to go about the matter, come and let me know.” Thus began one of the best friendships that ever existed between brown and white, with what result the following pages will show. Keloia came to me later in the evening and said: ‘* Master, in the village of Saluba, which is inhabited by one of the tribes known as Biagi, there lives a great chief. -That man is Gavana. To him I would speak.”

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 5r esa) % hihi Y \ Uj tly told him “The girl not to pursue his suit.” “What is in your mind ?"’ [ asked. when I see the way clear,” he said.“ Very “Lest [ am thinking things that are not well,” I told him; ‘ you are my assi as things are, I should like to speak later, and I trust you. Go and find the way.”

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52 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. While he was absent I completed arrange- ments for extensive patrol work. There were many things to be done. The local tribes had to be told to hold themselves in readiness. I had chosen the Kokos for porters, They are hereditary enemies of the Biagi, and the idea of a patrol through the Biagi country, notwithstanding the hardships that would be incurred, filled them with eagerness. Volunteers presented themselves every hour of the day, and I was able to make a selection of the most powerful and active men. All the chiefs, too, were eager to take part. Some of them, though considerably over fifty years of age, nothing daunted by the hardships and cold of the mountain altitudes, expressed their excite- ment at the prospect of a march through the country of the enemy they hated as only a New Guinea man can hate, In the past they had suffered much at the hands of the predatory mountaineers, who pounced on them, when they least expected it, with the suddenness of the wild bush animals that shared their mountains, disappearing again just as suddenly into their fastnesses beyond reach of pursuit and revenge. Keloia returned after two days with a number of Saluba people, including a striking-looking man of stately mien and light brown skin, whom I had no difficulty in identifying as the famous chief Gavana. Several Kokos were at the station when they arrived, having brought native food for us to purchase, and as Gavana walked through them his name was whispered from one to the other with awe and respect, for he had been the leader of many Biagi raids on their tribe and had earned a big name as a lone fighter through his habit of stalking the Kokos and_ killing them, one at a time, in revenge for a raid of theirs on his village which resulted in the death of his sister while he was in another district. Keloia also had another fine-looking man with the party, but he was in handcuffs; him he called Uumi. The curious onlookers were dispersed, much to their disgust, for the Papuan dearly loves to listen to some other person’s business, particularly when the tale unfolds incidents of love and blood- shed, as this one did. The Biagi squatted quietly on their haunches and gazed with Tapt attention at the speaker, fearful lest they should miss one word, their breath coming spasmodically as their excitement increased, and their eves widely opened, 1 will let Keloia tell the tale in his own way. “Master,” he began, ‘there lives in Owi village, which is one of the Biagi settle- ments high up on the rocky crags of ‘ Queen Victoria’ ‘(native way of saying Mount Victoria), a girl named X——, Her skin is like the skin of a white man, her head is erect, and as she walks men are reminded of the leaves of the taro plant as they sway gracefully in a light wind. Her manner is quiet and gentle, and when she speaks her words are kind, for she thinks not of herself but of others. When she smiles men forget their sorrows, and when she sings the moun- tain songs of her people, men and women cease their work to listen. She is too good and wonderful to be of the world, for her character and the influence she has on others remind us of those good women who live in the place where the ghosts go to. But she is just a woman, of course—a beautiful woman who at birth was given by the ‘Ghost people’ qualities that are not given to others. So, Master, that’s ‘what for’ ” (the reason). “I do not follow your meaning—what’'s ‘ what for’ ?”’ I asked. “It is on account of that woman that the Yodda murders have occurred,” he replied. “Oh!” I said, beginning to see light. “ Well, take up your story and carry it on.” “All the boys in Owi village have been mad over that girl for many years, but none so hopelessly in love as Kikivi, and here is the reason for the trouble. ‘““Now, Kikivi is just such a man as x is a woman, but when he was born the ‘ghost people’ did not tell him how to use his charm, and where she exerts a good influence he exerts a bad one. But he is a man, and the people cease speak- ing when he speaks. He it is that goes alone into the bush and with his spear and axe kills the wild boar in single combat. Scars inflicted by the wild bush animals which he fought and killed stand out from his skin like the stars at night. “Like X , he has the skin of a white man, and the height and strength of a strong white man. People call him * Like the Wind,’ to express his movements. “But he is selfish and cruel, and has the mind and soul of an evil thing ‘ not man.’ “This man loves X , and has sworn to possess her. For many years he desired her. Since she has been a big girl he has laid at her feet all the spoils of the hunt; all the trophies he has taken from the bodies of men he has killed in war. Thinking to please her, he has won the ‘ homicidal decoration ’ for bravery many times over, and in the fever of his passion to possess her he has killed many men of other tribes who at ordinary times would not have been attacked. But all in vain; he is no more to her than any of the other boys, all vainly longing. She goes her way and pleases everyone but Kikivi. «This unreturned love of Kikivi’s has been the cause of the Yodda murders. About

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three years ago (1909) Kikivi killed one day a very fine wild boar in single combat. This he cut up and took to the father of X: . asking his help. The father took the pig, but said the girl would not be influenced and that he would let her have her own way. This made Kikivi feel bad, particularly as he had given away the best portion of his pig to ensure the father’s good will. He felt ‘kava-kava’ (foolish); and you know, Master, that when a New Guinea man is made ‘ kava-kava ’ his blood rises and he feels ‘ no good ’ until he has spilled the blood of some other person. He approached X once more, but the girl gently told him not to pursue his suit as she could never love him. “ Kikivi was puzzled. He looked inside himself to find what he lacked. Surely he was the finest man in the village, and therefore a prize to be desired. Perhaps if he went to war again and killed a man, the girl would be proud of his suit. His feelings, too, would be soothed by killing a man. Yes; that was the way out—he would go to the Yodda and ease his feelings by killing one of the boys of the white men who worked in the valley. “And so it came about that the first boys were killed on the Yodda. Kikivi was assisted in this act by some of the younger men of the village who were only too anxious to win their spurs under such a leader. After killing the miners’ boys they hurled their bodies into the rapids, so that all traces might be washed away. When they returned to the village they spoke proudly of their deed and were greatly praised by all except X-———. She alone had no word to say, and the heart of Kikivi was heavy and bitter within him. So bitter, indeed, that he went to the village of Saluba near by and spoke of his longings. And the people of Saluba were sympathetic, but they were also a little jealous of his deeds. Not for long did they hesitate; Bakosi saw to that. He was their ‘strong man.’ One who had killed many. He had, in fact. just completed a term of imprisonment in the Port Moresby jail for killing some years before one of His Majesty’s mail carriers and gouging out the eyes of his victim. Kikivi’s words fired Bakosi, and he was seized of a desire to slay. So no sooner had Kikivi left Saluba than Bakosi and some others slipped silently through the bush to the Yodda. But iil fortune dogged their tracks, for no sooner had they slain one of the Yodda boys than the police surrounded them and captured Bakosi. (This was the occasion on which the Resident Magistrate was at the Yodda investigating the case of the boys who had been killed by Kikivi a few days before.) INTO THE UNKNOWN. 53 “ But though the police came to Saluba and arrested many of Bakosi’s friends, Kikivi and his companions remained undisturbed. En- couraged by this and enraged by the refusal of X to accept his love, Kikivi repeated his crimes. On the last occasion Lumi, Obibi, Namai, and Boboil accompanied him. Kikivi made each one of them share in killing the boys, cutting up their bodies, and throwing them in the creek, so that each would be equally guilty and not likely to betray the others in the event of dis- covery. But as the bodies were not washed away the pieces were recovered and laid under shelves of rock in the river bed. While Kikivi and his friends were returning from the scene of the crime they were seen at the Owi River while theywere cooking some food—they had been in the jungle all night without it—by the Assistant Resident Magistrate’s party on its way to the Yodda, and fearful of discovery they abandoned what they had and returned with all haste to the village. The people were very angry with them this time for having left traces of their return route, and during the altercation Kikivi and the other boys left the tribe and journeyed many days across the mountains to their friends the Bede, on Mount Scratchley. The people of the village left for the mountain- tops, and now they are hiding in the caves and stone places near the top of Mount Victoria. “lumi is the only one who did not go, and EF managed to capture him while he was working in his garden.”” Such was Keloia’s story of the misdeeds of Kikivi and his young friends or pupils. It was corroborated by the man Ilumi, I learned also that the hiding-place of the fugitives was in the mountains about four days’ march from Kokoda. The village of the Bede tribe in which they were hiding was one that had never been visited by Government officials, nor were the Bede people themselves under control, During the evening of his return I had a long consultation with Keloia and the chief Gavana, and plans for the expedition to Mount Scratchley were discussed. Gavana was one of the most striking men I have ever met. In the discussion of plans for the capture of Kikivi he took a leading part, and eventually he and Keloia gave me a clear idea of what was needed for the achievement of our object. At daylight one morning I set out with eight picked native police and about seventy Koko carriers. A number of Gavana’s friends from Biagi-land joined us as we went, and that night we camped in the Yodda valley. Our expedition into the unknown was now well under way. (To be continued.)

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os intg of ome Dlack’Dine Mo untain REAT BLACK PINE MOUN- TAIN — don’t blame me_ for the mouthful of words, I didn’t name it—is in the south-eastern part of Idahe. It is situate in one of the roughest by B:C:d LASUM RUPERT. '/DAHO ILLUSTRATED BY LIONEL EDWARDS arc.a I do not know. The story goes that the horses, drifting south before the blizzard, eventually came to the Great Black Pine Mountain country, saw that the land was a pleasant one, and took and most rugged sec- tions of a peculiarly tugged and mountainous State. Bear, cougar, The stirring story of the life and death of a wonderful wild horse. is absolutely true,” up their abode there. There they lived in peace and increased and multiplied. “The tale writes the Author. deer, and other big game have a happy home in the Great Black Pine Mountain country. There, too, for several years, has ranged a band of wild horses. One winter night, about thirty years ago, a party of freighters with two four-horse teams were camping on the Oregon Trail, the historic American road which winds its way through Southern Idaho. That night there was a fierce blizzard. When the freighters groped their way out from their wagon covers in the chill dawn they found that their horses had disappeared. All they could see was a dreary desert of sage bushes and swirling snow. You will please under- stand that the Oregon Trail ran through a country of magnificent distances, where neighbours lived fifty or a hundred miles from each other. The old-time freighter was an artist in the use of * cuss-words,”’ and I can quite imagine that those horseless gentry did the occasion full justice in an outpouring of fervent and picturesque profanity. But they never saw thcir horses again. How the freighters got out of their difficulty - From time to time, hunters, prospectors, and cowboys hunting stray stock brought back tales of seeing a band ot wild horses on Great Black Pine Mountain. In 1917 came stories of a wonderful “‘ pinto ” stallion who lorded it over a band of some thirty wild mares, The men who had seen the pinto described him as being a marvel of speed and looks. He was a light buckskin colour with handsome, irregular jet-black: markings —hence the name " pinto.’’ He had a long, flowing mane and tail, arched crest, small head, and slender legs—a gem of a horse, in short. Many attempts were made to run down and capture the pinto, but he frustrated all of them with ridiculous ease. Usually his marvellous speed enabled him to escape: sometimes he fled into rocky and almost inaccessible regions, and left. his pursuers floundering blindly in a maze of canyons and precipices. The fame of the wonderful wild pinto reached into neighbouring States, and finally came to the ears of Jack Wooding, of Wyom- ing, a celebrated rider and horseman, who

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THE ‘‘ PINTO” OF GREAT BLACK PINE MOUNTAIN. 55 “ Wooding threw himself backwards out of his saddle just in time to see his steed follow the pinto to the happy hunting-ground of good horses.”

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56 THE WIDE WORLD had had much experience in the game of hunting wild horses. There are many bands of wild horses in the Western States. Usually the horses are not worth the bother and expense of hunting them, but occasionally, as in the case of the pinto, the band includes a horse that is a horse, Wooding came to the Black Pine Mountain country in the fall of 1918. He brought with him four other expert riders and a string of five horses, noted for their speed and en- durance. Great Black Pine Mountain slopes down to almost level plains dotted with sage bushes. It was Wooding’s plan to run the pinto off the mountain on to these plains and then wear him out by driving him from one rider to another, who would take up the hunt with a fresh horse, One of Wooding’s riders rode a racehorse, famous on the tracks, and all his horses were partly thorough-bred. Both he and his four men were skilled with the rope. For some davs Wooding looked over the ground and, from a respectful distance, studied the habits of the pinto and his band. He observed that the wild horses came from their strongholds at dawn to drink at some springs on the side of the mountain. The pinto led the troop and acted as look- out. The slightest alarm would send them scurrying back to their heights, wilder than mountain sheep and as_ sure-footed as mountain goats. At length came the day when Wooding thought his plans were complete. He had found a place where he could get into the canyon down which the wild horses came to drink. Among the rocks he camped the night before and, in the early dawn, saw the band passing down to the springs. Just above the springs Rider No. 1 was posted, with orders to try to drive the horses down the mountain to the plain. Rider No, 1 tried all right, but the band wheeled and dashed back up the narrow canyon, where they were met by Wooding, who was velling and firing his revolver in the air. Most of the band got past him, but the pinto and five or six of the mares turned again and rushed down the canyon and down the mountain-side at break-neck speed. Out on the plain Wooding and Rider No, 1 ran the band at full speed for some ten miles to where Rider No. 2 was posted with his fresh horse, No. 2 took up the chase for another ten MAGAZINE. miles and turned the hunt over to Rider No. 3, who repeated the performance. By this time the mares had been passed, but the wonderful pinto seemed as fresh as ever. Rider No. 4 was riding the racchorse, and with a burst of speed managed to range alongside of the pinto, who had already travelled more than thirty miles at a rate good enough to win races on most tracks. Rider No, 4 took down his rope and threw it. He was a first-class roper, but the pinto ducked his head, “‘ turned on a silver dollar,” as the man said afterwards, and ran away from No, 4’s racehorse like an acroplane running away from a crippled tank. To cut the story short, those riders chased the pinto for more than fifty miles in a circle back to the starting-point. -There Wooding, whose horse was rested and comparatively fresh, joined the hunt and confidently pursued the pinto among the rocks and pines. It was apparent that the magnificent horse had almost shot his bolt, Still he plunged ahead, head high and nostrils dilated, mane and tail flying, white foam on his sides and back. Straight as an. arrow he ran to where the mountain-side broke off short in a precipice three hundred feet deep. Straight to the edge he maintained his wild rush; then, turning his head with a scream of defiance he leaped boldly out into space and _ fell crashing among the tops of the big black pines below. Wooding, recklessly spurring close behind, could not stop his own horse, and threw himself backwards out of his saddle just in time to see his steed flounder at the brink and follow the pinto to the happy hunting- ground of good horses. In ratg, while hunting blue prouse among the pines of Great Black Pine Mountain, we came upon the skeletons of two horses. Mountain lions had done their work, but we could see that one of the animals had been a pinto. There, where he had ranged in his wild freedom, I was told the story of the pinto of Great Black Pine Mountain. He was certainly “ seme horse.” Ata ranch not far away the people have a two-year old pinto colt—evidently a de- seendant of the hero of this story. The colt was captured on the mountain, and is a splendid-looking youngster. His owners are trying to“ gentle’ lim, but the buckaroo who first tries to ride him has my sincere sympathy.

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Mlustrated by HOWARD ELCOCK THE LIFTED VEIL By LIEUT-E-H-JONES INDIAN ARMY RESERVE OF OFFICERS Two British officers, prisoners of war in Turkey, took up Spiritualism and got the Turkish Commandant and his Interpreter interested in the uncanny business. The idea of escape by means of the “Spook” took shape, and the lurks—egged on b, the hope of finding a mythical “treasure "—fell into the trap. This instalment describes how the two conspirators went into solitary confinement, in pursuance of their daring scheme, and how the plan of campaign developed. WE GO TO PRISON. T 3 p.m. our twenty-four hours of grace expired. Once more we went to the Commandant’s office—-Hill and 1 and the four witnesses. The last act of the little comedy was played. The Com- mandant began with a graphic picture of the horrors of a Turkish prison and the monotony of a bread-and-water diet. Then he told us how much he loved us prisoners, and would we spare him the pain of putting us in jail by giving up the name he wanted ? Hill and I were models of firmnessinourrefus1l. Kiazim Bey, with a gesture of hopelessness, in- dicated he could do no more for us. Then came the sentence. The common jail for the present woul | remain in abeyance, but until we saw fit to confess we would be confined in a back room of the “ Colonel's House '-—a large empty building opposite the office, We would be allowed no communication whatever with other prisoners, and no orderly, but we might have our clothes and bedding. We would not be permitted to write or to receive any letters. To begin with, our food could be sent im by the nearest prisoner's house. If we remained obdurate, we would later sample a bread-and-water dict. No walks and no privileges of any kind, and the threat of a further court-martial and a severer sentence by Constantinople over our heads ! Then something happened which neither Hill nor I had foreseen, and which completely took our breath away. Major Gilchrist, in his position as adjutant of the camp, made an exceedingly . polite and grateful speech. “No Vv. doubt he thought he was being very diplomatic, for on behalf of the camp he thanked the Com- mandant for the courtesy and fairness with which he had conducted the trial and for the leniency of the sentence ! After this “ vote of thanks,”’ our four witnesses left the office. They were good fellows, those four. They busied themselves getting up our kit to our new quarters, and seeing the room swept out and all made comfortable for us. While they were doing so, Hill and I and the Commandant and the Pimple were having a noble time together, recalling the various mei dents in the trial and congratulating each other on our sucessful) performances. The Com- mandant thought at all the best joke of his life, and he made us repeat Gilehrist’s pean of praise several times, rocking in his chair with laughter. At last there was a trampling in the hall below, The guard was waiting, so the Commandant shook hands with each of us in turn, “ Remember, my friends,” he said, you have but to ask for anything you want, and you will get it.” Then we were marched across to our new prison —the first men in history, so far as we knew, to be sentenced for thought-reading | Our new prison was one of the best-built houses in Yozsad, empty of all furniture, it is true (except the chair and table we had each brought with us), but large and airy, and comparatively clean, From the front windows we had a v: of the Com- mandant’s office and the main street. From the side we looked into ‘ Posh Castle,” where now lived our friends Doc., Price, and Matthews; ‘The Author's book, ‘On the Road to En-Dor,” is publisbed by Mr. John Lane,

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58 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and at the back there was a tiny cobbled yard, with high walls round it, and a large stone horse- trough, which we promptly converted into that real luxury—a full-length bath. To the south- east we had a wide view of the distant pine- woods, and nearer at hand a certain grey rock projected through the snow on the slope of South Hill. Under its shadow lay the first clue to the treasure. When we arrived some of our friends were waiting to see the last of us. Our escort hustled them out. The door slammed. the key grated in the lock, and asentry took up his stand outside. Our separation from the camp complete, and our solitary confinement had begun. It was natural that Hill and T should be clated at the success of our plan. The simultaneous hoodwinking of friend and foe had for us an amusing side. But mingled with our clation and our amusement was a feeling which no loyalty to our friends in the camp could suppress. For we rejoiced, above all, in our loneliness, our freedom from interruption. The thing now was to get the proof of Kiazim Bey's complicity which would make the camp safe. Kiazim was not an easy man to trap: up- to-date there was nothing he could not explain by a theory of collusion between his subor- dinates and ourselves. We had no proof of his share in the plot. With typical Oriental cunning he kept himself well in the background. Weeks ago we had conceived the idea of snap- shotting Kiazim Bey, his satellites, and ourselves digging for the hidden gold. Cameras are a luxury forbidden to prisoners of war, but on our first night in the Colonel's House Hill put into my hand a vest-pocket Kodak, belonging to Wright, which somehow or another had escaped notice at the time of the latter's capture. Films to fit it had arrived in a parcel, and Hill had‘ palmed " them under the nose of the Turkish censor while “helping ’’ him to unpack. It contained three films three ropes for the neck of Kiazim Bey, or for that of the photographer, according as the Goddess of Fortune smiled on Britisher or Turk. It is not easy to take a group photograph at seven paces (the limit, we reckoned, for recogni- tion of the figures), without somebody noticing what is being done. Discovery would be dan- gerous, for we were now very much in the Com- mandant’s power. It was no new idea to the Turkish mind, as we knew from the Pimple, to get rid of a man by shooting him on the plea that he was attempting to escape. There are, moreover, many other Onental ways of doing away with undesirables, and if Kiazim Bey caught us trying to trap him he would regard us as extremely undesirable. till unexposed— IN THE ‘‘COLONEL'S HOUSE.” We started our sojourn in the Colonel's House with a great many irons in the fire. As an essential preliminary to our main plan we had the photograph to take, and in case any of the hundred and one possible accidents happened to the films, we must provide subsidiary evidence of Kiazim’s complicity. The main plan was, of course, to escape from Turkey. Our first aim was to persuade the Turks to convey us east, south-east, or south (the exact direction and distance would depend upon their convenience, but we hoped for about three hundred miles) in search of the ‘‘ treasure.” Once within reason- able distance of safety we could trust to our legs. In case our persuasive powers proved inadequate for this rather tough proposition, we must simultaneously develop our second alternative. We must simulate some illness which would warrant our exchange. We fixed, provisionally, on madnes A third alternative, also requiring simultancous development, was compassionate release. In addition to the preparatien of these three lines of escape, we had to keep up the interest of the Turks in the treasure, and to render absolute their belief in the powers of the Spook. In the event of success in this we decided, until we said good-bye to Yozgad, to assume the Commandant’s functions. We would, in the Spook’s name, take charge of the camp, increase its house-room, add to its liberties and privileges, improve its relations with the Turks, prevent * parcel and money robbery, and rid it ofthe Pimple, whom everybody cordially hated. All this we did. March 8th was a busy day for Hill. As the practical man of the combine he had to manufacture a new spook-board (the old one had to be left behind in the camp) and also a semaphore apparatus, for we had arranged (should occasion arise) to signal to Matthews, who lived across the way in Posh Castle. While Hill worked I submitted for his criticism various plans by which our aims might be attained. Next day the Pimple came in and sat chatting for a couple of hours. He told us that after his etfurts at the trial the Commandant had suffered from a bad “ go’ of nerves, and had lain awake all night wondering what Constantinople would say, and what Colonel Maule would write in his next sealed letter to headquarters. Pah!" said the Pimple, “he is—what you call it ?—trés poltron 1” “ T don't know German,” said I. “That is French,’’ the Pimple explained, gravely. “It means what you call ‘ windy beggar.” " : sort of thing would never do! We hada séance. The Spook began at once to fan Kiazim’s waning courage. It pointed out that the task of the mediums was to get thoroughly in tune with one another, but that it was quite impossible so long as the Commandant created cross- currents of thought waves by worrying. The Commandant, the Pimple, the Cook, and the two mediums—all, in fact, who were concerned to find the treasure—must remain tranquil in mind

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THE LIFTED VEIL. bands with each of us in tur

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60 THE WIDE WORLD or success would be impossible. Let their trust in the Spook be absolute, and all would be easy. Was not the Unseen working for us night and day? Whence came Gilchrist’s pwan of praise for the verdict ? Surely the Commandant recognized that it had been put into his mouth by the Spirit to act as a bar to any further protest about the conviction? Thus had Gil- christ been firmly committed as a supporter of the Commandant’s view. And so with Colonel Maule. The Spook was pained at the Com- mandant’s fear of Maule: for was not Maule’s mind already under control? Did Kiazim imagine that the Spook was idle except at séances ? The séance achieved its end. The Com- mandant was much pleased to find that the Spook was taking so much trouble on his behalf, and had such powers of controlling people. THE ADVENT OF “OOO.” After we had been a week in solitary contine- ment the Spook decided we were sufficiently “in tune’’ to begin the treasure hunt. The Commandant, now that his fears of the conse- quences from the telepathy trial were at rest, had begun to show a little impatience. It was time to throw him a sop. To the Turks the important part of the séances that followed was the treasure story. To us, the treasure story was only the jam that hid the pill. The séances were really an exposi- tion of what gocs on in all cases of conversion to Spiritualism—the development of a theory of spooking which the Turk (quite unconsciously) made his own. We were building up, for Kiazim Bey, the Pimple, and the Cook, an experience of spooking which would give them the proper point of view. Our first treasure séance in the Colonel's House took place on March 14th between 5.30 and 10 p.m. After the usual preliminary grectings, the Spook said it would explain a few things. I quote the séance record :— Spook: "I said I would tell you my difi- culties. First difficulty is that OOQ closes his thoughts to me. He has not yet shaken off the hatred of your sphere and refuses to benefit those he hates.”” Moise: “ Who is OOO, please ? you mean by OOO?" Spook : ‘ That is his name here.” Moise : “ The name of whom ? ” Spook : ‘ OOO.” Moise: “ Who is he there?” Spook: “ The one whose wealth you seek, He is here now.” Moise : “ Go on, please.”” Spook : “ He says, if I understand him rightly (as yet he is not very good at conveying thoughts), that if you are friends he can reveal now.” Moise (aside in excitement, “ Mon Diru 1’) Aloud : ‘‘ What does he mean by friends ? ’*” Spook : “ Not those he hates.” What did MAGAZINE. Moise : not.”" Spook : “ He wants to speak to you himself to see if you are friends.”’ Moise: ‘‘ Mr. Jones ts English. Mr. Hill, too, and I am Ottoman, but not a Turk. Cet him speak to us, sir.”” Spook: ‘Are you ready ? try. Moise: “ All right.” The glass now moved round the board in short, jerky movements, but it did not touch any letters. The jerky movement then stopped and our Spook took control again. Spook: ‘‘ He says the letters are not hts letters, but he is going to give you a test with these letters. Take down carefully. . (The jerky movements of the glass began again, indicating that OOO was in control.) “We do not know if he hates us or He 1s going to O00: “ Intcheselguizakhayerenkidek.”” Spook : ‘‘ Do you understand that ? ” Moise: “I know that it is Armenian, but I cannot understand it because I do not know Armenian.” Spook: ‘ OOO says ‘Thank you, that is exactly what he wanted to know. If you do not know Armenian you are no friend of his '— (Moise, aside, “ Won Die !")—and he bids you farewell, and may one called ASDUNDAD curse all Turks. He is angry and has gone. (Note.— The glass appears very angry.) * Moise : ‘* Who will curse us?” Spook (angrily): ‘ ASDU-J-DAD !" had noted down Asdundad in error.) Moise (nervously): “ Thank you, sir; thank (Moise you, sir, I have corrected spelling. What to do now?” Spook : ‘‘ I can find out where the money is in another way. You are very stupid not to have understood simple Armenian, though it is not in Armenian characters. If you had understood he might have told you where the treasure is. But never mind, I forgive you. You have missed a good chance. I am sorry for you. However, in five days I shall be ready with a new plan, and I will begin to fulfil my promise and tell you how the treasure was hidden. The presence of OOO here to-night was a lucky chance tbat may not occur again. Good night, I’m tired.” Next day Moise complained to us that the Commandant had cursed him for a fool because he did not know Armenian. “Oh, never mind him, Moise,” said Hill, “he’s an uneducated, incredulous ass.”" “He is!" said Moise, with great fervour. We met again for treasure-hunting from 8.15 to 11.30 p.m. on March rath. There were the usual preliminaries. Then the Spook said—I again quote the record :— Spook: ‘ Now, about OOO. out a lot about him.” Moise: “ Had you much work before you found out? And will you tell us how you did it?” Spook: “It is very hard, and it is difficult I have found

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THE LIFTED VEIL. 61 “Stop, Jones! Stop, Hill! Stop!”

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62 THE WIDE WORED MAGAZINE. — to tell you about him, because he and his friends are struggling to control the mediums.” (The glass here began to move jerkily, indicating 000.) “Look out. Stop!" (We stopped, in obedience to Moise, who was greatly excited.) Spook: ‘ When the glass begins jerking like that it means I have lost control, and the mediums must stop at once, as OOO 1s in control. Do you understand ? ’” Moise : “ All right, sir.” Spook: “ Keep cool, Moise! You are too excited, and will influence the mediums.” Moise: ‘‘ Right, sir. { will keep cool. you goon?” Spook: ‘OOO was a shrewd man. He was closely connected with a certain organization about which the Sup. has heard. As soon as Russia declared war he foresaw that Turkey would come into it, and at once began quietly ”’ (The glass began jerking again.) Moise: “Stop, Jones! Stop, Hill! Stop! Stop! Stop!’ (As Hull and I were in a“ half- trance,’’ Moise had to shout loudly to stop us. After a pause the Spook continued.) ‘‘ Realize his wealth and convert it into gold. Curse you ! Go away!" (Glass jerked again.) Moise: ‘Stop, Jones! Stop, Hull! Stop! (We stopped.) Moise (aside) : ‘' Why is he cursing us ? ” Spook : “ I was talking to OOO.” Moise: “ I understand.” Will to— Stop! "000" TELLS HIS STORY. Spook : “ Well, before Turkey declared war, OOO began to bury his gold.”’ (Jerks again, and a pause.) “ He hid it in a place known only to himself, nor did he ever tell anybody to his dying day. He was afraid to tell his relations in case they might reveal it under torture. Well, when Turkey entered the war, OOO contributed a large sum of gold to the Armenian association, and realized his debts as far as possible. When the Armenians jomed the Russians, he knew a massacre was likely. His difficulty then was this: if he told nobody where the money was hidden, then he might be killed and his family would derive no benefit from his wealth. On the other hand, if he told his family they might reveal the secret under pressure. Do you know what he did? This is where I shall meet two strong oppositions. I want to see if the mediums are in good tune. Tell them to rest a moment, and we will sec if they are in good tune." Moise (to Jones and Hill): ‘‘ Rest a moment. Rest a moment.” (We took our fingers off the glass.) Jones and Hill (absolutely simultaneously, and apropos of nothing): ‘I say, Moise, we want a walk to-morrow ! ”” Moise: ‘‘ How do you think they are? Do you think they are in tune? Are you satisfied ? ’” Spook: “ That was quite gand. Don't you think so, Moise ? ” Moise: “ Yes, I think so." Spook: ‘It was very nearly trance-talk— well, ** (angrily to OOO)—" Now, see here, I am stronger than you! You may as well give up. I am going to tell in spite of you! Moise, if Lam interrupted ie Moise: ‘Stop! Stop!" (Moise was very excited and thought the Spook had said “ I am interrupted.” (After a pause we continued) :— Spook : “I repeat. 7f [am interrupted, as the mediums are in tune, let us fight it out with O00.” Moise: “ Yes, I understand.” Spook: “ Take down carefully. The opposi- tion may sometimes manage to get the’ wrong letters, but take everything down.” Mois “To owill trv. T to write slowly because I might make, mistakes. [ will do my best. I am ready.” (At this point the glass began moving very slowly, in evident effort, getting near a letter and then being forced away. Moise said afterwards that he could see the whole fight going on, and that it was wonderful to watch. Both mediums were attected, breathed heavily and got very tired. The Spook explained. amid much interruption from the hostile imfluences, that OOO had’ written out three clues, which were buried separately, one naming the place from which to measure, the second the distance. and the third the direction. The location of each of these clues was known to one person only; if OOO died the first man was instructed to seek out the second and together they were to go to the third, and follow his directions. The Spook was about to divulge the names of the parties concerned when an unfortunate interruption by the excited Moise caused the Spook. as he said, to ‘‘ lose control’ to the hostile influences. He therefore dubbed the three men AAA, YYY, and KKK, adding that YYY and KIXK were dead. “ To-morrow at noon,”’ concluded the Spook, ““L shall give some advice to the Sup. Next treasure séance after five days. Good might.” Moise: ‘' Good night, sir."" From our window we could see South Hill gleaming white in the moonlight. Beside a rock in the snow the first clue lay bumed. With luck, we'd dig it up quite soon, and photograph the Commandant in the process. Hill took extra pains that evening in Ins nightly practice at *‘ palming ”’ the camera. And next morning the poor little Pimple came to us more nearly in tears than ever. His face was very red. The Commandant, he told us, had just smacked it because he had spoilt the séance. “And indeed,” wailed the Pimple, * perhaps I should have known better.” But all the same he shook his fist in the direction of Kiazim Bey’s ottice. ; (To be continued.)

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WHERE No Writ Runs Life in the Highlands of Kurdistan. Not many people have ever heard of Kurdistan, or know where it is. The favourite pastime of its wild mountaineers, always fond of a fight, is araid upon their neighbours, and the Christian and Mohammedan tribes enjoy some very pretty skirmishes from time to time. The Author spent ten years in this turbulent country, and tells some most amusing storiesconcerning these happy- go-lucky sportsmen and their odd little ways. THE REVD. WAWIGRAM MLLUSTRATED BY 7: SOMERFIELD URDISTAN may be best described as a semicircle of gigantic and very rugged mountains, “ worse to campaign in than anything on the Indian frontier,’’ to quote men who know both, that stretches in a huge arc round the fertile plain of Mesopotamia, that latest- acquired of British “ protectorates.’”” Since the days when Xenophon and his Greeks forced their way across it on their long march home from Babylon, it has always been an Alsatia, where no law existed, and where each man’s hand must keep his head. Even in the days when all the world seemed orderly, there was a happy refuge for the lawless to be found here; and now, when civilization has been pretty well shaken to pieces, it seems likely to continue in its pristine state for a few generations more, for nobody likes to tackle the job of reducing its wid inhabitants to order. Yet it would well repay the labour! It is true that, up to the present, it has done little in the history of the world beyond producing from its never-failing snow-fields —the mountains of Ararat of the Bible— the rivers that made Mesopotamia the world’s garden in olden days, and may make it so again in our time. But it can do more than that in the future. An arm of the great Mesopotamian oilfield extends under Kurdistan also, and these oil-fields are rich enough, in the opinion of the German scientific surveyors, to pay for the whole cost of the war, even if they do not pay it to the Power which the said surveyors hoped would recieve it! Good coal under- lies the whole land, running in long seams along its southern limit, and “ coming to grass’ again where the Kurdistan moun- tains merge in the Armenian plateau to the north of them. There is at least one mountain where native lead may be dug out in chunks and melted into bullets—a fact which was regarded by the tribesmen who owned it as a special proof of the favour of Heaven to such pious individuals as them- selves. I lived in Kurdistan for some ten years before the war, among the wild Kurdish tribes of Moslem faith, and the hardly less wild Christian highlanders of Assyrian blood ; and in this article I have strung together a few episodes gathered from my experi- ences at that time. It was a most interesting life, for I found myself living in exactly the atmosphere of the Scottish Highlands, before the rising of ‘the forty-five ’’ destroyed the old clan system. Take as an instance the following incident which occurred in 1911. It so happened that the clan of Tkhoma (which

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64 THE WIDE WORLD A church of the Assyrian mountaineers of Kurdistan. was Christian) went raiding over the hill against their Mohammedan neighbours of Chal, in the next valley. The expedition was most successful in that they got fully five hundred sheep, without as much as waking their owners. Then, as they were driving the spoil home, it came into the mind of some hothead that there is really no fun in taking your enemy's sheep unless you know that he knows who has scored off him. All the party felt the force of this argument, so the sheep were left on the hill, while the warriors went back to the village, there to fire shots and shout insults—‘ Yah ! Go and look at the sheep-fold,” and the like amenities—until the Mussulmans were roused and came out to have a fight. As a result there was a pretty little skirmish in the grey of the morning, resulting in several deaths on both sides. The Kurds were driven back to their village, and among their casualties was a Government pulice- man, who was up there on a visit to some relation, and had to come out to share in the fun. This last episode roused our wrath, and not ours only, but that of the patriarch (Archbishop) who was also the chief of the Christian clans. It was not that we grudged them a Kurd or so, still less the sheep which they had fairly won, and which had very likely been theirs to begin with, anyhow. Rut the death of a policeman might cause trouble, even with a Government so slack as the Ottoman ! However, all ended well. was not missed ! In spite of incidents like this, however, life was by no means unsafe for a “ Frank,” or at all events for an Englishman, in the country, Such a disturbance followed for everybody if one of the breed met with The policeman MAGAZINE, an accident, that— fascinating though the amusement un- questionably was —it was considered that the pleasure of shooting at them was one not to be lightly in- dulged in. In pre-war days, it was actually safest to go un- armed. Had I been properly edu- cated as a lad, and taught to use a revolver so well as to make reason- ably sure of hitting a man where I wanted to, so as to disable and not kill, I might have judged differently on the matter. If you disabled a man, he would come to you subsequently to be cured (all “ Franks” are doctors by hereditary right), and friendly relations would be re-established automatically. To kill him, however, would start a blood-feud, and to miss him would be worst of all ! Further, though it was disturbing to the common weal to kill a ‘‘ Frank ’—and so there was a general sense against it—it is well not to try this sense of public duty too highly. If the foreigner was known to carry such valuable loot as a good English revolver, it was worth taking some chances to secure such a prize ! That a man who had been wounded by an Englishman in a skirmish would come to the English to be cured was literal fact. On one occasion we were stopped on a journey by a party of Kurds, with the demand that we should cure the disabled arm of their ‘Agha.’ ‘‘ That is quite beyond us," we explained. “ Take him to the Mission Hospital in Mosul.” “Well, you ought to cure it,” asserted the Agha. ‘* You did it!” “T never set eyes on you before!” cried the writer, astounded. “Oh, well, then it was another English- man—your Consul, if you want to know. He did it when we were shooting at him!” This explanation brought light; our friend was obviously the leader of a band that had attacked the British Military Consul (Captain G. E. Tyrrell, R.A.) in the district in question. A sharp skirmish resulted, in which the Consul gained great kudos from the fact that he had killed another chief, who was locally esteemed invulnerable to Jead or steel. Our friend had been one of the wounded on that

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occasion, and now the English had got to cure what they had done. What more natural ? A Kurd has some of the instincts of a gentleman, too, and does not expect to be cured without a fee. Once, when money was refused, the pious Kurd promptly promised two houris when he should have gone to the Paradise that awaits all true believers, where he would have seventy of them, all his own. ‘' You see, Effendim,"’ he explained. ‘You are a Christian, and you won't have any at all, in the place that you will be sent down to. I think that I can spare you two!” At times, it must be owned, not even the fact of foreign blood is enough to secure safety, but the occasions are exceptional, or were so in days before the war. One deliberate attempt made on the life of the writer arose from circumstances in which he was not personally concerned at all. We had been staying in a district where Kurdistan runs down into Persia, and some of the mountain Kurds had been raiding into the Urmi plain with much less than their usual success. They had, in fact, run into a well- planned trap, and gone home without spoil and ten men short, to say nothing of fourteen horses lost. A blow like this ‘ blackened their faces’ sadly, and to whiten them again it was absolutely needful to de- stroy the first party that came their way from the district that had treated them so cavalierly. This .party happened to be the writer and his following, but that was not their fault, or mine either. Therefore, there was no _ particular malice in what followed, even though it was the Kurds, plain duty to kill the traveller, and arrange- ments were made to do so! A slow-moving caravan with baggage is easily fol- lowed, and the writer, crip- pled by a recent accident, was in no condition to travel fast. Thus it was that the avengers of blood, following our track, came to the village where we had lodged for the night, and established themselves on the flat roof adjacent to that on which we were Vol. xlvi.—5. WHERE NO WRIT RUNS. 65 reposing. (It was summer, and there was no need to enter the houses at all.) The Kurds made no secret of what they were after, but the men of the village dis- couraged the idea. ‘ No wonder you feel you must kill the Frank,’’ they said, “ but it will be a nuisance to us if you do it here, We killed just one Frank of the American kind three years ago, and have never heard the last of it since.’ It was finally agreed that nothing should be done on the lands of that village, but the traveller was followed next day, till a good chance should occur of finishing the business, Sure of their prey, the Kurds did not start early, and in consequence I had reached the hold of a certain small local chief, and stopped for the midday halt there, before I was overtaken. I was sitting at meat under a tree, in company with my host, when six well-armed men rode up and dis- mounted. It was certainly a little surprising that when the local Agha invited them, as of The main street of a village in. Kurdistan.

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66 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. course, to sit and share the meal, they should curtly refuse, but we really thought little of the incident, and bidding farewell to our host, continued on our way. The Agha, however, had understood the sign better, and as soon as we were gone, turned at once to his remaining guests. ‘‘ Now what is the mean- ing of this?’’ he demanded. “Is it that you have a quarrel with me, that you will not eat my bread, or is the Englishman your enemy ?” The avengers were as frank with this chief as with their hosts of the night before, but he took the matter differently. ‘‘ No; this will not do,’”’ he told them. ‘“ An English- man killed on my land means too much trouble for me to stand it. He is through your district now, so you had better take somebody else. It makes no difference to ou.” % So the incident ended, and it was not till some days later that I realized how un- commonly narrow my escape had been. Indeed, the men of the village where I had stayed for the night stayed with Giwergis, my rival, before. Quite right, quite right, for you were travel- ling with him. But now you are alone, and I think you ought to come to me, for I am as big a man as he is. If you do, I shall be delighted to see you; but if you do not, there will be nothing for it but to shoot you. So, you see, I hope you will come!’ The invitation was accepted, and no more court- eous host could any man ever desire. Religious and secular power have a way of getting into the same hands in both the Teligions of the land, and a chief. is often, though not always, a ‘‘ Sheikh ’’* among the Kurdish clans. An instance of this is seen in the career of the Sheikh of the Barzan Kurds, Abd-el- Selim, a leader whose pro-English politics brought him to disaster in the war. As chieftain, this man was the head of a large and devoted clan, among whom he kept a force of personal retainers to do his bidding in all things. As an instance of how literally they interpreted this duty, I may recount what happened when reported the thing as already done, Oriental fashion, and added various pic- turesque details, so that a British Consul actually commenced his preparations for finding the corpse— reported to lie on a certain pass on the way—in order that it might receive decent burial ! A knowledge of etiquette is very de- sirable for the foreigner who would rove in these wild lands, for etiquette and precedence are as important here as in most semi-civilized countries. Thus, after passing through a certain mountain district in company with one mountain chief, it so happened that we came back into it after a short interval, and were met by the rival of our previous escort. He was most polite, but just a little insistent in his ways. “It is my hope that you will come and stay with me this time, Rabbi,” he said. (This Chief was Christian, and used the Christian mode of address.) We made some excuse, for in fact we did not wish to delay. ‘ Well, I hope you will,” persisted the mountaincer. ‘ You see you One of the “roads” of this wild country. some of the Kurdish tribes were attempt- ing to stir up a “ Jehad,” or holy war, against their Christian neighbours, Much depended on the attitude of the Sheikh of Barzan, and it was a relief to all respectable par- ties when he gave his ruling that the proposed expedition was a mere feud between two tribes, and, as such, an exer-, cise that was entirely lawful in itself, but which concerned only the actual clans en- gaged. It was not what some Moslems had sought to make it, an affair of Cres- cent against Cross, and all clans that owed allegiance to him were to keep out of it. Matters stood thus when one of the chieftain’s retainers paid an official visit to a certain Tettu Agha, who nominally owed allegiance to Sheikh Abd-el-Selim, but was not the most obedient of men. Tettu was obviously arming his followers for war, Sheikh is the ordinary word for ‘' Chief” among the Arabs, The word means “elder” in that language. In Kurdish, however, it has come to have the meaning of a religious leader, or an officially holy person

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t -WHERE NO WRIT RUNS. 67. The house of a Kurdish chieftain. and it was easy to guess who his oppon- ent would be. The retainer took action at once. ‘ You are not to go on this business,” he proclaimed in the chief's hall. ‘“ The Sheikh has forbidden it, and his word shall not be broken.” ‘‘ And what do I care if he has?” broke out Tettu. “ Let your Sheikh of Christians send his orders to others. [ will not obey the likes of him!" The clansman made no reply in words. He simply drew the “ khanjar,” or dagger, that every mountaineer always carries, and struck the chief down where he stood on his own dais. One blow only was needed—above the collar-bone straight down into the heart —and Tettu lay dead in his own hall. Then the man turned and faced the retainers of the Agha whom he had killed, his knife still in his hand. “ The Skeikh’s word shall not be broken,” he proclaimed, and strode unopposed from the room. This was indeed regarded as coup Tather far, but it was felt that Tettu had brought his fate on himself. A chief who had followers such as these pught Sometimes excite the apprehensions of and a Picious Governments than the Turkish, with qedsel-Selim found himself in trouble 4 L the Hukumet,” who invaded his land. ; Picturesque little war followed, and. more once strong Government forces were absolutely routed by the hillmen. Twice whole forces, two battalions strong, were forced to surrender and lay down their arms to the Sheikh, who usually disarmed them and dismissed the prisoners, whom he could not keep in his hills. . Gradually, however, strength told against him, and he became a fugitive in his own hills, so closely pressed that his band had to divide in the hope of eluding pursuit. The pursuers were puzzled to determine which way the chief had taken, and tried to extort the information from a boy of twelve who, left behind in the retreat, had fallen into their hands. Neither threats nor bribes, however, could get the child to betray his chief, and at last the Turkish Major, losing his temper, told the boy that he would be shot at once if he persisted. He placed him with his back to a wall, and drew up the firing party in front of him. ‘' Now, which way did Abd-el-Selim go?’ he demanded. Staunch to the end, the child looked down the muzzles of the rifles, and replied: ‘* By the holy name of the Sheikh, I will tell you nothing.’ Fortunately, the officer was good- natured, and did not misuse his captive, but he observed as he went on his way: “ It’s little we shall make of this business, when a child swears by the name of his chief in the face of death |"

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68 Meantime the Sheikh, following the sound principle that ‘the nearer the danger the safer the place,’’ had gone down to the Government headquarters, Mosul, and had reached the city in the guise of a donkey- driver. Here he soon found refuge in the house of trusty friends, and entered into negotiations with the British Consul, knowing that that official would not consider it his duty to give him up. His proposal was sufficiently embarrassing, for it ran thus: All the available Government force was entangled in the mountains, The Sheikh would return thither, gather his clansmen for a dash, bring them down and occupy Mosul itself! Then he would surrender the city to the British Consul, to be held for King George ! There is no doubt that the Sheikh could have carried out the plan, though it would have been puzzling to say what anyone could have done next. Later, the same man (after he had recovered his possessions and patched up some sort of peace with the Government, in which neither trusted the other) made an even more embarrassing offer to the writer, who was then leaving the country. ‘ Look here, Effendim,’’ he said, “‘ you are going to London, and you have to make report to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Now I mean to come with you, with a train that suits the dignity of us both. I will go and stay with you in the Archbishop's house till you have quite finished your business with him, and then he shall go down with us to Windsor to see King George, and I will discuss with him how Kurdistan shall be governed in the future!” Strange foreign ecclesiastics do turn up at times at Lambeth, it must be owned, but the presence of an extremely bellicose Mussulman Sheikh, with a train of fierce-looking retainers in attendance, might have been embarrassing to the most adaptable of Archbishops ! Unfortunately, it was this pro-English proclivity of the Sheikh that caused his death in the early davs of the war. Records of his dealing with the Consul at Mosul remained, of course, in the safe at the Consulate. When Turkey entered the war, the post was vacant, and the last holder of it had, ac- cording to precedent in times of peace, left all archives in the safe and taken the key to the embassy at Constantinople, to be handed to his successor on appointment. Thus, when news of the entry of Turkey into the war reached Mosul, there was no possibility of destroying the archives, accord- Ing to standing orders in such a case. Turkish authorities soon entered the building, forced open the safe, and found the compromising documents, with many others concerning other men of mark in the land. Naturally, all who could be arrested were THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. executed at once, and the Sheikh of Barzan was among them. He was certainly a loss, tor it would be well 1f anyone could now produce a workable scheme tor the govern- ment of Kurdistan. It was not only among the Mussulman tribes that religious chieftainship was common but among the Christian clans also. Which borrowed trom which, in this case, or whether each evolved the thing separately, is a ques- tion into which we need not enter now. The system is foreign to the institutions of both religions, but it exists in both notwith- standing. The Christian clans, then, were also ruled by their Archbishop or Patriarch, who assumed office at the mature age of tourteen, and had developed into a singularly capable ruler of his people. One piece of work that often fell to his share—and eminently Christian and episcopal it was, though hardly usual among Western holders of his office in these days—was the acting as arbitrator in disputes between two tribes. The prelate once recounted to the writer the incidents of such an Oriental ‘‘ Hague Convention ”’ at which he presided. Two tribes, one Kurd and the other Assyrian (that is to say, one Moslem and the other Christian), had tought a quarrel out till both were tired of it. They applied to the Christian Patriarch to settle the matter, and he appointed a rendezvous in a certain valley, where twenty of the leading men of each clan should meet and discuss the terms of peace under his presidency. It had been expected, of course, that every one of these forty men would come fully armed to the meeting, for was it not still time of feud? Further, even in days of peace, no man goes out without a gun, if he possesses one. It had not, however, been the intent of the Patriarchal convener of the peace conference that every one of the forty should come accompanied by five or six” equally well-armed followers, who had to be kept from attacking one another while the council was sitting! Still, this fact had to be accepted. The two parties were put on the two sides of a stream in the valley, and negotiations proceeded fairly well. In due course, however, it came out that each side had also provided an ambush, and concealed it behind convenient rocks on the two sides of the gorge! This was not, of course, with any really evil intent, it was just a precaution in case the other side meant treachery ! Taking all together, it will be seen that walking with naked lights in a powder magazine would have been a safe and healthy performance compared to that ‘ peace conference,” and it says much for the power of the Patriarch that he actually got the twenty principals on the two sides to come

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‘WHERE NO WRIT RUNS. © 69 “*The Sheikh’s word shall not be broken,’ he proclaimed.” to an agreement. It was done, however. and shake hands with the other side.”” This ee said his holiness, ‘‘ put down your they did, but, though the guns were left Sin the shade, come down to the stream, behind, every man of the forty came down

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jo THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The scene of the remarkable “ Peace Conference” described in this article. with his right hand on the hilt of his “ khan- jar.” When he removed it thence, in ordcr to grasp the right hand of his ‘ opposite number ” in peace and amity, he put his Icft hand there instead! However, hands were shaken, and the Patriarch at once ordered round the coffee, the cercmonial hospitality that was the scal of the covenant. His servant appeared with the cups on a tray (tiny cups, holding a bare mouthful each), but he was trembling with not in- comprehensible panic—and the cups upset ! There was an instant when the whole thing swung in the balance again. Would that be taken as a joke, or as an omen? Every man looked first at a friend and then at an enemy, and there was an instant’s pause, Then some good fellow laughed, and a general guffaw saved the situation ! Even after that there was a risk to face. All were friendly enough sitting under trees and chaffing one another as to episodes in the past feud, and such happy remarks as “ That was a beastly bad shot you made at me when we met in the road!" were passing, when the fact came out that each party had brought down the village idiot, to make sport for them in the hours of waiting that both had foreseen. Somcone with a sporting soul suggested a ring, and a cock-fight of idiots ! The Patriarch did his best to prevent it, fearing that each party would take sides with its own lunatic and start a worse feud than ever. He was overruled, however; the ring was formed, and each idiot was given a thick stick and told that the other had insulted all his female ancestry, and that he must thrash him for it. However—to the disap- pointment of all but the Patriarch—the two lunatics started to talk before whacking one another’s heads ; and, when they had begun to talk, they went on doing so, and would not fight on any terms. In fact, they spent the afternoon in one another's company, each vowing that the other was the most sensible man he had met for years ! Life is primitive in the mountains, and one of the things in which both Kurd and Christian indulge, and which is apt to be surprising to the newccmer, is the habit of taking baths in public. Of course, when once you think it out, it is a most reasonable thing to do; if your house has but one room, and that room a mud floor, and you are of cleanly habits, and want a bath regularly, what can you do? You cannot take a tub indoors without being a nuisance to the household, so you must go outside ; and as public bath-houses have not Leen yet evolved, you go to the village spring or river for the purpose. It is perhaps a little startling for the stranger, when passing along the road, to find a bevy of pretty girls who have put all their clothes in the big copper to wash, and are performing that office for one another, Still, if the Frank is embarrassed, they are not, though it is not good manners to stand and stare. The

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WHERE NO WRIT RUNS. 9 71 “The child looked down the muzzles of the rifles and replied: ‘I will tell you nothing.’” writer well remembers an occasion when he found himself face to face with three damsels, had gone aside from a mountain track to take _ all of whose raiment was soaking in the pool, a photograph of a little side gorge, when he and who were disporting, nymph-like, on the

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72 THE WIDE bank without it. Modestly, the foreigner withdrew ; but the daughters of Eve had scen the camera, and wondered what it might so, with feminine curiosity well alight, be they all came and gathered round it to look at it, quite undisturbed by the fact that their costume was that of their first mother, It was a common statement that the ** Mess-pot ” campaign gave many members of the British army quite a new insight into the meaning of many passages of the Old Testament ; apropos of this, officers in the Kardish town of Dizful, noting the Kurdish habits of its ladies, quite came to understand how natural it was that King David, while walking on the roof of his palace, might have seen the fair Bathsheba taking a bath ! With this primitiveness of habit, however, there goes a very strong notion of the position of woman, The“ purdah ” and other habits which have crept into [slam from the customs of other lands hardly exist in Kurdistan, where women usually appear unveiled and have much power in their hands, There is at least one chieftainess in the country, and a most formidable and capable lady she is—Adela Khanum, lady paramount of Sulimanieh and the great tribe of Jaff Kurds, The stories told of her are legion, and I give a few of them, for the truth of which 1 do not vouch, except in so far as they bear witness to a very determined and capable disposition. It was in the time of her rule that it was determined that her town should be regarded as Turkish and not Persian territory. This, however, did not suit the views of a lady who held that the only tongue fit for a civilized person to talk v the musical Persian of Shira It was because of the excellence of his Persian that she always stood up in defence of a suspected wanderer who came to her court, Hassan Ali the Shirazi. Whether she ever suspected, what was nevertheless the fact, that Hassan Ali, for all the beauty of the language that he had learnt in the theological schools of Shiraz, was one of the wandering English who had found Europe too cramped for them, is one of the things that will never be known, However that mav be, she detested Turks and all things Turkish with a very vigorous hatred, and never did she allow the accursed scarlet banner with its white crescent to float over her town, The Lion and Sun of Persia must be there, no matter what the Ottoman authorities might do or say * She had, of course, been married at least once, but her attitude to her husbands was not unlike that of the lady spider; those who did not please her had a way of vanish- ing. Scandal said that her early life included an episode like that of Lancelot and Guinevere of old. The brother ot her future husband WORLD MAGAZINE. was sent to the house of her father to fetch the bride, and the lady, seeing him through the lattice, thought that it was her true husband come to claim her, and liked him so well as to let her fancy dwell upon him. Then, when she discovered that she was really given to the very inferior brother of the knight of her dreams,she was very wrath, and, being of a self-helpful disposition, got rid of her inferior husband, and went her own way as a free woman. It was the sort of action that might be expected from the daughter of her father, the tough old Jaff Agha, who had a way of experimenting with every new rifle that he bought upon the first wayfarer who happened to appear over the crest of a certain pass in his hills. This old warrior woke up a drowsy servant —his pipe-boy—who had gone to sleep in the “‘diwan,"” by the simple process of catching him by the nose with a pair of red-hot charcoal tongs ! Nor is it only the Moslems who occasionally put their women in high cffice among them, for the Christian highlanders, who are no less given to raiding than the Kurds, and who— alone among the local stocks of Christians— have proved themselves a good fighting breed, have been known to do the same. During the war these clans threw in their lot with the Entente, and fought right well on their side, though the theatre of their exploits was too small to attract much atten- tion in so colossal a drama. They produced at least one Amazonian lady, the chieftainess of a small clan, who was seen in one of the great migrations which the fortune of war compelled the nation to make, riding along at the back of her troop of men, astride on a horse that had been something lightly come by, rifle at back and revolver on hip, while she admonished any straggler with a heavy dog-whip. Another lady, scmewhat less Amazonian but far more capable, was the sister of the Patriarch mentioned above. In the course of all the fighting with the Turkish regular troops which these clans undertook, this lady was of necessity in charge of the powder magazine. Somebody had to be in’ charge who had weight enough to rebuke wild highlanders, who would come in to get cartridges, smoking cigaret All the men of any position were in the firing-line, so this work fell to the lady, and for weeks on end she ate, slept, and lived in the magazine. She did actually succeed in enfercing some sort of rules for the common sa and got her reward in a conversation between two of the clansmen, Which she overhead from her post in the bomb-store. It ran much as follows: ‘‘ What do you want?” said one wild hillman to his fellow. * Cartridges and bombs,’’ said his friend, brifly. ° (The arsenals

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in the Caucasus had supplied the needful to these odd allies of ours.) ‘‘ Then you must put out that cigarette. Surma Khanim will never let you go into the magazine while smoking. She 1s awfully nervous about these explosives !”” The end of the war saw these clans esta- blished in a great refugee camp in the neighbourhood of Baghdad, settled there till the British Government should make up its mind what it would do about Mesopotamia, and incidentally about these wild allies of England, who now formed a part of the Mesopotamian problem. It was while this was being debated that the nation in question asked leave to send a representative to England to plead their cause there, and, leave being granted, sent this Lady Surma, the sister of their Patriarch, and his counsellor in times of peace, to put their case before the Powers of Europe. It is at least strange that this wildest and most primitive of Oriental nationalities should have been the first in all history to send a lady to act as their ambassador. In the long delay that was to take place before this question could be settled, a large contingent of volunteers was raised from among the clans in question to serve under British officers against their old neighbours and enemies, the Kurds. This was entirely to their liking, and most excellent troops they proved to be, even though they were, in the words of one who served with them, ‘a trifle indiscriminate at times.” They found a capable commander, one of the many British officers who have the knack of getting the best out-of the more backward races, and who swore by them always, even if he did also, most naturally, swear at them at times. During the campaign, which made no show in the papers, they were brigaded with a Gurkha battalion, which, as those who know the Indian Army will agree, is much like paying a Territorial battalion the com- pliment of brigading it with the Guards! The war was fought out, and the Gurkha verdict on their comrades was as follows : * If the bigwigs had only seen to it that we had the mountain sandals of felt that they let those fellows make for themselves, we could have done quite as well as they did!” When Gurkhas apologize for not having done as well as irregulars, there is not much More to be said about the quality of the latter ! They were at times rather hot in action ; WHERE NO WRIT RUNS. 73 at times also innate sporting instincts got the better of them, On one occasion a double company of them, set to storm a hill held by the enemy, opened fire when not half- way up. ‘ Hallo!” said the general, who was watching through his glasses from the rear. ‘The Assyrians have got into it quick.” ‘No, sir,” said the A.D.C., who had knowledge of the ways of the creature; “Vi bet it’s nothing but pig they have routed out.” He did them an injustice, but not a great one, The creature they were firing at was not a boar, but a bear ! Once a party of them deserted. Now there is, of course, no greater military crime than desertion in the face of the enemy, but surely never did irate C.O, receive a more pathetic plea from criminals than that sent in by these fellows after a week of absence without leave. It ran thus, written by @ scholar in the gang :— “To the Reverend Major Knight, our Commander. Peace and Love be multiplied. Be it known to you that we did not run away because we did not want to kill Kurds, but because we did want to do so, and for the past seven days, by the blessing of heaven, we have been doing that thing. Regret to report following casualty. Private soldier. One. Abraham, son of “John, Yet, O our father, we have killed many more Kurds. Now our dear Father, be it known to you that if you will promise to punish us, we will come in, but we do greatly fear the prison in Mosul, From your Children,” etc. As soon as they were assured that they would be dealt with by the officer whom they knew, they came in, and took their punish- ment like the schoolboys that they are in spirit. So the incident Closed, thanks to the presence of an officer who knew how to handle the type, and a general who allowed him to have his own way. The campaign came to an end as hill cam- paigns usually do—in a withdrawal that settled nothing, owing to the fact that our force could not satisfactorily hold the country that it could easily over-run. So the matter was left for the time, and the problem which our authorities now have to settle is: What can be done in the future with a land in which the sort of events that I have tried to sketch were of regular and daily occurrence for the twenty years preceding the war, but which has now become the border of countries for which Fate has made us assume a measure of responsibility ?

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a =a The steamship Lycaon, of the Blue Funnel Line, on which the remarkable events here narrated oc The Ghost of the Lycaon & S AW-SPENCER ILLUSTRATED BY E-S -HODGSON A weird and thrilling story, with a most surprising ending. “The T was 1.30 a.m., pitch-black and raining hard. I was quarter-master of the watch, and steering the ship—the steamer Lycaon, of the Blue Funnel Line. As everyone knows. during the war no lights were allowed to be shown on board vessels in the danger- zone, so that the- darkness was unrelieved save for the light from the compass, which spread a weird glow around me in the wheelhouse. The second mate, who was acting as officer of the watch, stood motionless, staring into the blackness ahead over the top of the weather-screen on the navigating bridge. I had just put my hand up over my head to strike three-bells for half-past one, when 1 heard someone quite close to me. Looking up, I saw a figure pass swiftly through the wheelhouse. I had just time to notice that the intruder was dressed in loose-fitting narrative is true in every detail,” writes the Author, “but for obvious reasons I have changed the name of the chief actor.” garments of some light-coloured material ; then the figure disappeared down the bridge ladder to the deck below. The second mate came in a moment later and said, in a very shaky voice: ‘‘ What on earth was that?” “I’m hanged if I know,” I replied. “ It looked like a ghost.”” “Whatever it was,” said he, “ it came on the bridge from over the top of the weather- screen. Nothing but a monkey could have climbed up there. It scared the wits out of me for the moment.” You can quite understand the mate being startled when I tell you that the distance from the bridge-screen to the forward well- deck below was a good thirty feet, so how “It” got up was a poser. I was distinctly glad when two o'clock came, so that I could leave the bridge, but then I realized with a feeling of dismay that

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THE GHOST OF THE I might meet “It” on the way down to my cabin, which did not seem at all a cheerful prospect. + After leaving the bridge the darkness was impenetrable, so that, although I v used to the ship, I collided with objects here and there, and at every bump my heart went into my mouth. Eventually 1 reached my cabin, and was in the act of making a cigarette when once again I heard someone panting heavily. Before I could look out of the door to see who it w something flashed past the opening with incredible speed, so that [ could not determine who or what it was. Just then two whistles went from the bridge—the signal for me to go up there. With my teeth chattering, 1 made a dash for it in the dark, falling down twice on the slippery wet deck. When I reached the bridge the second mate told me he had seen “It” going forward, and ordered me to take an electric torch and investigate. But, there was “‘nothing doing’ on my part; I was literally too scared to move. I told him that if someone would come with me, I’d go, but aot by myself. As there was no one available to accompany me, the mate called the captain up from his sleep by the speaking tube leading from the bridge to his cabin. When the captain came up and was told of the mysterious occurrences, he decided that nothing could be done till daylight, when a thorough search could be made of every accessible place in the ship. He sug- gested that the figure we had seen was probably a stowaway, who had come out of hiding in search of food and water, and had lost his way in the dark. I turned in at 4 a.m., carefully locked the door, and forgot all about the affair in sleep. Next morning the ship was thoroughly searched from end to end, but nothing whatever was found to account for the mystery. The following night I was again at the wheel, the weather being much the same as on the previous morning, with an occasional strong gust of wind. Naturally, my thoughts kept recurring to “It,” and I wondered if we should have a recurrence of the affair that night. About 11 p.m., during a lull in the wind, I heard something knock against a ventilator outside the wheelhouse. The door on that side was closed, and [I looked up to see the cause of the disturbance. To my amazement I beheld a most horrible face glaring in at me through the wheel- house window, the faint glow from the compass making it look twice its natural size. The creature, whatever it was, had long hair, standing straight up, its blazing eyes were literally bulging out of its head, ““LYCAON.” 15 and the top lip was curled up like a dog snarling. The third mate was the officer of the watch. He, like the rest of the crew, had been told of the previous night’s adventures. When I saw the face I yelled out to hi “That thing's about again, sir “What thing?’ hecried. ‘ Where is it ?”” As he spoke he hurried into the wheelhouse, glancing fearfully over his shoulder, and stood with me against the compass. The face had disappeared. Before I could speak, a most unearthly yell rent the air from the fo'c'sle head. It came from Dick, the man on the look out. He came flying up to the bridge like one demented. He said he was gazing straight ahead into the night, when, without a sound, something bumped violently against him, hurling him oft his feet. ‘ Who’s that?” he yelled, but he got no answer. Then terror overcame him and he fled to us. My watch mate, whom we will call Reggie, went back with Dick on to the fo’c’sle head to see if they could see anything or anyone. They had got to the top of the for’ard ladder when they saw the “ ghost,” as they called it, walking along the handrails around the fo'c'sle head—a feat which would have taxed the abilities of a professional tight-rope walker. They both made a rush at it, but it eluded them, sprang down off the rails, and made off along the fore well-deck like lightning. That was the last they saw of the figure that night. They noticed that it was wearing a pyjama suit and was bare- footed, but it was too quick in its movements for them to see its face. From 6 to 8 p.m. next day it was my two hours’ “stand-by.” I was sent to turn the ventilators against the wind, whi h was blowing hard. It was a dark night, but now and again one caught a glimpse of the new moon between the hurrying clouds. I went aft to ask one of the deck- hands to help me swing the ventilators, and was just about to close his cabin door when I noticed the next door being opened very stealthily, Then I saw a hand on the door knob, and a seaman appeared whom we will call Peter. He was clad in his pyjamas, and was barefooted. It seemed to me that he did not want to be seen, and directly I recognized him I started back. Seeing me move, he drew back and quickly closed the door. His actions and his odd facial expres- sion made me think of the various scares we had received, and [ ‘‘ put two and two together,” as the saying is, with the result that I decided to watch him from the mid- ship deck. I had not long to wait in my place of concealment before he opened the door again very cautiously, and, seeing no one

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76 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. about, bounded on to the after well-deck and glided across to the opposite side, where he disappeared like magic. The man must have had marvellous muscular power, for he moved like a cat, and it was very hard to distinguish him in the darkness. I was now dead certain that_I had dis- covered the identity of our “ ghost,” and at once reported the fact to the first mate, who was on watch at the time. He listened attentively, and s that in all probability the man was walking in his sleep. [ told him I had watched people walking in their sleep, but never knew they could see you, as Peter saw me before he dodged back. The officer admitted that this was very peculiar, and instructed me to let him know if I saw the man again. I then pro- ceeded forward to turn the ventilators as ordered. I had got as far as the foremast when the man who had been keeping the look-out in the “crow’s nest” up aloft came hurrying down. I asked him what was the matter, and he said that someone was trying to walk the triatic stay, from the funnel to the foremast—an utterly impossible feat to accomplish, I at once communicated this astonishing item of news to the mate, and he got telieved from the bridge and organized a search-party to capture the would-be tight- rope walker. We felt certain it was Peter; it could be no one else, and we came to the conclusion that he must be mad. After we had searched around for him for half an hour, flashing our torches everywhere without success, somcone suggested that he might have gone back to his cabin. On going there, we found him asleep, or apparently so, on the settee. The mate shook him, and asked him about his escapades, but he denied all knowledge of them. I then drew his atten- tion to the state of his feet. They were extraordinarily dirty, which—seeing that he had been up to the top of the funnel— was not at all strange. Peter seemed genuinely surprised at the state they were in, and also at the condition of his pyjama suit, which was torn in several places. The mate next asked him if he felt all right, but he hung his head and would not answer. We could get nothing at all out of him, so we left him. For his own safety, as well as that of others, an iron bar was put across his door and securely padlocked, and he was left to his own devices. We thought we had “ laid” our ghost for good and all, but we were mistaken. In spite of the bar acruss his duor, Peter, being a very powerful man, forced the staple right out without disturbing the men sleeping in the cabins on either side. Someone saw him about the decks again, and woke the first mate, who went aft on the poop-deck, where Peter had last been seen. Here he was discovered on top of a small derrick, attached to a long ventilator, and known as a ‘Sampson Post.” On either side of the derrick was shackled a wire guy rope for the purpose of hauling it round when working cargo. Peter was hopping about the top of the derrick from one guy to the other, laughing and crying alternately. Those watching him waited till he tired himself out and came down, and then captured him. As they laid hands on him he started violently, as if awaking from a trance, and seemed very much surpriséd at his sur- roundings, but he would not speak. The men who held him said that as they grabbed him the muscles of his limbs felt like iron, so taut and strung up were they. They made sure of his safety after that, and men were set to watch him. One of the guards told us that he tried to get through the port-hole in the ship’s side, but it was too small. Now, as I am coming to the close of my story, I will set down some of thé facts I gathered together concerning the explanation of the mystery. Poor Peter was as sane and nice a fellow during the daytime as one could wish to work with; only during the first three or four nights of the rising of the new moon did he manifest his extraordinary Pproclivities. Some time during the war, he told me, he was serving in a sailing-ship that was captured by a German raider, Peter and others being taken prisoners. Some of them were put ashore on an island in the South Pacific Ocean inhabited by savages of the worst type. During the time they were on the island—a period of many months— Peter fell in love with a native girl and was married to her according to the island customs. It appears that when a couple get married among these people they make a transfusion of blood between the parties. The feet of the man and woman are cut just below the ankle, blood extracted, and injected into some part of the body of the other party to the marriage. This operation, apparently, caused madness to the European at certain periods of the year, coinciding with the rising of the new moon. Somehow or other poor Peter made his escape from the island several months later —how, I never found out—but at every new moon his mind wandered back to the time he spent among the savages. In his sleep, he said, he continually saw someone running after him, or bending over him with evil intent, and at such times he would get out of bed, or wherever he was sleeping,

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THE GHOST OF THE “LYCAON.” 17 é and—all unknown to himself—wander and caper around to the danger of his own life and the discomfort of others. When told of his escapades, he shivered and denied all knowledge of them, and I firmly believe he was telling the truth. It was only by being extremely kind and sympathetic with him that I got from him the extraordinary story I have here set down, which he told with every appearance of genuineness, It was evident that he felt “I beheld a most horrible face glaring in at me through the wheelhouse window.” his position keenly, and there can be no doubt that he suffered intense mental agony. Everyone was exceedingly sorry for Peter, and when the ship reached port the officers hadn't the heart to put him under restraint. He was therefore paid off and allowed to go about his business. I met him several months afterwards, when he seemed quite all right, but not wishing to cause him any pain I did not allude to the occurrences on board the Lycaon.

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WOLVES IN SHEEPS CLOTHING.---... Dhe Ieliceman'as Ga A very interesting article, showing how the law-officer shapes when, as occasionally happens, he proves faithless to his trust and casts in his lot with the people he is paid to hunt. The Author proves, by actual in- stances from real life, that—contrary to what might be expected—the ii makes a singularly inefficient criminal. HE most remarkable characteristic of the very small proportion of police- men who have turned criminals is their utter inefficiency as evildoers. It might be imagined that the officer accus- tomed to dealing with law-breakers, conver- sant with official methods and views, fed daily on theories concerning clues, and constantly aided by practical experience, would be a formidable enemy of the com- munity when for some queer reason he becomes a membef of the class he is paid tohunt. But the reverse is the case, and the most notorious offenders who have served in a police force have been clumsy practitioners who betrayed themselves in thought, word, and deed. They have strewn their path with clues, and, not content with this, have broken all the rules which the average criminal observes for his own sake. Hence it has never been very difficult to convict them, although the most astonishing example of the policeman-criminal was thrice tried for murder before a verdict of guilty was returned But it may be recorded that Inspector T. H. Montgomery never had any chance of escap- ing the hangman, and it was only Irish eloquence acting upon the supersensitive minds of a few pedants that compelled the Crown to indict him three times. Montgomery was a remarkable personality, and there is little doubt that his brain was never normal. He was a bank clerk when he decided to study for the Royal Irish Con- stabulary, and he duly passed the examinations and received his com- mission as sub-inspector, 272. * é ILLUSTRATED BY AFERRIER, CO Ms ONY being appointed head of the police at New- townstewart, Co. Tyrone. From the beginning of his new career, however, he was in a condition of chronic impecuniosity, and he staved off many a crisis by inducing certain of his subordinates to entrust their savings to him for invest- ment. He used the money thus obtained to pay a proportion of his debts, and he regularly handed the interest to his dupes, trusting to a miracle to make him rich enough one day to return the capital he had embezzled. When the miracle failed to materialize, he resolved to murder his most intimate friend, because that friend was cashier of the local bank, and his death would enable Montgomery to steal some thousands of pounds. In his capacity as _District- Inspector he was well known and trusted, if not respected, and the embryonic murderer believed that he would be the last person to be suspected of an atrocious crime. It seemed to favour his chances of ultimate escape that he was the cashier’s closest friend, and he thought that if he carried out his plan with boldness and daring, he would at one stroke become possessed of a fortune, save himself from dismissal from the force for taking money from his inferiors, and, by judicious use of his resources, put himself in the running for the highest prizes of his profession. It is not difficult to picture his state of mind at this stage. Ruin was merely a_ question of time. Desperate men try desperate remedies, and the In- spector’s brain was a tenebrous tene- ment seething with

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WOLVES IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 719 John Meiklejohn. evil. For weeks before the murder he was always considering his plans, and in his determination to make his crime a success he was unusually slow and cautious. Despite his care, however, he was a stupid and a silly criminal from the moment he entered the bank—the manager was away for the day, and the cashier was alone—on June 29th, 1871, and taking William Glass unawares, struck him down from _ behind with a cleaver weighted with lead, a mur- derous weapon he had prepared specially, having added the lead to it himself. Glass died instantly—‘‘ He had an easy death of it!”’ said Montgomery after his conviction —but the spectacle was a fearful one when the corpse was discovered, the office being splashed with blood, and the condition of the body being indescribable. Montgomery hastily rifled the safe, scattering indiscrimi- nately notes and securities he could not carry off; but when he left the bank, calm and cool, and carrying his weapon concealed under a coat carelessly slung over his arm, he had in his pockets fifteen hundred pounds in paper money and about fifty in gold. The murder was committed in broad daylight, when there were plenty of persons in the street outside, and Montgomery knew that he was running a fearful risk, but, although quite well aware that he would be identified as the last person seen emerging from the bank that day, he relied upon his position and character to divert suspicion from him. About two hours later he was in the bank again, for the murder had been dis- covered and, of course, he had been in- formed at once. Here was the crucial . test for Montgomery. His life depended on how he acted. He must have rehearsed the scene often, and yet from the very first he was so unnatural and short-sighted that he could scarcely have incriminated himself more obviously than he did. “Do you think he committed suicide?” he remarked to an acquaintance, who stood looking down at the butchered cashier. It was in the circumstances such a palpably ridiculous question that the only possible answer was a derisive laugh, and Mont- gomery, conscious that he had _ blundered, became officious and ordered everybody out of the place except the constable in charge. From the bank he went to his office and wrote a message to be telegraphed to his colleague in the neighbouring district. ** Please inform coroner that a death under suspicious circumstances has _ occurred,” he scribbled. ‘‘ Under suspicious circum- stances’ was a quaint falsehood in view of the facts, and a little later the murderer seemed to realize that, for he dispatched another message describing Glass’s death as due to murder and ordering the usual inquiries to be made. It would take too long, however, to give in detail his clumsy efforts to hoodwink his confréres, but when he asked a brother inspector if it would be possible to secure the conviction of the last man seen to leave the bank premises supposing his clothes were not bloodstained, and when it was accidentally ascertained that he had left the bank later than anyone else, he was taken into custody and duly committed for trial. Twice Frank MacDonagh, Q.C., William Palmer.

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80 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mesmerized a minority of the jury into refusing to agree to a verdict of guilty, but at the third trial Sergeant Armstrong, who prosecuted, smashed the defence to atoms by producing in court a constable who resembled Montgomery in height and figure. The mute witness was wearing the clothes the prisoner had worn when he committed the crime, on his arm was the identical coat, in his pockets the blood- stained notes—which had been recovered from their place of concealment in a wood —and in his trousers-pocket the weapon with which Glass had been killed. The constable moved up and down in front of the jury, and then slowly proceeded to place on the table the coat, notes, gold, and hatchet, thus proving that it was possible for Mont- gomery to have walked away from the bank with the money and the cleaver in his pos- session without unduly attracting attention. The demonstration was sufficient for the jury, and the prisoner was convicted. Within a couple of minutes of the announcement of the verdict he confessed in open court that he had murdered his friend, William Glass, but the plea that he was insane did not save Montgomery from the gallows. Equally strange and dramatic, though on an entirely different plane, and amid an environment practically unknown in Great Britain, was the crime of Lieutenant Charles Becker, of the New York Police. Becker was in charge of the department which dealt with the suppression of gambling saloons, and finding his pay inadequate, he instituted Nathaniel Druscovich. William Kurr. a system of blackmail by means of which he extracted nearly two million dollars from professional gamblers and saloon-keepers in the city. Of course, he did not keep all this for himself, but he retained the larger portion, and he was a rich man when he committed murder by deputy. It happened that there was one of those periodical out- bursts against police maladministration in the United States, and a committee of inquiry was formed, and amongst the volunteer witnesses was Hermann Rosenthal, who had grown tired of handing over most of his profits to Lieutenant Becker. When the latter heard of what he called Rosen- thal’s treachery, he ordered a gang of gunmen to shoot him, and on July 16th, 1912, Rosenthal was murdered by the police officer’s hirelings. Now it will be admitted that for a policeman to put himself in the power of professional criminals was tanta- mount to suicide. Becker must have been conversant with the modern proverb that there is no honour amongst wrongdoers, but he took the risk and paid the usual penalty, for when the leader of the gang was captured, two members of it disclosed the whole conspiracy, and the result was that Lieu- tenant Becker was arrested and charged with the murder. For three years he fought for his life, money, influence, and some luck enabling him to delay the executioner, but in July, 1915, he was electrocuted, and a_ foolish criminal met with the fate that crime and stupidity bring in their trail.

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WOLVES IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING. 8x But the police officer who places himself at the mercy of a crook is not confined to the United States, and although their offence was not so serious, the fall of the three Scotland Yard detectives was as dramatic and as sensational as Becker’s. That master of the ironic in the human comedy, Thomas Hardy, could not have imagined a scene which took place at the headquarters of the London police in the summer of 1877, when three chief-inspectors, busy in their offices examining the papers relating to crimes which they had been ordered to investigate, were suddenly in- formed that they were under arrest and that the charge was accepting money from the notorious Benson gang to aid them to defeat the ends of justice. What must have been the feelings of men who had given the best years of their lives to the service of the State when in one moment they were turned from the captors into the captured ? Their despair must have been all the greater because they had sacrificed so much for so little. Of the three men—John Meiklejohn, William Palmer, and Nathaniel Drusco- vich—the last-named ‘was the most inter- esting personality and the cleverest detec- tive. A Pole who had become a naturalized Englishman, Druscovich was a_ brilliant linguist, a persevering and invariably suc- cessful tracker of criminals, and highly respected at Scotland Yard, where he was marked out for further promotion. Hie special department dealt with foreign crooks, and he was constantly travelling between. London and the Continent. Meiklejohn was a Scotsman of considerable ability, and Palmer had attained a chief-inspectorship by long service and good conduct. Had it not been for the Scotsman, however, his two colleagues would never have been tempted, and they owed their introduction to the Benson gang to Meiklejohn, who came from the Bridge of Allan, where he had become very friendly with William Kurr, a well-educated man who had ex- changed the sober atmosphere of a railway clerkship for the more adventurous life of a bookmaker. In course of time Kurr fell in with Harry Benson, one of the most remarkable criminals of the nineteenth century, a perverted genius with a sense of humour and no sense of honour. He invented the celebrated Turf Fraud, by means of which he and his confederates, William Kurr, Frederick Kurr, Bale, and Murray, swindled a French lady, the Comtesse de Goncourt, out of nearly ten thousand pounds. But aware of the precarious nature of his “ profession,”” Benson decided that advan- tage ought to be taken of William Kurt's intimacy with Chief-Inspector Meiklejohn to insure against misfortune, and, accord- ingly, he planned to bribe the detective and as many of his colleagues at the Yard as could be induced to surrender their independence. Fortune helped him to suc- ceed, for it happened that Meiklejohn, who had already “presents "’ accepted and The Solicitor Froggatt.

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82 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “loans” from Kurr, was informed by Chief-Inspector Druscovich that he was in financial — difficulties. It appeared that Druscovich had backed a bill for a near relation for one hundred and fifty pounds, and that the bill had been dishonoured. In plain language, that meant that the Chief-Inspector was in debt, and that if his superiors at Scotland Yard got to hear of it he would be dismissed. Meiklejohn by th time frankly entered Benson's “secret service,” and had agreed to give the crook private information of any designs on the part of the detective department against him, and when Drusco- vich mentioned his worries, he was immedi- ately introduced to Benson, who ‘lent ’’ him sixty pounds, and generously intimated that he need never hesitate to ask for more if he wanted further assistance. A little later Chief-Inspector Palmer was drawn into the conspiracy, and then Benson and his colleagues put their well-prepared scheme into practice, convinced that with three chief-inspectors at Scotland Yard to warn them if any of their victims complained, they would be able to escape arrest and get away with their spoils. The swindle prospered for a space, and Benson was able to call himself Count Yonge, and cut capers in Shanklin society, but when Mme. de Goncourt accidentally dis- covered that she was being duped, anid came to London and laid her grievances before the Lord Mayor, the game was up, and the gang had to scatter and vanish. It was now time for the three bribed detec- tives to render services for payment received, and, doubtless realizing that the arrest of the Benson gang would also ruin them, they did their best to prevent Scotland Yard from identifying “ Mr. Montgomery,” the name Benson had passed under when dealing with the French countess and other dupes, and tracing his confederates. When Druscovich was told to proceed to the Isle of Wight to arrest Benson—by some means unknown to the suborned detectives the identities of all the swindlers had been ascertained —-he sent a telegram warning him, and when_ his instructions to go to Shanklin were cancelled, and he was ordered to take the next train to Bridge of Allan and arrest) Kurr, another telegram was dispatched to the latter preparing him = for eventualities. Palmer and Meiklejohn were not idle either, and, in the circumstances, it is not surprising that no arrests were effected, and that the chiets at Scotland Yard were puzzled and astounded at the mysterious manner in which office secrets leaked out. None of the detectives was suspected, and the general failure to capture Benson, the Kurrs, Murray, and Bale was ascribed to bad luck, had A mere accident brought things to a head- Superintendent Williamson received infor- mation that William Kurr was living in hiding in a certain house in London, and he had a warrant prepared at once for his arrest. This he wouid have entrusted to Druscovich had he been at hand, but as the chief-inspector was somewhere in the country it was given to a detective of the name ot Littlechild, who later was to achieve fame as a shining light of the Criminal Investi- gation Department. Littlechild went at once to the address mentioned in the warrant, captured William Kurr, searched the houre, and discovered certain papers which revealed the highly interesting fact that Benson, Frederick Kurr, and Bale were in Rotterdam, where Benson was passing under the name of George Washington Morton. Williamson immediately sent for Drusco vich, Scotland Yard’s linguist and conti- nental expert, and ordered him to proceed to Rotterdam with warrants for the arrest of all three men. The Superintendent added that he would journey there too, but that his special business would be to obtain the extradition of the three rogues. Here was another dramatic situation, and one denied to the dramatist or novelist, because so wildly improbable. | When Druscovich came face to face with Benson and the others, all he could do was to whisper that he was acting under the eye of his superior, and that he had really done his best to save his paymaster, and could do no more. An attempt to secure their premature release by a forged telegram sent by a solicitor to the Rotterdam police and purporting to be signed by Superintendent Williamson having failed, the swindlers were conducted to London and placed in cells. Their trial lasted many days, and resulted in Benson getting fifteen years’ penal servi- tude, the Kurrs and Bale ten years each, and Murray, a minor member of the gang, eighteen months’ hard labour. So the league of rogues passed into prison, and Druscovich, Meiklejohn, and Palmer returned to their duties at Scotland Yard, doubtless praying that the convicts would not betray them. But Benson and Co. had no intention of allowing their confederates to escape, and they ‘' gave the show, away” within a few weeks, and the three detectives were arrested at Scotland Yard, and after a prolonged hearing at Bow Street were committed for trial at the Old Bailey, where they subse- quently spent twenty days in the dock. As is usual with the policeman-criminal, the accused had provided the prosecution with ample evidence of their guilt. _Druscovich had usually telegraphed to Meiklejohn when he wished to_ask a question or impart infor- mation, and Palmer and the others had been

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WOLVES IN-SHEEP’S CLOTHING. 83 equally incautious until they had done enough to render the task of the prosecution the easiest imaginable. All the telegrams were produced, and also many of the bank-notes received from Benson, and the prolixity of the proceedings was due entirely to the desire of the Government to expose the whole system and to prove everything independently of the statements of Benson and the Kurrs, who gave evidence against the inspectors. The jury returned a verdict of guilty, and each of the accused got two years’ hard labour. A similar term was meted out to Froggatt, the solicitor who had sent the forged telegram to Rotterdam, whilst a fourth Scotland Yard officer was acquitted. When, in course of Benson was released, he to New York and perpetrated an in- genious swindle there. Dressed in the height of fashion, he man- aged to be the first aboard Mme. Patti's ship when it entered the harbour, and when he accosted the famous prima donna with a courtly bow, she, thinking he was the representative of the New York reception committee, took his arm and allowed him to lead her towards the genuine deputation when it appeared. The latter, beholding Benson arm in arm with the renowned singer, imagined he was her secretary or manager or intimate friend, and allotted him a prominent Position at the subsequent public ceremony of welcome. Benson took advantage of his luck to forge tickets for a Patti concert, but he was detected and arrested, and while awaiting trial in the Tombs Prison he committed suicide by throwing himself from the top tier to the stone pavement below. Major Frederick Beswick, Chief Constable of Birkenhead, who was sentenced to five years’ penal servitude for forgery in 1869, was a soldier with an honourable record, whose downfall was due to living beyond his means. He was already involved when given the responsible post’ at Birkenhead, and when the forgeries by means of which he had disposed of certain stock belonging to a lady whose trustee he was were discovered, he endeavoured to use his official position to stave off ruin. His fellow-trustee came to him one day with a description of the person who had sold the stock, and who was sus- pected of being the forger. and Major time, went Beswick, recognizing the description as a poor one of himself, had it printed and circulated in the town of which he was Chief Constable! But it did not require any great skill to bring home his guilt to him, and he was arrested, and the head of the Birken- head police was sent to penal servitude, eloquence and intluence failing to save him. When Mullins murdered Mrs. Elmsley, of Stepney, sixty years ago, he ae was not a policeman, having left the force some time pre- viously, and he is not to be classed with the policeman- criminal; but the crime of Constable Cooke, of the Lon- don force, who slew Maud Merton in 1893, cannot go unrecorded, It was an_ in- stance of a romance developing into a sordid tragedy, for Cooke was a young and handsome policeman patrolling a street in the West-end of London when he met Maud Merton, and tried to save her from herself. Maud was pretty, young, and Constable Cooke. temperamental, and Cooke fell in love with her, and, believing that she would go straight, he linked his fortunes with hers, looking forward to the day when he could marry her. But Maud soon grew tired of respectability, and when the constable ascertained the precise nature of the efforts she made to banish bore- dom, he informed her that they would have to be strangers in future. The girl, however, was not to be got rid of, and when Cooke persisted in holding aloof from her, she complained about him to the Superintendent at Bow Street, who, declining to be influenced by romance, transferred Cooke to the Notting Hill Division, and fined him a month's pay. This was Maud Merton's revenge, and she - ought to have been satisfied with it, but logic was not her strong point, and she could see no reason why Cooke should not love her. It is easy to anticipate what followed, especially when the triangle was completed by the appearance of a second woman, and Maud’s fury became devilish. She forced an interview on Cooke, and confronting him when he was alone on his beat in the shadow of Wormwood Scrubs Prison, she screamed threats and insults until the man, losing control of himself, raised his truncheon and beat her to death. That’ was at about eleven at night, and seven hours later the body was discovered. The murderer had in. -:

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84 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN the meantime buried his _ bloodstained truncheon in the back garden of the house where he lodged, and when he was suspected and arrested, the first act of the detective in charge of the case was to dig up the back garden and recover the most damning piece of evidence against the accused. Cooke, however, confessed fully before he was committed for trial, and he quietly and submissively went to his death, while a howling mob outside Newgate caricatured human nature, and ridiculed civilization by rejoicing publicly over the doom of a man who might have made a success of life had he not been cursed with a romantic dispo- sition. A few months ago a sergeant and a constable of the London Metropolitan Police were sent to penal servitude for burglary, a rare crime amongst men in their calling, though the weak-minded must be tempted by their special knowledge of well-furnished houses on their beat which are unoccupied during the holiday season. Several officers have been convicted of perjury, but generally the motive has been to back up a weak case, and not to make money or to injure an enemy. The founder of the first regular detective force was a notorious criminal, and when Eugene Vidocq was chosen by the Paris Chief of Police to organize a band of detec- tives for the protection of life and property, and the capture of offenders, he naturally enough decided that the most. efficient method would be to set thieves to catch thieves. As a result he gathered around him the scum of the French underworld, and the zealous “ detectives’ anxious for “results acted as agents-provocaleurs, and when they failed as tempters, denounced innocent persons, and were never without funds, because the chief paid by results, and there was a fee for each arrest. 1t was a loathsome system, which speedily killed itself, yet when Canler, who came after Vidocq, began to reform the force and eliminate the criminal element, he was subjected to much abusive criticism. The Vidocq method had been out of favour in England since the time of Jonathan Wild, but when the Frenchman was flour- ishing there was a T.ondon police officer, George Vaughan, who arranged numerous “ burglaries "’ with confederates, and induced youthful crooks to break into the sclected houses. The burglars were ignorant of Vaughan’s identity, and when the redoubt- able sleuth appeared on the scene at the psychological moment and captured them, they did not suspect that he had been the influence that had tempted them to disaster. However, Vaughan overdid his villainy, was discovered, and transported for life. Germany and Austria have had the policeman-criminal in their midst, and generally he has been a high official. In 1913 three Berlin detectives were convicted of blackmail, and in 1914 the Police President of Cologne retired from office hurriedly to avoid prosecution for a serious offence. The German authorities have generally shrunk from exposing the delinquencies of their police, and retirement has been regarded as a sufficient punishment for breaches of the law. Of course, savagely assaulting civilians was never considered a crime, and the sergeant of police who in 1914 cut off a man’s hand from the wrist without having received the slightest provocation was not even censured, Vienna and Budapest also have been compelled to deal with policemen who have fallen from grace. There is no need to dwell on the iniquities of the old Russian police, who were infamous for cnminality. They practically standardized bribery, regulation fees being payable to all from the highest to the lowest, the easy- going Slav regarding bribery as almost a. legitimate tax and scarcely objecting to it. But what he did resent was the cold brutality of the secret police, the manufacturing of criminals by the detectives, and the tortures inflicted in prisons where the police held sway and acknowledged no superior authority. The Russian Secret Police helped unwittingly to bring about the revolution, and it is not sur- prising that thousands of them enlisted in the service of the Bolsheviks, for cruelty knows no boundaries or principles, Looking back on the last hundred years and taking into consideration the type of man who has formed the backbone of the British police forces and the wages paid, it can be said that the public have no reason to complain of their bargain. When Sir Robert Peel established the Metropolitan Police Force in 1829 he fixed the pay of constables at twenty-one shillings a week, and in a letter to Croker, who had suggested five shillings a day, he declared that the weekly guinea was sufficient. ‘No doubt three shillings a day will not give me all the virtues under heaven, but 1 do not want them,” he wrote. ‘ Angels would be far above my work.” It is this question of pay which has been at the bottom of most of the trouble, however, and the wonder is that more policemen have not succumbed to the monetary inducements held out to them by criminals, .Until recently the police were scandalously underpaid, and it is to their credit that so few of them have betrayed their trust.

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THE RECTOR’S STORY. By “ NEMO.” ILLUSTRATED BY G. SOPER. The tragi-comica! dilemma in which a South African clergyman found himself placed. For obvious reasons the reverend gentleman’s name has been suppressed. T the time this little adventure A happened, it was my custom to hold service once a month at a small country church, some thirtv miles distant from the village in South Africa of which I was rector. The roads were indescribably muddy, and it was no uncommon sight to see a motor being towed along by a span of oxen. The state of the toads, however, did not cause me undue distress, for I was the owner of a sturdy little Basuto pony, which was very sure-footed and reliable. I left home at the first sign of dawn on the day when my experience occurred, breathing a prayer that the weather would improve as the day wore on, for the heavy drizzle boded ill for the prospect of a large congregation. I noticed that the few spruits I passed had been changed into small rivers by the heavy Tainfall, and began to dread the river which I had to ford four miles before I reached my destination. My fears were well-grounded, for when I Teached it I found the river a raging torrent, and, as I stood gazing at the rushing waters, 1 felt inclined to turn back, and began trying to soothe my conscience by the thought that few of the farmers would venture out to church on such a day. However, this feeling did not last long, and I quickly un- dressed, made my clothes up into a bundle, and fastened them securely to the saddle, Tetaining only my helmet and _ spectacles. My spectacles I kept because I was as blind as a bat without them, and my helmet be- Cause it was awkward to fasten on. Then I proceeded to swim the river, —— holding the reins in my hand. As I swam, I must confess, the anathemas breathed by the farmers on the Government for not erecting bridges over the rivers did not seem quite so shocking to me as they had hitherto. As we neared the opposite bank my horse plunged forward and wrenched the reins from my grasp. I swam steadily on, think- ing he would begin to graze when he reached the bank, and I did not for a moment doubt that I could catch him easily. To my horror, however, directly he reached the solid ground he trotted serenely off in the direction of the church! I called and whistled, but all to no avail, for, like John Gilpin’s famous steed, “ the trot be- came a gallop soon.” My sturdy little pony seemed to have forgotten his long journey ; his one idea now was to get to the stable, where he knew a good feed would be awaiting him. For a few minutes, as I tore wildly along after him, I did not realize the terrible position I was in, but although it was summer time the drizzle on my bare skin soon chilled me, and it gradually dawned on me that here I was, stranded in the veld. garbed only in helmet and spectacles, and with the prospect of my congregation pass- ing me on the road ! Very earnestly did my desire for a large attendance evaporate; instead, I hoped with all my heart that the people would think it far too wet to venture out. Suddenly the sound of hoofs rang out and I thought it was my_ horse returning. But, no; it did not come from that direc- tion, and there were a couple of horses.

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86 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Here I was, stranded in the veld, garbed only in helmet and spectacles, Quick as lightning I dropped down among the tall tambooti grass! Not a moment too soon, for there came into view a carriage, and as it drew nearer I lay almost paralyzed with despair, for it contained three ladies, and the help I had been hoping for was as far away as ever. What on earth was I to do? It was im- possible to go on to service, for although a minister’s garb is not picturesque, it is not startling, and I would have given much for the possession of even one of my garments. My glasses were still perched airily on my nose, and my helmet had not forsaken me, but, alas! I could not hide behind a helmet. If it were impossible to go on to service, it was equally impossible to return home. While I was racking my brains for a solution of my dilemma I again heard the sound of hoofs. These people were riding leisurely along, and it was necessary for me to crawl on hands and knees for some time in order to escape detection. Suddenly the humour of the situation struck me, and an irresistible desire to yell with laughter seized me. What would my solemn churchwardens and sidesmen say could they see me in my birthday suit, plus my helmet and spectacles, creeping along in the tall tambooti grass like some weird pre- historic animal ? It was no joke, however, and just as I was feeling almost inclined to indulge in the relief of tears, a native boy came along with a blanket thrown gracefully over his shoulder. I nearly embraced him when I saw him, and he very generously agreed to part with the blanket for twice its value.

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THE RECTORS “STORY. 83 and with the prospect of my congregation passing me on the road!” Now anyone who has been in South Africa knows that a Kaffir blanket is not redolent of eau-de-Cologne, nor is its vivid colouring suggestive of a parson’s usual garb; but that blanket, with its blue and yellow stripes, its gorgeous red and green circles, and its purple cubes, seemed to me just then the most delightful thing I had seen for years. In the meantime my errant horse had arrived at the church, and great was the consternation of my friends, who felt con- vinced that some serious accident had befallen me. The whole congregation promptly set out to search for me. 1 saw them coming, and hoped to hide until they had passed, and - then hurry on and secure my clothing. But they stopped to speak to the native boy—who was afraid to leave me till he had received payment for his blanket — and someone caught sight of my helmet. I was immediately surrounded and had to tell my story amid roars of laughter. Never do I wish to go through such a service again as the one I held that day! In the middle of a serious passage there would be a titter or suppressed chuckle, and before long the whole congregation would be con- vulsed with laughter again. The Kaffirs nicknamed me * Mfundisa Ebij ° (Rev. Blanket), and many were the ofters I had from natives who wished to sell me their blankets at the price I had given for the one that day. Sometimes even now, in my dreams, I imagine the congregation meeting me— before [ had been able to purchase that blanket ! x

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ODDS AND ENDS. A Japanese fencing-bout in progress. “Music hath charms.” An Arizona “Gila monster ” listening to a phonograph. CCEPTING the premise that “ Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,” the young lady shown in the accompanying tried to “make friends” with an / monster "—one of the most sluggish and deadly of all living things—by turning upon it the strains from a phonograph. The monster lay motionless for possibly fifteen minutes, evincing not the slightest interest or attention, but suddenly, when a lively selection was played, he raised himself up’on his front feet, lifted his head, and came as near smiling as a creature of this sort can. Gradually he moved nearer the machine, and after many days of experimenting he apparently became fond of the music and songs. Alas ! for scientific progress, however. One day the music loving lizard rambled into a driveway to sun himself and a swift motor-car did the rest ! The picture herewith shows two young Japanese engaged in a fencing-bout. This particular sport is as popular in Japan as football is with the Britisher The young men of Japan are trained to it from a very early age, and great interest is manifested by the general public in the periodical displays

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eT vee GLADIATORS fighting with ferocious wild beasts was a favorite exhibition of the Romans. The illustra- tion herewith shows the end of one of these savage scenes. The ruins of the Coliseum where these exhibi- tions were held still stand in Rome, a mute monument to the causes which led to the downfall and decay of that nation which once ruled the world. If you would know the history of every nation, kingdom, prin- cipality and power from the earliest times down to the recent World War then embrace this opportunity to place in your home the Standard History ~ World We will name our special low price and easy terms to all readers interested in our offer who mail us the coupon below. Tear off coupon, write name and address plainly, and mail now before you forget. We employ no agents as our low price does not permit the payment of an agent's commission. The beautifur sample pages will give you some idea of the splendid illustrations and wonderfully interesting style in which the History is written. 10 BIG VOLUMES LARGE PAGES 1000 Splendid Pictures Six Thousand Years of History This set of books takes you back to the dawn of history, long before the Pyramids of Were built; and traces man's career down through the romantic troubled times of Chalde: grandeur and Assyria’s magnificence; of Babylon Ith and luxury: of Greek a wan splendor; of Mohammedan culture and nement; of French zance and British power, to the Great World War. It covers every race, every nation, every time, and holds you spellbound by its wonderful eloquence. Rather than be contented with the commonplace you can enjoy and become familiar with Socrates and Caesar and Napoleon and Cromwell and Columbus and Lincoln. 4 ee History of the World and begin reading it. Read it for the joy 4¥/ nuit cost to I ae : ; r 32 booklet of ‘ill give you; read it for the good it will do you; read it for the “/ sample pages of the Standard inspiration that will lead you toward better things. “ History of the World, and write aid Napoleon, “and I will show you (“®* full particulars of your speclal offer mail, me a family of readers,” the people who rule the world. K9_/ to Wide World readers WESTERN NEWSPAPER ASSOCIATION NAME ‘s ADDRESS Or _ ECT BUI

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“THE FRAIL ROOF COLLAPSED, PRECIPITATING MYSELF AND THE BEAR INTO THE MIDDLE OF THE BOAT.” (SEE PAGE 94.)

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An Indian Army officer’s nerve-trying expe- rience on a house-boat in Kashmir. “I certify that the events I have chronicled actually occurred,” writes Captain Evans. FTER three months of summer in the Indian Plains, where the hot weather and hard work combined had culminated in a severe bout of fever, 1 was recommended by the medical officer at the tiny station hospital to get away somewhere cooler as soon as I could. I was experiencing the feeling of weakness and depression that seems to be the invari- able aftermath of a bad “go” of fever, and was only too glad to escape from the glare and heat for a while. Accordingly, as soon’as I could hand over my work, oft I went, and—not being exactly a ladies’ man—chose the solitary delights of Kashmir rather than the softer joys of the various hill stations within easy reach. I arrived there after the long journey pretty well fagged out, and was glad enough to tumble into the house-boat secured for me by my servant, who had gone on ahead. My days were spent in strolls amidst the beautiful Kashmir scenery and in reading and fishing. Growing tired of one place, I would have the boat hauled up-stream by several lusty coolies to some new anchorage where I could indulge in fresh walks and be the undoing of mere fish. For the better comprehension of my story a slight description of the house-boat itself is perhaps not out of place. The reader must not picture some wonderful contri- vance similar to those on the Thames at home—a sort of floating palace. There are Vol. xIvi.—7. . ILLUSTRATED BY T SOMERFIELD such things in Kashmir, but the majority are much simpler affairs. They consist, primarily, of a canoe-shaped boat some torty teet long, which is divided off laterally at intervals by wooden partitions, so as to form two or three tiny rooms. The roof and sides are of a sort of matting, that on the sides being in narrow widths, which can be rolled up at will. A smaller boat of similar design is generally engaged for the servants and cooking purposes. These Kashmir house-boats, though flimsy affairs, can be tricked out with curtains, easy chairs, and so on, until they are very cosy. I proceeded up the river by easy stages, stopping just when I felt inclined, and staying till I got bored with the scenery at that particular spot. After several such journeys, 1 found myself one evening in a particularly delightful place. The river was broad enough to be considered almost a lake, and was covered over practically its entire surface with lotus and other river flowers. So thick were they that from a few yards’ distance you would not have imagined that it was anything but a field of flowers. If pleasing to the eve, however, these masses of vegetation made it very trying work to drag a heavy house-boat along. From the slow pace and the grunts of the coolies, I guessed they were having a rough time of it, and so, having no one to please but myself, I decided to call a halt—an order

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92 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, that was received very gladly by the coolies. The boat was tied up to the bank, and I took a stroll while dinner was being prepared. When I returned I found they had set my table outside, and after finishing my solitary meal 1 was sitting back, revelling in the beautiful) prospect revealed by a glorious moon, when I was disturbed by the arrival of a man from the village near by. He was a fine-looking, white-bearded old fellow, and proved to be a shtkaree, or hunter. After the usual salutations he asked me if 1 wished to go after bear, of which, he said, there were several in the neighbourhood. An early fall of snow in the hills had driven them down to the valleys, and they were pilfering the young fruit from the orchards and otherwise making themselves objectionable to the villagers. He talked for some time, and tried to stimulate me by glowing accounts of their size. 1 was tired, however, and after giving a reluctant promise to let him know my decision the following morning, I decided to turn in, for the mosquitoes were coming up trom the water weeds in con- siderable numbers. I flung off my clothes and escaped their attentions by diving beneath a mosquito net, where I very soon succumbed to slumber. It would be between two and three o'clock, as near as I can guess, when 1] woke up with a vague undefinable feeling that something was wrong. I peered out of the mosquito net, but the moon was no longer so bright as it had been earlier on, and it was some time before 1 could make out the wriggling forms of two large snakes on the floor. They must have been some seven or eight feet in length, and were of a particularly obiectionable type, peculiar to that part of the world, which, contrary to the usual custom of the snake tribe, will attack on sight. The average snake is no pleasant companion, but it usually yields the path to you unless provoked. This species, how- ever, will not budge an inch, and is very often not content with your yielding place to it, but actually comes after you. Something had evidently occurred to upset my two unwelcome visitors; they were gliding backwards and forwards along the floor of the little room, hissing angrily at intervals. One appeared to be injured, from the rigid way in which it dragged its tail after it. My sudden movement, when I caught sight of them, must have betrayed my presence to them for the first time. They promptly sat up with half their length coiled under them, swaying their wicked little heads about, their tongues flickering in and out of their mouths. They regarded me for some minutes; then one of them, uncoiling and darting forward, made for me. Whether it did not see the net, or did not understand its nature, | do not know, but it rushed at it blindly and hit it sharply with its head. The blow, of course, never reached me, but the force of the snake's attack on the loose folds of the net brought its ugly head within a few inches of my face, while the poison intended for my veins was spilt over the net, as the brute had done what so many snakes do when angry—thrown its poison before getting its fangs in. Foiled by the net, the snake fell back with an angry hiss, and retired to think things over, As for me, I was so taken aback, and the whole thing had happened so suddenly, that at first I did not know what to do. To escape by either door was out of the question, as the creatures would be after me long before 1 ever got there. My best plan, I thought, was to jump out of the window next my bed on to the bank, as I dd not think it likely that they would pursue me_ there. Once ashore, I could quickly awaken the servants, arm mysclf with a stick, and return to the combat on more equal terms. 1 was just about to put this plan into execution when, to my horror, on looking out of the window, I tound that the river- bank was nearly a hundred and fifty yards away! The mooring-rope had evidently broken, and the tairly strong current, com- bined with a wind to which the broad side of the house-boat acted as a saul, had managed to overcome the resistance offered by the weedy surface of the river. 1 was now in mid-stream, alone in a house-boat with two highly dangerous and angry snakes! i would have swum for it, but the weeds made that impossible ; a man would be entangled and drawn under in less time than it takes to write about. I was now distinctly scared, and I became more so when I discovered that the snake which had made the first attempt had swarmed up one of my mosquito-net poles during my absorption, and had now arrived on top of the ne’, its weight being sufficient to make the net sag down perilously near my head. Here it writhed about till the flimsy material was in imminent danger of parting company somewhere. Presently an ominous sound of tearing brought me to my senses, and with a mighty heave I shot the brute right off on to the floor, where it lav hissing viciously. Only for the moment, though, as I had no doubt that its devilish cunning would presently induce it to try some other method of getting at me, which might be more successful. Accordingly I decided not to wait and see. Kneeling up, I split the top of the net across; then, standing up to my full height, with my head and shoulders through

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the net, I strove with both hands to make a hole in the matting of the roof. The frail stuff soon yielded to my efforts, and, gripping the wooden cross-beam, I pulled myself clean up on to the roof—just in time to avoid a second stroke from one of the snakes, which had swarmed up-the post again, and missed my bare foot by a hair’s-breadth Not knowing whether the brutes, in their Tage, might not find some means of getting at me even on the roof, I called loudly in the direction of the shore. After a moment or two answering shouts showed me I had mistaken my bearings. The boat had drifted farther than I thought, and it occurred to me that the coolies might not be able to see me, as the moon had by now almost gone. Fortunately I had a box of matches in the pocket of my pyjama coat. MY REST-CURE. 93 I lit several, but the wind blew them out immediately, nor did the dodge of striking two or three at once prove any more successful. I saw that something bigger must be used, so I stripped off some of the matting from the roof and, holding . it in my pyjama coat, which I slipped out of, I lit it. The dry matting instantly flared up like a torch, and I held it up and waved it wildly about to attract the attention of those on shore. Judge of my horror, when the bright light of the flare fell on the roof, to discover that I was not its only occupant, the other end being tenanted by a distinctly unfriendly- looking bear, who gave a deep growl as my startled glance fell on him! In my excite- ment | dropped the torch, which, burning rapidly, had reached my hand and was scorching my fingers. At the same time I moved back- wards to the ex- tremity of the roof, for, by a “The force of the snake's attack on the net brought its ugly head within a few inches of my face.” Digitize Google

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94 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. : stroke of luck, I had stepped out of my room with the hole I had made between mysclf and my visitor, There we stood, regarding one another, he apparently not particularly anxious to attack, and myself most decidedly innocent of such intentions. 1 divided my attention between the bear and the shore, anxiously striving to pierce the darkness for some sign of an approaching boat. Just as my ears were rewarded by the unmistakable sound of a boat being paddled in my direction, a new complication set in. The dying torch 1 had so negligently got rid of had fallen, apparently, down the hole by which L had ascended. Now the dry stuff inside had caught alight, and—to judge from the smoke now pouring out of the hole and from the windows - the blaze was going strong. I had little hope that the roof would remain untouched for long, as 1 knew the whole boat was as dry as tinder. My only chance was that it would hold out till help came. Presently, however, the bear began snuffing and swaying about; then he got up on_ his hind legs and commenced shutfling uneasily. Evidently the roof beneath him had started to warm up! This continued for a few minutes; then suddenly, almost beneath his paws, the matting burst into flames! The terrified animal promptly fled, and, making an ungainly leap over the hole, arrived at my end of the roof. I have no doubt that the poor brute was far too scared to hurt me, but I was in no condition just then to argue coolly and collectedly. 1 sprang away from him, and the frail roof—not being built to stand the gymnastic performances of a heavy bear and a by-no-means-slender human being —collapsed, precipitating myself and the bear into the middle of the boat, which was by now in flames, and with two poisonous snakes lurking somewhere in its interior ! As we crashed to the floor together, the bear almost crushed the last atom of breath from my body, though fortunately he did not get me fairly and squarely. I had just enough strength left to squirm quickly away from underneath him, and as I did so I saw one of the snakes glide with lightning rapidity towards him. 1 flung myself over the side of the boat, preferring to trust myself to the river rather than to that roarmg inferno behind. As I dropped into the water, 1 canght a Jast glimpse of the unfortunate bear. He was standing erect on his hi d legs, silhouetted against the flames, with a snake round his neck, warding off its attacks with an enor- mous paw. The second snake he had evidently crushed, for it dangled inert from his other paw. It was fortunate that I did not have long to wait in that chilly river with the deadly weeds clinging about my legs. I managed to tread water for what can in reality only have been some few minutes, though it seemed an age; and then the boat, with my servant and some coolies, nearly rammed me. 1 gave a feeble shout, and they dragged me, half dead with fright, over the side. They wanted to hang about in the neigh- bourhood of the house-boat till the fire had abated somewhat in order to rescue what they could of my kit, but so terrified was I that 1 would not hear of it, and [ infused them with enough of my alarm to make them put their backs into their work in pulling me away. Even then the slowness of the boat's progress through the obstructing weeds seemed to me like one of those night- mares where one is running away, with knees that seem made of water and feet of lead, from some appalling monster. 1 spent the remainder of the night on the bank shivering, till daylight came and I summoned up enough courage to re-visit the scene of my adventure. ‘The boat had burnt down to the water's edge, and what remained of her was wedged fast on a snag. Poor Bruin was easily recognizable, though every hair had been burned from his body, and T could not even get his skin as trophy. From his appearance he had evidently died from the ctlect of snake-bites, several ol which had got home on his body. In his death agonies he must have rent the two snakes to mbbons, as one could judge from the remains. Of my kit, scarcely enough was left to enable me to make even a comparatively decent appearance. The house-boat, 0 course, Was a thing of the past, so altogether it was a rather expensive holiday. t It puzzled me for some time to accour for the unusual appearance of a beat ved house-boat. The problem was finally nee by the old sérkaree, who pointed outs Z near my original mooring-place wit he branch ‘which must have overhung 3 boat. There were several claw-marks the bark which left no doubt as to e Fa origin, and there was also a bee's nes a one of the branches. The old man ae was that the bear had climbed the tree ey the honey, and found the two snakes banteaie on the branch. Alarmed, they had 8 away by the only exit—on to ; followed by the angry bear, who! one of them a blow with his paw- nak ‘ the boat itself, then swarmed down into fter < yn a knowing he could not follow, and ae to the boat went adrift. This pea cannot quite a probable explanation, an think of a better.

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Cl. i av IN e Cardiam, SEPH HEIGHTON ILLUSTRATED BY E S.HODCSON A story of superhuman pluck and dogged tenacity, The oilship Cardium, with twelve thousand tons of benzine on board, took fire at sea. What happened afterwards is told in this stirring narrative. T the beginning of April, 1919, the steamship Cardium, which was on a voyage from Singapore to Mel- bourne and Sydney, left Fremantle, Western Australia, on the last stages of her voyage. Great trouble had been experienced with the boilers, and it had been feet! Almost immediately all the ship's lights went out. The dynamo had stopped, and the Cardium was left with only the emergency wireless set available to call assistance. Both captain and crew fully realized their necessary to make for Fremantle in order to carry out repairs. These were satisfactorily completed,and the tesumed voyage was uneventful until the evening of April 3rd. On that day, just after seven o'clock, Captain W. E. Jones, who had only left the bridge a few Minutes pre- viously, was sit- ting in his room writing, when he heard shouting on deck, followed by the ringing of the fire alarm—that most dreaded of all sounds at sea. Dropping his pen, the captain rushed on deck, where he beheld a terrible spectacle— uge volumes of flame pouring out of the engine-room skylight to a height of sixty The Cardiuim, with her engine-room burnt out, rolling helplessly three hun- dred miles from the nearest land. Captain W. E. Jones.

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96 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, deadly peril if the fire was allowed to spread. Remember, if you please, that the ship had a cargo of twelve thousand tons of benzine and benzoline, Captain Jones at once gave the orders ‘ All hands to boat stations ; engines to be stopped ; all fuel supply valves to be closed.” To the third officer he gave the ship's position, with instructions to reach the wireless cabin, if possible, and instruct the operator to send out “5. "signals. Owing to the flames and terrific heat, it was found to be impossible to get down to the engine-room to stop the engines, and the task had to be abandoned, While the lifeboats were being swung out a fresh disaster befell —two Chinese members of the crew were accidentally knocked over- board and drowned, in spite of every effort to save them. A heavy sea wv running, causing the burning vessel to roll so heavily that it was with the greatest difficulty the crew could carry out their orders. On account of the inflammable nature of the cargo, Captain Jones fully believed: his ship to be doomed until the chief engineer reported that he believed the fire was at present confined to the engine-room, and had not yet reached the stokehold. Here was a gleam of hope, and Captain Jones at once made up his mind to fight the flames. AH hands were immediately ordered to muster on the poop-deck with buckets, hand-pumps, and sand. With feverish energy, well knowing the fate which awaited them should the fire reach the benzine, they endeavoured to keep the flames confined to the engine-room. In spite of their most strenuous efforts, however, the conflagration gradually spread to the coal bunkers and engineers’ quarters. The roar and glare of the flames were awful, the heat, even at a distance, almost unendurable. Had the ship been abandoned at this crisis neither the captain nor crew could have been blamed, for the likelihood of a terrific ex- plosion grew more probable every moment. But, instead of stopping to consider the advisability of such a step, officers and men redoubled their efforts. Hour after hour the fight with the relentless flames continued, while ‘ $.0.S.”" calls on the emergency wire- less set were continually sent out and distress signals fired. All through the night, with roaring flames leaping high into the sky from her decks, the Cardium rolled and pitched helplessly Meanwhile the wireless station at Esperance picked up the ship’s appeal, and in turn sent out the message : “ Cardium, lat. 35, 36S., in distress and requires assistance. one going to her aid?” Hope dawned in the hearts of the weary fire-tghters when, at four o'clock on the Long. 123, 43 E., Is any- morning of the 4th, a steamer’s lights came into view. She proved to be the s.s. Tracoola, of Adelaide, eastward bound, which had been attracted by the glare of the conflagration, visible many miles away through the darkness, By this time, by dint of superhuman efforts, Captain Jones and’ his crew had achieved what had at first seemed impossible, and gained the mastery over the flame: But the Cardin was helpless and unnavig- able, at the merey of wind and waves, and three hundred miles from the nearest land. It was impossible, owing .to .the engine- room being completely burnt out, for the vessel to proceed any farther under her own steam, and the Tvracoola was accordingly asked to take her in tow, if possible making for Adelaide, Being in light trim, however, and having no grip of the water, the Tracoola was unable to give the Carditun even steerage way, though she tried her best. Finally the hawser parted and the attempt had to be given up. “Can do nothing further,” captain of the Tracoola. Captain Jones immediately called _ his officers and men together and gave all who wished to do so the opportunity of leaving the ship. She was, to all intents and pur- poses, a mere helpless hulk, and those who stayed were taking serious risks. But they were a plucky team, and one and all decided to remain and do their best to save the steamer. This decision was communicated to the Tracoola, and soon after she steamed away, her captain promising to report to all headlands and any passing vessels. Meanwhile, further ‘ S.0.S." signals were sent out, and at 7.15 on the evening of the 5th the exhausted crew—who by this time had almost subdued the flames—were cheered by the sight of a steamer’s lights making in their direction. They were those of the War Soldier, a vessel bound for I‘remantle with nine thousand tons of wheat and other cargo on board, under the command of Captain W. Burdon, who agreed to stand by until morning and take the Cardiwm in tow to the nearest port. The War Soldier was a fine steamer, nearly fifteen hundred tons heavier than the Cardium, and the towing did not present the same difficulties as in the case of the smaller Tracoola. Just fifty-two hours after the first out- break the last traces of fire in the bunkers had been extinguished, and one menace at least removed. At 6.30 on the morning of the 6th the H'ar Soldier sent a boat across with lines, a hawser was connected with the windlass of the Cardiwn, and an attempt was made to begin the towing. Owing to the high wind and swell, however, which caused both vessels to roll and pitch heavily, signalled the

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THE SAVING OF THE ‘CARDIUM.” “Huge volumes of flame pouring out of the engine-room skylight.”

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98 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, putting a tremendous strain on the gear, the hawser parted. Again and again the boat’s crew from the Way Soldier connected up the hawser, and just as often it broke again, leaving the fire- blistered Caydium drifting helplessly to lee- ward. For forty-eight hours, during which time the War Soldier managed to tow the Cardium only a hundred and twenty-three miles, the heart-breaking struggle was continued, until finally Captain Burdon reluctantly signalled that the job looked impossible, and that Captain Jones would have to abandon ship. Picture to yourself the position of Captain Jones. For fifty-two hours he and his men had fought the fire, with a cargo below them that threatened instant destruction to all on board His crew was now quite exhausted and he himsel!, at the moment of receiv- ing Captain Burdon’s despairing message, was engaged in bury- ing a poor fellow who had succumbed. During the whole time he had not closed his eyes. Now, after conquering the flames, he was asked to give up the job of saving his ship as hope- less! There was a rocky coast under his lee, his ship was help- less, his crew tired out. His reply was typical of the man. “The darkest hour is before the dawn. Cheer up!” he signalled. It was a challenge to which Captain Burdon quickly responded. Both steamers, labouring heavily, were being driven by wind and swell on to the rocks of Breaksca Island, and were in great danger. Captain Burdon, however, noticed that the Cardium had been swept abcam of the channel near the island. Quickly the War Soldier made fast again, and, by careful manoeuvring and skilful sca- manship, was just able to keep her helpless charge clear of the rocks and tow her through the channel into smooth water. Finally she came to anchor at Albany, three hundred miles from where she first caught fire. — Captain Jones’s wife and child. For six days and nights continuously Captain Jones had undergone an ordeal which prevented him sleeping properly for three weeks after landing. His boots had to be cut from his feet, and his hair changed colour through the strain. But he had won through, not only saving the lives of his crew and himself, but a vessel and cargo valued at four hundred and seventy-three thousand pounds, Throughout that long - continued ordeal he never lost hope. ‘ After anchoring,’ says Captain Burdon, who had _ himself undergone a trying time, ‘‘ 1 went on board the Cardium to offer my sym- pathy to a brother in trouble, but when I was greeted by a jovial and merry skipper | changed my mind about the sympathy.” Captain Jones, like most men of action, is extremely modest, and will say prac- tically nothing about his great feat. He is more concerned with eulogizing ‘‘ the courage- ous and whole - hearted manner in which all hands contended with the danger under the most _ terrible circumstances.” The official records, however, reveal a story which—in the words of a member of the firm owning the Cardium— ‘affords the most striking illustra- tion in recent yearsof the courage and intelligence of the British seaman.” The authorities of Lloyd’s, more- over, knew how to appraise this gallant fight against seemingly overwhelming odds at its proper worth, At a recent gathering at that his- toric centre Captain Jones was presented with the highly-prized Silver Medal ‘ for meritorious services,”’ together with a cheque for nine hundred pounds, The people who are most proud of Captain Jones, perhaps, are the good folk of Criccieth —Mr. Lloyd George's home—where the Captain was born, and where he lives with his wife and little girl.

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CRAMP ISSS: The story of a tragic miscarriage of in the U.S. law archives. narrative ends with happiness and wedding bells. having been one of the since met Author writes with authority, jurors who tried the case and having Pendleton in his new home. F you ask anyone who lived in Brazoria County, Texas, during the decade from 1880 until 1890 whether he recalls the facts here narrated he will probably tell you that he remembers them well, for there has never been a trial in the Brazoria Superior Court that was so productive of argument as to the value of circumstantial evidence and the nature of corroborative evidence as the famous * Hinton Murder Case.” In 1880 George W. Pendleton and his pretty young wife, Octavia Pendleton, were residents in the frontier settlement of Liver- pool, in Brazoria County, fifteen miles west from the Gulf of Mexico. Pendleton, a man of about twenty-five, was a quiet, meditative sort of fellow. He had inherited some money, and had a plan, in conjunction with Northern capitalists, to achieve a fortune by bringing the waste areas along the Rio Grande under cultivation. He did not mix much with people in the county, as most young men do in a new district, and for that reason he and his wife were not so popular among the rank and file of the settlers as they might otherwise have been. The Pendletons, however, were markedly devoted to one another. They seemed to be comfortably well off, and possessed a fine herd of cattle, hiring cowboys to look after the animals. Mr. Pendleton was not a hard worker on his ranch. On several occasions Mr. and Mrs. Pendle- ton went away for a fortnight, returning as suddenly and quietly as they went. In a land of ‘new settlers, where everybody knew everybody else’s affairs, and all their com- ings and goings, the taciturnitv of the Pendietons was much remarked upon. As a Bion Murder (ase justice. Pendleton’s life-history would make a plot for a sensa- tional novel, yet all the facts of the case are on record It is fitting enough that the ae? ‘S HEIYRY. CG y TIYSLEY Qo eeusTRaTeD BY George The M. 5 SHELDON oO «, a tet matter of fact, Mr. Pendleton went to Chicago and St. Louis in order tu see men of capital regarding his scheme for securing a large tract of Uncle Sam's free land in Southern Texas and selling it for farming after a fortune had been spent in improve- ments in the way of irrigation, fences, roads, and barns. The confidential nature of these financial errands, of course, rendered it im- possible to talk about them among the gossip-loving neighbours. To increase the happiness of the young Pendletons a baby boy was born, but the advent of the youngster did not make them any more sociable towards outsiders. People were always discussing them, and it was pointed out by certain observant folk that a light burned in Pendleton’s house all night. He explained that he was a reader and student—something unknown among_ his neighbour settlers—and this fact did nothing to add to his popularity. Two miles from Liverpool lived another young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Guy Hinton. It was country gossip that the Hintons were unhappily married. Both had_ inherited money, and they quarrclled as to what each should do with his and her individual money. Mrs. Hinton wanted to live in gaver sur- roundings in Galveston, and hated the quiet cow-ranch life of Brazoria County, while her husband insisted upon remaining where they were. Though they did not “ hit it off” together, both Hinton and his wife were very popular in the Gulf section. One morning Guy Hinton rode up on horse- back to the Pendleton home and asked Mr. Pendleton to accompany him some twenty miles to the coast town of Velasco. At first Pendleton demurred, but Hinton seemed so

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1oo THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. anxious for his com- pany that at last Pendleton said he would go as far as Bastrop Bayou, where he had business with a Mr. Holt. The two young men duly started off on their trip, both well mounted. Mrs. Pen- dleton always said that she had a pre- sentiment something was not right, and that her husband would be better at home. But her recent illness, she argued, had made her un- usually fearful of dangers, and she held her peace. Late that afternoon Pendleton returned to his home. People noted the particularly grave expression of his face, and his men swore subsequently that he acted very strangely. He told his wife that Hinton had asked him to accompany him on the lonely ride because he (Hinton) had de- cided to leave his wife and the country, and wanted to relieve his mind and let some- body responsible know just why he was going. Pendleton said that Hinton had realized what cash he could without creating sus- picion, and had a roll of money on his per- son, but wanted more. Hinton therefore begged Pendleton to buy his gold watch at a sacrifice. This Pendleton did, and he exhibited the watch. Pendleton also sold his pistol—every man in that region carried one—to Hinton, and he showed his wife the money he had received for it. Pendleton had Mrs. Octavia Pendleton, as she appeared at the time of the trial. Mr. G. W. Pendleton, whose tragic life-story is here told. finally said good-bye to Hinton, who went on towards Galveston, where he planned to catch a steamer for a foreign clime, Hinton had begged that not a word ‘should be said about his going away or the failure of his married life. He had long ago made a will leaving everything to his wife, and that would give the property to her when he failed to reappear. In the circum- stances, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton did not so much as hint at any private knowledge when people started to hunt for the vanished Guy Hinton, and public excitement began to grow. A month passed, and the Pendletons were arranging’ for another trip to meet the Northern capital- ists (United States Senator C. V. Farwell was one of them), when one morning, while they were at breakfast, there came a knocking at the door. Mr. Pendleton rose from the table to answer the summons, and on opening the door was confronted by Captain Bennett, a deputy sheriff, who promptly stepped for- ward and slipped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. Pendleton was amazed, and asked the officer what it meant. ‘“‘ You are charged with the murder of Guy Hinton,” replied Cap- tain Bennett. ‘ His body has been found in the woods on Bastrop Bayou. There is much damaging testimony against you.

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THE HINTON MURDER CASE. “Captain Bennett slipped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.”

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102 THE WIDE WORLD I should advise you not to talk until you have consulted a lawver.” Pendleton was dumbfounded—not so much at the charge against him, for he thought he could easily clear himself, but at the news of Hinton’s death. He was confident that he could easily explain his last hours with Hinton, but he had no conception of the array of apparently deadly circum- stantial evidence that he was destined to face. At the preliminary examination it was shown that the body of a man with a bullet through his head had been found in the woods skirting Bastrop Bayou. The { corpse, although somewhat decomposed, had been identi fied as that of Hinton. It was proved that Pendleton and Hinton had left Liverpool together one morning some four weeks before ; that { Hinton, when he left home, wore his gold watch ; and that a couple of boys out hunting that afternoon had seen Pendleton and Hinton standing un- der a tree talking. After the boys had passed out of sight, they had heard a gun or pistol fired from the direc tion in which they had seen the two men. It was further proved that Pendleton had_ returned to Liverpool that evening wearing Hinton’s gold watch, that Hinton had never since been seen alive, and that the body had been found under the very tree where he and Pendleton were seen. Testimony was also put in to show that Pendleton was at that time arranging to get away on a mysterious visit to the north. An air of strangeness was attributed to every act and word of the Pendletons, and their cowboys laid stress in their evidence on Mr. Pendleton’s taciturnity when he came back from his ride with the missing man. The law in Texas seals a d&fendant’s lips. He cannot testify in his own behalf, and, having no means of disproving the case the State had made out against him, Pendleton was committed to jail without bail. On final trial he was convicted and sen- tenced to the penitentiary for life. Mrs. Pendleton’ was present at the trial, and, strange to say, after hearing the Mr. Pendleton’s son, as he appears at the present time. MAGAZINE. testimony, believed her husband to be guilty. She says now she cannot understand how she could ever have come to such a conclu- sion, since she knew him to be brave and honest. About two years after the trial Mrs. Pendleton secured a divorce, and later married a Mr, Devit. Shortly after her marriage to Devit she sold all the property formerly owned by Pendleton, which had been awarded to her by the Divorce Court, and removed with her new husband to Atlanta, Georgia. The unfortunate Pendleton had been in the penitentiary some two and a half years when a letter bearing his address and a South American postmark arrived at the Liverpool post- office. It was duly forwarded to the penitentiary authorities at Huntsville, and on being opened was found to be from Guy Hinton, the man Pendleton was serving out a life sen- tence for killing ! Pendleton immediately wrote to Hinton informing him of the strait he was in. Hinton, on receiving this letter, took passage for Galveston, and in due time arrived in Brazoria County. Colonel E. M. House— later President Wilson’s famous adviser, and then just home from Cornell University—at once took up the matter with the Governor of Texas, while Guy Hinton, leaving no stone unturned to help his friend, went to each of the jurors who had pronounced Pendleton guilty of slay- ing a man still alive. The authorities realized that an awful mistake had been made. Pendleton was released in an hour, and, with Hinton, went back to Liverpool. Hinton, it appeared, had been in Brazil, where he had prospered in business. He gave Pendleton twelve hun- dred dollars as some compensation for his sufferings. His imprisonment and sensational restora- tion to freedom and respectable citizenship had a disastrous effect on Pendleton. He was stricken down with brain fever, and for weeks lay ill at the hotel in Liverpool. It was his beloved wife’s divorce and belief in his guilt that most affected him, When he recovered he left his home town, the scene of his disgrace, and started to search for his

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THE HINTON former wife. She had not only married Samuel Devit, of Atlanta, Georgia, but had changed the name of her boy—Pendleton’s son—to Devit, not wishing him to grow up bearing the name of a convicted murderer. As is always the case, someone carried full information to Mrs. Devit, away in her new home in Atlanta, concerning the frightful error that had been made in Pendleton's conviction upon circumstantial evidence alone. Mrs. Devit was overwhelmed with remorse. She also fell ill with fever, and her family feared that she might take her lite. When she recovered she immediately left Mr. Devit and went to live with her sister. She imagined that officers would come any day and arrest her for bigamy. One day, hearing a knock at the front door, she looked out from behind the blinds and saw Pendleton standing there—emaciated, pale-faced, his clothes hanging loose on his shrunken figure. The shock was too great ; in an instant she had lost her reason. Her wild screams almost deranged poor Pendleton as well. She was declared to be a maniac and was sent to an asylum. The sorely-tried Pendleton obtained the custody of the httle boy and, with Hinton’s help, moved to Southern California and became a fruit-grower. He was successful frcm the start, and in three years made a little fortune, producing the very sort of fruit the canners wanted. He has added to his income annually since that time. On the day the boy, George Pendleton, Teached twenty-one, his father narrated to him the story of that hitherto-closed chapter in his life. The boy had been too young to understand the facts at the time of their occurrence. The father had those dreadful days constantly in his mind, but he had never opened his mouth about them, and never since coming to Cali- fornia had he left his home in a little valley among the Sierras. Now he encouraged the lad’s keen anxiety to go to Georgia to find out what had become of his mother after she had been com- mitted to the asylum. The son went to the asylum, and learned that three years after her ad- Mission she was dis- charged as cured ; MURDER CASE. 103 also that Mr. Devit had been dead ten years. George discovered that his mother had sup- posed her boy and his father had gone to South America, hating her very name. She had gone from the asylum to the mountain home of her brother in North Carolina. The son spent weeks trying to discover where that brother lived in North Carolina, and rode hundreds of miles in a buckboard. The brother, it finally transpired, had moved to the pineries of Winston County, Alabama. There followed another long trip to Alabama, and a search for two weeks among taxpayers in Winston County. Then at last success rewarded the boy's ettorts. The meeting between mother and son was most touching. The mother was still handsome and in splendid health, but her nights had been filled for years with dreams of again meeting her boy and her former husband. George, of course, wrote at once to his father, describing the condition of affairs and the sorrow that endured in his mother’s heart. It is unnecessary to say that very soon after that a grey-haired, middle-aged passenger alighted from the overland train— George W. Pendicton, come from Los Angeles to seek his wife. The cars did not go fast enough for him, and his step was like a boy’s as he ran to his son on his arrival in Hunts- ville, Alabama. There was a wedding in Huntsville on the very day of his arrival, and a little later a beautiful bungalow cottage was built in a valley near Los Angeles. I have a particular reason for remember- ing the facts of this remarkable case, because I was one of the jurors that found Mr. George Pendleton guilty, and I have recently revived my recollections by seeing Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton a dozen times a week in their new Southern California home. The Pendleton home among the orange-groves of California.

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LUEILE WOMAN OP FIAME’ ~e Sy we CAPTAIN FA.M WEBSTER Allustrated by : JOHN DE WALTON : What happened to two solitary white women who took up farm- ing in the East African bush. HIS varn came my way when I was out in the East African bush, and I have permission to tell it on condition that I do not reveal real identity of the two chief actors, one of whom was Irish and the other English. I must, there- fore, not define the locality too clearly, but the adventure took place at a spot not a thousand miles from Nairobi, the capital of British East Africa. “The natives used to squat on their haunches around the veranda steps and listen with all their ears when she set it playing.” Diatized by GOORTe .@

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“LITTLE WOMAN Towards the end of the long rains a heavily- laden flat cart, drawn by eight span of oxen, atrived in the district, with half-a-dozen native boys and two white women in charge of the safari, or caravan. It was drawing on towards nightfall when they reached their destination. The sky above the hills, behind which the sun had set, was a glory of crimson and smoky amber, against which the trees stood out starkly black. A lion was ranging far off across the plains, roaring spasmodically. One by one the brilliant stars gleamed out, like diamond- dust scattered broadcast across a pall of black velvet. Quickly the cooking-fires were set going and the women’s tents were pitched. The English girl—Kate Earnshaw, as we will call her—sat silent, awed and a little frightened by the mysterious wonder of the African night, but her companion, Sheila Conyers, who had travelled much, lay back in her long deck-chair lazily smoking a cigarette and listening contentedly to the familiar night-sounds of the wild—the sharp staccato barking of the zebras, the far-off roar of a lion, and the long-drawn whine of the predatory hyenas. Presently she leaped lightly to her feet, shouting to the boys to bring supper. The haste with which her orders were obeyed showed her entirely capable and essentially vital. Her com- panion was big, blonde, and somewhat hesi- tant, but the little Irishwoman seemed all fire and temper. She made a striking picture standing in the firelight, booted to the knee and clad in weather-stained khaki tunic, very white at the seams, and short skirt, with a serviceable- looking revolver strapped to her waist and a kiboko, or hippopotamus-hide whip, in her hand. After supper they got beneath their mos- quito curtains, and it is worthy of note that, although the English girl slept hardly at all, Sheila Conyers slumbered peacefully until the first streaks of dawn were tinging the sky. Then she rose, and within half an hour had dispatched most of the natives into the bush to cut wood for hut-building. Two days later a couple of serviceable bandas were ready for occupation. The larger one was to be used as a living-room ;_ the smaller was for sleeping purposes only. The land upon which the huts were erected was part of a shamba acquired from the Government, which the girls intended to farm. Labour was cheap and plentiful in the district, and it was not long before the land was under cultivation. That was due to the driving forces of Sheila, who was in- defatigable, and whom the natives nicknamed * Bibi Kidogo Moto,” which means * The Little Woman of Flame.” Kate looked after the housekeeping and Vol. xivi.—8 OF FLAME.” 105 was supposed to manage the personal boys, but, as a matter of fact, Sheila’s intervention was often necessary to keep them up to the scratch, Kate was too easy-going, and the natives imposed upon her if they thought the “ Bibi Kidogo " was not likely to find them out, which she usually did. Upon such occasions her orders flew like lightning, and the N'mpara, or headman, wielded his A:boko to some purpose, After a while the natives ceased to play tricks with this terrible little woman who was as efficient, just, and stern as a man, They had, moreover, a genuine and ‘affectionate regard for her, for she fed them well and was a great and fearless hunter of big game. Six months after their arrival in the wilder- ness a very decent bungalow was in evidence. It was built high above the ground and approached by six steep steps, which led up to a deep veranda protected by a low rail. From the veranda opened a central sitting- room, with a bedroom and bathroom on either side. It was well furnished, and the pictures were really good. There was, too, a gramophone, which was a source of endless delight not only to Kate, who had bought it, but also to the natives, who used to squat on their haunches around the veranda steps and listen with all their ears when she set it play- ing after supper in the evening. There was, I believe, only one thing on earth of which Sheila was genuinely afraid, and that was snakes. The feline tribe she feared not at all, Upon one occasion when a leopard leaped upon the veranda and seized the dog from under her very feet she jumped up and hurled the book she was reading straight into the face of the savage brute. Upon many another occasion she followed wounded and dangerous beasts into the dense bush to finish them off; but any form ot reptile sent her cold with fear. One morning when she found a_ black mamba—the most deadly of all the African snakes—asleep in her bathroom she screamed and fainted, although she could quite easily have backed out of the room without dis- turbing the brute, and it was Kate who, hearing her friend's cry, came with a shot- gun and blew off the reptile’s head. After that episode the girls were firmer friends than ever, Hitherto Sheila had somewhat despised her less adventurous companion, but now her warm Celtic tem- perament rose in quick response to Kate's promptitude and hurry. Towards the end of the year it was neces- sary for Sheila to go down country to attend to some business in connection with the farm. She was away a month, From the day of the ‘' Bibi Kidogo’s ” de- parture things began to go wrong. With discipline relaxed, the natives quickly grew

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106 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN idle, and ultimately became openly insolent. But Wate steadfastly refused to give the orders Maganga, the N’mpara, solicited, and have the ringleaders flogged. She had more than once been upon the verge of an open rupture with Sheila upon this question of beating the natives, and would not now violate her principles, although she was fully alive to the gravity of the situation. Things got very bad indeed. No work was done, and the natives came openly to the veranda at all times of the day demand- ing to hear the gramophone, the very sound of which became abhorrent to the English- woman. Meals were a movable festival now—more often than not the hitherto well- appointed table was not laid. Kate grew thinner and more haggard every day; she prayed for the return of Sheila or the advent of a wandering white man to set things nght. Maganga was her sole safeguard. She felt that she could rely upon him to the fast and armed him with a spare revolver. She locked herself in the bungalow every evening at sunset, but lay awake trembling at every sound through the long night-watches, drawing scant comfort from the heavy revolver which she could feel pressing against her cheek through the pillow. Then came a terrible day, when, going out at dawn, she called for the headman, but he did not answer. All day long she waited till, when he did not come at sunset, she realized that Maganga had gone—deserted her in the face of the final danger, she believed. That night there was a great ngoma (dance) down in the village. The light of the huge fires, near which the natives danced and sang, flickered fitfully through the barred windows ot the bungalow, behind which she lay listening and waiting. Meanwhile Sheila was on her way home ; she was, in fact, within one day's march of the shamba. Since sunrise her safari had been pushing steadily forward; there had been a_ brief hour’s halt at midday, then on again through the long afternoon to sunset, and now they were camped in a little clearing in the midst of the forest. Sheila, reclining in a camp-chair in the opening of her tent, was thinking of the joys of bed, bath, and well-cooked meals in the comfortable bungalow, when a weary man came stumbling into the firclight. In an instant she was ‘upon her feet and had flicked open the holster which held her ever-ready revolver, The weapon was al- ready im her hand and half withdrawn when, te her intense surprise, she recognized Magange, the N’mpara. “What is it?’ she asked, sharply, * Bibi,” he gasped. ‘1 knew that you were coming and | have run since morning.” “Why 2?” * There has been big trouble at the shamba and bigger trouble comes. The pale Bibi would not let me beat the boys when they became insolent and would not work. They say that you have gone and it is safe to do us they will.’”” And they will do what ?” “ To-night they dance, to-morrow they kill your friend and, taking what they like trom the house, will run away into the bush.” “Make food ready and bring mv horse, bo * shouted Sheila; then, turning to Maganga, she added, curtly : “* Rest and eat.” While the man, squatted upon his haunches outside the tent, was satisfying his hunger, she overhauled her revolver and stowed additional cartridges into her pouch. When the horse was brought she pulled on her gaunticts and took up a heavy kiboko, “1 go to deal justice to evil-doers,” she said, quietly. ‘ “ Good,” grinned Maganga. ‘I go with you.” “ Right,” she replied. ‘* Drink this first,” and mixed him a strong tot of brandy and water. kor balf an hour they had to go slowly, threading their wav by forest paths through the dense undergrowth. Maganga could feel the generous, unaccustomed spirit cour- sing through his veins, reviving his tremen- dous strength every minute. Then they were clear of the forest and the open plains showed ghostly betore them in the moonlight, Maganga gripped his mistress’s near stirrup- leather tightly in his right hand as she swung her horse forward into a canter, and they raced on through the night. Herds of zebra, wildebceste, and kongoni fled at their approach, and once they were within an ace of over-riding a lion. But Sheila never heeded | she was intent upon one thing only —to reach the bungalow and her friend before it was too late. Hour after hour tle horse galloped gamely on, the big, bronzed native moving with long, unflagging strides beside her, clinging to the stirrup-leather and lifted forward at every bound. Towards the hour of the moon’s setting they haited for ten minutes to rest. Sheila off-saddled her horse and let him roll and drink a few mouthfuls from a stream, drank a little brandy from the flask herself, and gave the rest to Maganga. Then they went on again. Grey light was showing in the sky as they came in sight of the bungalow. he fires still famed Weirdly against the dawn and the ngoma (drums) beat fiercely, drowning the sounds of the approaching hoofs.

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““LITTLE WOMAN OF FLAME.” 107

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108 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Sheila slid from the saddle, stumbling a little, and bade Maganga lead the tired horse away to the stable undetected. Meanwhile she crept away round the Lungalow to the corner, pulled herself up, and climbed over the low railing. On hands and knees she crawled to Kate’s window, upon which she tapped lightly. A white face, with wide, frightened eyes, stared at her through the glass, and a moment later she heard Maganga creeping along the veranda as Kate opened the door. Together they entered the living-room, where Kate, collapsing into a long chair, gave way to a storm of hysterical sobbing. Sheila, entirely mistress of the situation, got her back to her room and into bed, on the side of which she sat talking quietly and soothing the overwrought girl for what seemed a iong time. Presently they heard Maganga’s voice speaking through the half-open door. “ Ribr, they come,’ he said. Sheila rose up, loosened the revolver in its holster, but did not draw it, and walked through into the living-room, which she crossed and swung open the door on to the veranda. At her appearance a. gasp of half-frightened, half-defiant surprise went up from the natives clustering thickly about the steps. It was obvious they had been fortifying their courage with fembo (palm_ wine). Sheila strode forward. “What do you want?” sharply. For a moment they hesitated. Then a she asked, short, thick-set Akamba, with the filed teeth of the cannibal, more courageous than his fellows, ran up the steps and stood just inside the railings. * Bibi,” he said, we would go away from here, but first we want the Kinanda Kidcgo (gramophone) and other things from the house, It you do not give them we shall take them," he added, insolently. To this day he probably dees not know what happened next, but in reality a small, extremely hard fist caught him = squarely between the eves with incredible force. He stumbled back and, the top rail being at the level of his knees, turned a complete somer- sault before he hit the hard ground below, where he lay winded and taking no further interest in the immediate proceedings, Sheila caught the flash of spears and knives in the crowd below as the natives surged forward to the steps. She knew the moment for decisive action had come, and did not hesitate. Whipping out her revolver, she fired two shots in quick succession, dropping the leaders in their trac Then, as the others turned tail and bolted, she sent three more bullets whistling over their heads, Next day there were many beatings. It took Sheila the best part of a month to get things straightened out and working smoothly again. She and Kate Earnshaw are still farming their shamba in East Africa, and making it pay well, but the natives do not gather round the veranda at nights to hear the gramophone any more ; and as for Kate, she simply hates the sound of a needle seraping over a record.

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MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE I.—OUR CUP OF TEA. _ By PRIVATE J. M. NICOLL, Black Watch. ILLUSTRATED BY J. E. SUTCLIFFE. A Scotsman’s story of a cellar that nearly proved a tomb. HILE I was serving in France early in 1915 my company was told off to occupy a new trench, unknown to the Germans, not far from Neuve Chapelle village, then in the hands of the enemy. No fires or lights were to be used while occupying this position, as they would have given us away to the enemy. We were supporting the attack on the village, getting no hot food of any kind for about a week, and the effects of the cold March weather began to tell on some of us. My chum and I decided that after rum issue and “stand to’’ next morning, March 8th, we would have some hot tea or die in the attempt. About four hundred yards in rear of our trench stood the remains of a farmhouse, and next morning, about five o’clock, we sneaked off to the farm, telling nobody where we were going. Reaching the farm, my chum looked about for wood to kindle a fire while I filled our two canteetis at the pump. My companion, searching round, discovered a little trap- door in the kitchen, leading down to a big cellar, “The very place, Jock!” he cried, and down we both went, lit a fire, and were soon drinking the cup that cheers. We had started up the Woodbines, and were enjoying a cosy smoke when, without warning, a miniature eruption took place. I thought the end of the world had come! Bricks, mortar, wood, and dust crashed down through the trap-door on top of us, A ter- Tific report followed ; then came darkness and silence. When [I came to my senses I felt some- thing warm trickling down my forehead— blood. The falling brickwork had given me a nasty scalp wound. My chum’s shoulder had been put out by another mass of masonry, and he lay groaning in a corner. I lit a match—the only one we had left— and stumbled up the stair to find a way out. The trap-door was smashed, but the little opening was completely blocked, a beam about a foot thick lying right across the centre, jammed in with a quantity of other “Bricks, mortar, wood, and dust crashed down on top of-us.”

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110 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. dibris. The walls and roof of the cellar were of solid concrete, so that there was no other way out, Nobody knew where we were, and my chum was helpless. ‘When the situation dawned on me and I realized our predicament | was scared indeed. For twenty-four hours, with occasional spells of rest, I hacked, tore, sweated, and cursed at the great beam that blocked cur way to freedom. The only implements 1 had to work with were a trenching tool and a broken jack-knife. To this day I don’t care to think of those awful hours. At last, how- ever, | accomphshed my work, and was able to push one end of the great beam aside. Crawling through, utterly worn out, I saw that day was iust beginning to break. Back I went, put on the clothes that I had dis- carded, got my chum fixed up, and hoisted him over my shoulder. 1t took a bit of a struggle to negotiate the narrow opening of the trap-door, but we managed it, and finally got back to our trench. There we w at once put under arrest, and might possibly kave had to face a firing party for desertion. But our C.O., being a ‘ white man,” after hearing out story, mcrely gave “ telling off.” . us a severe My poor chum was killed not long after- wards, but as long as I live I shall remember him and the cup of tea I had with him in that cellar which so nearly proved cur tomb. IIl.—A MINER’S MISHAP. By E. PERCY WOODS. ILLUSTRATED BY W. G. WHITTAKER. The story of an adventure such as few men live to tell of. T was while working as a miner in the Kurilla Copper Mines, between Kadina and Moonta, those two great centres of the mining industry in South Australia, that the following strange predicament befell me. Kurilla forms a part of the property of the Wallaroo and Moonta Copper Mining and Smelting Com- pany. At the time of which I write copper was down at its lowest value, many of the workings were closed, and wages were small. The life was very hard, and my companions, for the most part, very rough. There were many different nationalities represented in the mines, but Cornishmen predominated, and they are the finest copper miners in the world. Kurilla was being worked on the ‘ con- tract’ system. A couple of experienced miners would tender for a certain piece of work at so much per fathom. Their tender being accepted, they then proceeded to en- gage mates to help them to work it. These hired hands were paid a regular weekly wage, no matter how the contract “ cleaned up,” while the contractors themselves some- times made bare wages, sometimes netted a large sum, everything depending on the luck they had and the nature of the ground they struck, : This “ ground ” was not earth, as generally understood, but hard rock, black and solid as a glass bottle, and had to be drilled and blasted out with dynamite. The party engaged on a particular contract were called, in mining parlance, a ‘‘ pair,”’ and might ccn- sist of six, cight, or more men. My mates at the time the following mis- adventure happened were typical Cornish miners—big Joe Sincock and little Billy Marks being the two that stand out especially clearly in my mind. The work we were engaged in was a job of ‘‘overhand stoping,” and as the ground was treacherous it was necessary to timber as we cleaned out. This timbering was hard and often dangerous work. The broken ore was passed down a shoot to the level below and was trucked away to the distant “ plat” at the shaft, where ‘‘ skips ’’ drew it to the surface. When the ore was removed a great black hole was left between the walls of the lode. The system of timbering we used was to shape a “‘ foot ’’ to a piece of round timber of the required length, place it in a niche cut in the foot-wall, and jamb the flat ‘‘ head” of the piece against the hanging wall. When all the broken ore was out of the stope the space was filled in with ‘ skimps ’’—coarse blue sand from the surface—which was shot down from the level above. A floor of Tough planks was then laid down, and the whole proc repeated till the fortion of Icde between the two levels was ccmpletely worked out. Just at the last, when all the ore in the stope had been cleaned out and the “ skimps ” not yet run in, is the time of danger, as everything then depends on your timbering. ‘‘ Creeping’ ground will often upset your calculations, and timber which =) adem mm ee ey

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**MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” = «11 “As I fell I clutched frantically at another and another—but all in turn gave way.” you left perfectly firm at night may fall out everything was in readiness to begin the of place at a touch next morning. work of filling in the next day. Having had a big clean-up of our stope at It was the end of the “ shift,” or allotted the one hundred and twenty-five fathom time for working, and my mates had left the level, we had timbered it very securely, and stope for the shaft, where the “ gig’ was

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x 1i2 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, due to haul them to the surface. As the youngest member of the “ pair,” it was my duty to look after the tools and put every- thing ship-shape for the morrow, While engaged in this work I heard the distant rattle of the “ gig,’’ and knew that I had missed it. Now, when pulling men up from work, they began at the deepest level and worked upwards one day, reversing the process the next, thus being fair to all, 1 knew that they were pulling from the surface down- ward that day, and so, if 1 hurried, } might just catch the “ gig"? at the level beneath. To miss the “ gig’ altogether meant climb- ing a hundred and twenty-five fathoms of wet, slippery ladders, with many broken or missing rungs, with no light but the feeble glimmer of a tallow “ dip” stuck on the front of one’s hat with clayv—an ordeal no one looked forward to with pleasure. Hastily fastening my empty water-can over my shoulders by its strap, thus leaving my hands free, I began to swing myself down with all speed by the great baulks of timber. To my horror, almost the first beam I touched gave way! As I fell I clutched frantically at another and another—but all in turn gave way. Then my ears were filled with the most terrifying sound I ever heard—the roar of the hanging wall falling in on me! From an ominous cracking it rapidly swelled to thunder, like a gigantic wave breaking on a reef. The wind made by the falling mass put out every light in that portion of the workings, and in a darkness such as is never seen on the surface, surrounded by falling timbers and rocks, some of which were the size of a piano, I lived a lifetime as I fell— and fell—and fell! Presently a sharp piece of rock struck me on the top of the head, laying open my scalp to the bone, and 1 knew no more. How long T lay thus 1 do not know, but on regaining consciousness | found myself all alone in the dreadful darkness, An absolute stillness, as of the grave, reigned around me, broken occasionally by the falling of odd pieces of rock from the hanging wall. Buried almost to my waist and incapable of movement, I actually felt the wind of these falling frag- ments on my face. Sick and dizzy, I put my hand to my head, to find that my face and hair were sticky with congealed blood. On feeling cautiously about me in the inky blackness, I found that my life had been saved almost as by a miracle, One of the largest pieces of timber, in falling, had jammed across a corner of the stope, and I had been hurled beneath it ! The minutes seemed like hours, All the horrors of being buried alive crowded upon me one by one, until I thought I should go out of my mind, At last 1 detected the sound of voices, the light of a candle glimmered through the inky darkness—I was saved! When at length my mates found me they had to remove many tons of broken rock and timber before they could get me out. Except for the cut in my head—which necessitated a few stitches at the doctor’s hands, leaving me a souvenir of Kurilla I shall carry to my grave—and some minor abrasions and bruises, I was none the worse for my exciting experience. After five days’ hard work the stope was cleared and everything in order once again. At the bottom of everything, buried beneath many tons of débris, my mates found a battered lump of tin and a torn shred of Jeather—all that remained of the water-can strapped to my back when I fell. It was a silent, but none the less most eloquent, witness to the narrowness of my escape. IIl1—THE BLACK BOWL, By A. R. WETGEN. ILLUSTRATED BY “ROBIN.” A sailor's quaint yarn concerning an ebony bowl, the property of a Sultan, which he coveted as a curio. N July 28th, 1o1z, I) sailed from Cape Town on board the Berwick Castle, a cargo-boat of some four thousand tons, carrying also a few passengers in the saloon and steerage. T was not a passenger; J was working before the mast for a few pounds a month, a humble enployé of the Union-Castle Line. On board we had the Sultan of Zanzibar, two or three of his wives, his two sons, and a few servants—all prisoners of war. I was told that the Sultan had had some thing to do with the sinking of H.MS. Pegasus, wherefore the British Government offered him board and lodging for life on the island of St. Helena. I don’t know the

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“MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” actual facts of the case, but there he was aboard and we were bound for St. Helena. Amongst the Sultan’s possessions was a carved bowl of black wood—ebony it looked like—about a foot across the top. Being a confirmed curio-hunter, directly I set eyes on that beautiful bowl I swore that by hook or by crook it should be mine. I planned my campaign very cautiously, and went aft at every opportunity—the Sultan being housed in the steerage—to get the lie of the land. So often was I[ aft that one or two of my shipmates decided that I had designs on one of the wives—which Heaven forbid, for none of them was even passable-looking according to European standards. "The bowl, I found, was kept with some other luggage in the cabin where His Serene Highness slept, and I came to the conclusion ‘that it would have to be a case of night-work. I got to know when the stewards were for’ard and when the night steward was having a nap in the pantry. I told no one of my plans — not even “Ginger” Martin, my particular pal —deciding that such a matter was for myself alone. Several nights 1 crept silently down the steerage companion and along to where the cabins lay, but each time I was disturbed, and began to despair of the bowl ever adorning my home. At last came the night before we arrived at St. Helena. It was winter - time and the sea was pretty rough, the deck reeling in uneasy slants, making it very difficult to walk along. It was a pitch- 113 went down. The night steward passed, and I crouched half-way up the companion until he had disappeared. As luck would have it, I had forgotten to count the number of steps, and when I thought I had reached the bottom 1 stepped forward confidently. At that instant the ship heeled to star- board and, treading on nothing, 1 went skid- ding to leeward on my face, fetching up with a crash against an iron stanchion. Feebly and profanely I got to my feet, wincing as I touched my battered nose and face. I had half a mind to throw up the whole enterprise and get for’ard to my bunk, but the vision of that beautiful ebony bowl floated before my eyes, and I set my teeth and went on. Cautiously I opened the cabin door and flickered my electric torch within. Then I growled angrily, for 1 was in the wrong room! I tumed to go, and at that instant the deck heeled to port. I hung on to the black night, with heavy black clouds obscuring the moon, and I crept stealthily aft to the steerage companion and “Our eyes met it seemed to me, with understanding.”

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i 14 door-jamb, and the door itself, swinging shut, 5 nipped my fingers badly and then shut with a crash. : I heard a muffled voice curse as one of the occupants of the cabin turned over. Next moment a boot thudded against the inside of the door. I chuckled as well as my sore face and stinging fingers would allow, ‘ then I moved away to count the cabins from H the end, to make sure of the one { wanted. But that door crashing had aroused other Peas sleepers. I heard someone come out of a 32 cabin a little way down the row, and I : thanked Davy Jones that it was pitch-dark. Then the confounded deck reeled again, and I slid to leeward, vainly groping for a stanchion to hang on to. The aroused sleeper in the passage also , slid to leeward, and we met with a terrific ; crack half-way. Head bumped against head, and the blackness went out in a blaze of stars. Instinctively I flung my arms round the stranger. Then I gasped, for he had a Se ae beard ! THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I gasped again, felt my aching head, remembered my sore face and crushed fingers, and mentally consigned the ebony bow! to Hades. Again the beard swept my face, neither of us uttering a sound, and panic overtook me. I had wild visions of a heavy fine when I was brought before the captain, and, as the deck righted, I scuttled away like a flash of greased lightning, and a few minutes later was bathing my injuries. Next day we anchored off the island, and the Sultan—tall, bearded, and sullen— passed overside. I was one of the hands at the gangway, and as he passed me his eyes dwelt momentarily on a large purple bump on my forehead glistening with butter. I also noticed that his snow-white turban was tilted slightly over his right eye, as though to conceal an injury. Our eyes met, it seemed to me, with understanding, and I thcught that a smile flickered over his face. Then he was gone, and I was left wondering. Did he know how I got that bump ? » “Mountaineering : on a Skyscraper. Mr. Jack Hass_er, a steeplejack of Philadelphia, recently astonished the people in Broad and Chestnut Streets, one of the busiest spots in that city, by climbing down the face of the eighteen-storey Morris building. Hass- ler swung himself from the top of the building at the end of a rope, and felt for the crevices in the stonework with his toes. When he had secured a hold with his fingers and the tips of his feet in the two-inch space between the stones he kicked the rope away and began his descent without any mechan- ical aid. Once he slipped, his toes failing to catch in the space between the stones, but his wonderful finger- strength—the result of a lifetime of steeplejack work—enabled him to hold on until his toes caught the stone again. To the great relief of a big crowd of spellbound spectators, who followed his every movement from the street below, he finally reached the pavement in safety.

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THE LIFTED VEIL THE STORY OF AN AMAZING DECEPTION By. LIEUT-E-H-JONES INDIAN ARMY RESERVE OF OFFICERS Mlustrated by HOWARD ELCOCK eK SS Two British officers, prisoners of war in Turkey, experimented with Spiritualism and eventually got the Turkish Commandant and his interpreter interested in the uncanny business. The idea of escape by means of the “Spook” took shape, and the Commandant—egged on by the: hope of finding a mythical “treasure ”—fell into the artful trap arranged for him. This instalment describes how Kiazim Bey went treasure-hunting under the guidance of the “Spook” and—all unknowingly—had his photograph taken as evidence against him. VI. HOW WE FELL INTO A TRANCE AND SAW THE FUTURE. UR next séance, held on March 24th, O purported to be an explanation of and an inroduction to that special species of trance-talk which appeals to all superstitious minds—the reading of the future. The real lesson which we wished the Turk unconsciously to assimilate was the fact that a “ray ” exists—called by the Spook the “ telechronistic ray ’’—which preserves both the Tast and the future in the present tor anyone who can get into touch with it, and that Joncs and Hill were developing this power. Further, the trance-talk picture of the future was intended to be a very gentle introduction of the idea that when the treasure was discovered the: mediums would be away from Yozgad, because they would send news of its whereabouts by letter. The séance is no doubt poor stuff from a metaphysical point of view, but it was good eiough for the Turks, and I quote it in full as an example of the way in which we entangled our victims in a labyrinth of confused reasoning. The séance opened with a little speech by Moise. We encouraged him—or rather the Spook did—to make these speeches, and gradually he formed the habit of writing them beforehand, So as to make sure of omitting nothing of impor- tance. In time they amounted to a report ot everything that had happened in connection with ourselves or with the rest of the camp since the last séance. In this way our knowledge was kept up to date, and we gained much important information. The speeches were delivered, not to us, but to the piece of tin which was our spook-board, and which Moise always addressed as ‘Sir’ It contained for him as real a per- sonality as the idol does for the savage, and he * treated it with similar reverence. Picture him, then, leaning over the board with paper and pencil ready to take down the Spook’s answer while we set our fingers on the glass, and, with as wooden as possible an expression on our faces, listened to his oration. Séance in Colonel's House, March 4th, 5 p.m. to 7.45 p.m. Masse : ‘‘ Good evening, sir. I beg your pardon again for having so étourdiment ejaculated in the last s‘ance, and I am ready, if possible, in order to correct the wrong I may have done, to share the hardships and restrictions you have inflicted on the mediums.” Spook : ** Thank you. Later on I may require your help. Not now.” Moise: ‘‘ Iam ready at any time” Spook : ‘* Lam going to prepare you for trance- talk. I am going to explain a very difficult thing You do not know all the past—why ? Because you have not yet discovered the—there is no word for it—call it the ‘ telechronistic ray.’ You do not know all the future, for the same reason. Do vou understand ? Moise: ‘ Give further explanation, please.” Spook: ‘ The telechronistic rays preserve both the past and the future for those who can The Author's book, “On the Road to En-Dur,” is published by Mi. Jehu Lane

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116 develop the faculty to get into touch with the rays. This is what I am aiming at with the mediums. To-night I shall test them. They wil trance-talk if fam successful and the simple food and solitude have had the desired effect. It must be done after dark. You must not interrupt or touch the mediums. The unfor- tunate thing is that as regards the past it is always possible for what you call a spirit to interpose between the mediums and the ray, like a man standing between you and a candle ; but as regards the future, it is harder to interfere because the future ray 1s strong and single, and distant like the sun. Do you understand ? ” Moise : “ Not understood.”” Spook: “ The future is a complete whule, a single blaze. It is all existing now, but it exists tor you as an undivided entity. The past, how- ever, exists for you as a series of small tele- chroniustic rays. If I tried to show you a particu- lar event in the past, it being a small event hke the candle, it would be easy for OOO to interpose between you and the beam, especially if he knows the particular candle I want to show. Now do you understand ? ” Moise : * Yes."* Spook: “ Be in the dark. Take down care- fully everything the mediums say. Then come back to me alter they have recovered Also note: it will not be me talking through the mediums; it will be the mediums themselves interpreting the ray Av revoir until after dark ”’ Moise: May we have a lamp?" Spook (angrily) : ‘' No!” Moise : ‘“ How can I write?” Spook: ‘* Make a small beam of light.’” Lest he should make any mistake over the “beam of light,’” Moise decided to write in the dark. He sat at a table at one side of the room, while Hill and I sat at the other side. For some time there was dead silence. Then Hill and 1 began to make strange noises in unison The noises changed gradually from grunts to groans, and from groans to guttural sounds. thence to some unknown tongue, and finally inte English. When we had practised together in private (it took a lot of practice to get grunt-and-groan perfect) we had never been able to proceed very far without laughing. But what is ridiculous in daylight may be intensely eerie in the dark And so it proved. The unhappy Pimple nearly fainted with fright, but he stuck to his post and his note-taking with a courage that roused our unwilling admiration. We pretended to be describing a scene before our eyes. aletter. We described how the messenger passed through a deor into a garden. He had great ditticulty in closing the door, tor something was wrong with the latch. We followed him through the garden -past the trees and flowers and well, all which we described-—into a house with a curious window that stood out four-square to the right of the door. Thence up the steps, inside, We were following a man who carried THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. through a small hall, up a staircase and into a bedroom, detailing the furniture and the pictures as we passed each article. We gave a minute description of the bedroom, the red carpet, the two ottomans, the position of the bed and the cupboard, and we were much struck by the enormous footstool on the right of the door, the wicker bag on the floor near the bed, and the sword on the wall between two pictures. The messenger gave the letter to someone on the bed whom we could not see clearly. We heard him call, and a lady came in—a lady with very beautiful hands. They went out together, carry- ing a lantern. Another man joined them, with pick and shovel. Then everything turned black. There was a pause in the trance-talk for perhaps a minute. Then we cried out that we saw the group again. They had been digging. Wecould see the hole by the lamphght. They were pulling things out of the hole—boxes they looked like! Yes, boxes! The man with the pick raised it above his head and smashed open a box, and—* Gold! Gold! Gold!" (so loud and so suddenly did we shout together that the Pimple feapt to his feet). Then blackness again, and a reversal of the opening proceedings—we lapsed first into the unknown tongue, and_ thence through the guttural sounds to the groans and the little farmyard grunts with which we had begun. A few minutes’ silence and Hill spoke in his natural voice :-— * Lam afraid it’s no good |” he said; “* nothing 1s going to happen” The Pimple struck a match, with shaking fingers, and lit the lamp * Something has happened,” he said; “ you've both been ina trance. It was ternble!” “Have we?” said I, and looked as dazed as I could. (It is easy to look dazed in a sudden glare of light.) ‘I feel just as usual, only very. very tired.” At the Pimple's request we got out the spook- board and he read over the record to the Spook. “ That was the future,” the glass explained ; “ did you recognize the picture, Moise ? ” Moise: ‘ No, sir.”” See Spook: “Stupid! What did they find? Who were they?) What was the house? Dent be silly! You know it well. Read it again ! (Moise reread the record.) Moise (in excitement) : Yes, sir! nize it now. May I tell the mediums what the picture was ?” Spook: “Yes. Then no more to-night Mediums are much improved, but this strains them.” Morse : Turning to Hill and m that im our trance-talk we had given a PE description of the Commandant’s howse- A yous was half-crazed with excitement and ner a T recog- * Good-night, sir, And many thanks j elf, Morse explaine rfect He strain. It beat the photograph incident © Raymond " (Moise, by the Spook’s euler “iis just finished translating ‘ Raymond ”

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Commandant), “ for it was much more detailed.” He believed we were greater spiritualists than Sir Oliver Lodge. ‘‘ Was it so?” ‘ Was it not so?” “Ob, no, Moise,” said Hill. ‘‘ We are only mediums. He is in your position, you know —an investigator and recorder. But 1 suppose it is not unhke the photograph incident, as you say.” “‘ It 1s better—far better,” said the Pimple. I believe 1t was better. Only it spoils a conjuring trick or a psychical phenomenon to explain how it is done, and unfortunately I have already told the reader how Doc. O'Farrell described Kiazim’s house to me. HOW THE SPOOK TOOK US TREASURE~ HUNTING, For the past fortnight Hill and I had known that a number of new prisoners were coming to Yozgad—forty-four officers and twenty-five men. To make room for them the Turkish War Office decided to send twenty of the Yozgad officers to Afion Kara Hissar. As soon as this order arrived, Moise came across and told us about it. The Commandant wanted the Spook to tell him which of the officers at present in Yozgad he should send away. Here was a great opportunity. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for us to send any twenty men we chose to select. But we held our hand. We advised Moise that we thought it wiser not to trouble the Spook with details, as the treasure business was sufficient worry at present. The Spook had several times told us to do as much as possible for ourselves. The fiat went forth that the twenty junior officers should pack up, and our Senior Officer did Hill and myself the honour of telling Kiazim Bey that, as we were not only jumor but also the “ black sheep” of the camp, it would be distinctly advisable to include us in the twenty. Kiazim, who wanted his treasure, refused to move us. Amid much gtumbling, the twenty made their preparations for departure. On March 26th, at 6 p.m., Moise brought the matter up in his “ report.” “ I have some news for you, sir,” he said, to the board. ‘ We have got the order for twenty officers to leave for Afion. Their names have been put down. But perhaps you can give us some good sugges- tions, as you usually do. I told Colonel Maule we could not move the mediums when he asked about them.” “ Quite right,’”’ said the Spook, “ that is all as T arranged it. But I want one small addition. 1 want Maule to be told that the Superior would like to be rid of these two officers, and that he would send them away if he could, but he must await orders from Constantinople, to whom a Teport of the trial has been sent.” (The report was dictated by the Spook and sent to the Turkish THE LIFTED VEIL. 117 War Office on March 18th.*) ‘ This will explain why the Superior does not seize the opportunity to get rid of them. It will also explain matters it Constantinople wires to send these two away, as it may do. Do not be alarmed at that possibility. It will be all my doing, and I know what 1 am doing.” The object of this was to keep open the possi- bility of our travelling with the Afion party for part of the way. We hoped that by the time they were ready to start, Kiazim would have been persuaded by us that the treasure could best be found by sending us to the Medi- terranean coast. From Yozgad to Angora was one kundred and twenty miles, and trans- port was scarce. So we intended to avail ourselves of the Government carts provided for the Afion party if Kiazim agreed to move us. The Turks were now properly lost in our labyrinth, and appealed to the Spook to tell them what was happening. That capable and inventive gentleman rose to the occasion, and gave them a résumé of the position. The best chance of finding the treasure quickly, the Spook said, had been when OOO offered to point it out if we could prove our friendship to him. The Pimple had spoiled that chance by his ignorance of Armenian. Indeed, he had done worse than spoil it—he had thrown OOO into active opposition. There remained, the Spook continued, three other plans for finding the treasure Of these the first was to find out everything from Yozgad through the holders of the three clues—KKK, YYY, and AAA. This again the Pimple had nearly-—-though not quite—spoiled by inadver- tently strengthening the opposition. Fortu- nately KKK and YYY were dead, and as they were keenly interested in helping to tear aside the partition between this world and the next, our Spook had been able to persuade them to assist in the search, and they were prepared, as scientific investigators, to try and make them- selves heard to the mediums. Success with them would depend on whether or not the starvation diet had rendered the mediums sufficiently clairvoyant and clairaudient. There remained the holder of the third clue—AAA. AAA being still alive—we learned that he was a business man in Constantinople, whose work frequently took him to Adalia, Tarsus, Alexan- dretta, and Damascus—was likely to be our chief difficulty, because his mind must be read by telepathy and he was so far away that his thought-waves would be weak, so the opposition might succeed in blucking them. Still, we would try, and must hope for success. But, the Spook warned us, the trance-talk had pointed to the fact that this plan would not succeed in its entirety, and that the treasure would be found by one of two other plans which * This, we believe, is the first instance in modern times of correspondence between a Spook and a Government office.

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m8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. were being held in reserve. Both these plans involved mov- ing the mediums nearer to AAA — nearer, that is to say, to Constanti- nople, Adalia, Tarsus, Alexan- dretta, or Damascus, according as AAA might be in one or the other. To our delight, the Turks took the news that we might have to leave Yozygad with the utmost non- chalance. They real- ized that the Spook was doing his utmost to find the treasure without moving us, and in their hearts they were pretty confident he would succeed. Therefore they regarded — the move as_ unlikely —- and forgot all about it for the time being, by reason of the other things we pro- vided to occupy their attention For, having mentioned the move, we at once turned their attention away from 1t KKK. KKK proved to be a m Speaking through our own to conduct us next day t) by bringing forward friendly spirit he offered vt where his clue was buried. But he lad down certain conditions. Conditions laid d by KKK 1. Only those who are present at the digging up of the clue will be allowed to share im the treasure, (NoTEeE.—The Commandant kicked very hard against this condition, because he was afraid of being seen tn the company of the mediums ; but KKK was adamant, and Kiazim finally gave way.) 2. The mediums are to be prepared to carry out the treasure-test of the Head-hunting Waas If that fails, Jones is authorized to try the secret Blood-test of the Red Karens. 3. The Turks must not speak a single word unless spoken to by the mediums. 4. Mediums are to wear black. 5. Mediums are not to be touched at any time after KIXKK has appeared. “ About half-way up the hill, in order to test the Turks, we both ‘collapsed’ together.” 6. Mediums must hold hands when following KKK. 7 One, or both, of the mediums may collapse under the strain. If they do, leave them quite alone. Do not touch them, or speak to them, or even think of them without orders. Leave them alone and they will recover. 8. All to carry sticks and water-bottles. Cook to carry a pick and spade under his coat. Moise to carry the following articles carefully hidden about his person : scissors, knife, adze,

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water-bottle, matches, firewood, rags soaked in kerosene, bread, and a clean white hand- kerchief. 9. “ Obedience ! Obedience! Obedience ! ” Secret object of the condttions. 1. To get Kiazim out and enable us to Photograph him. 2. To enable me to pose the Turks for Hill to photograph them. If the first pose was THE LIFTED VEIL. 119 unsuccessful, the Red Karens’ test gave the oppor- tunity for a second pose. 3. To prevent the Turks from drawing each other’s attention to any suspicious incident. 4. We had black waterproof capes. Hill found the folds useful for concealing the camera. 5. To ensure that Hill should not be __ inter- fered with when using the camera. 6. To enable us to signal to one another without the Turks seeing it. 7. To enable Hill to get away from the rest of us for the half- dozen paces at which he was prepared to take the photograph, and to keep the attention of the Turks off Hill. 8. The articles were mostly ; camouflage, but some (the bread and water in particular) were intended to form a precedent for the time when the Spook would arrange our final escape. ~ g. A general - precaution. “ The clue,” the Spook warned us, ‘‘ was very clever. The casual person on opening it would think he had found nothing, and throw it down where he found it. If the finder happened to look farther, he would find something to cause him surprise and a puzzle to make him talk. When OOO buried the treasure he hoped if this happened the talk would reach the ears of his heir. Therefore, do not be disappointed when at first you find nothing but an emblem of

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120 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. death. Go on looking carefully. The clue itself will puzzle you, but what one man can invent another man can understand.” That night Hill gave me a final exhibition of his extraordinary palming, and I went to bed with renewed confidence in his skill. To- morrow would settle our hash one way or another—we would get that photograph or be found out and take the consequences, whatever they might be. To our disgust, March 27th turned out a dull, misty day, with some rain, quite hopeless for photography. The Spook informed the Pimple that KKK would find it difficult to appear in mist, as he was pretty misty himself to human eyes, even under the best conditions, and advised postponement. The Pimple cordially agreed that it would be practically impossible to see a spook on such a day. Next day, March 28th, was overcast and stormy, with rain and a high wind which would prevent Hill from managing his cloak properly, and we again postponed by mutual consent. March 30th. Another bad day. Hail and sleet. The starvation dict h brought our belts in a couple of inches, and makes us feel very floppy and weak, but otherwise we are all right. We decided that next day, be it wet or fine, we must find the first clue. The 31st March promised well. The sun shone brightly, and there was httle wind. The Pimple was sum- moned, and the Spook made him repeat his instructions for the search, in order to make sure that he thoroughly understood everything ; then orders were issued for the Commandant and the Cook to be ready at noon. While Moise was away instructing his two confederates, Hill and [ secretly semaphored to Matthews in Posh Castle. We warned him that Kiazim was joining us in a treasure-hunt, and told him to watch South hill, and get a few of our friends to do the same. For the spot where Hill) had buried the first clue, two months ago, was care- fully chosen so as to be im full view of the camp, and we hoped our friends would be able to recognize the Commandant at the distance. Their recognition would be subsidiary evidence, should the photograph fail. At noon we met in the graveyard, outside the town. Hill and I held hands, and after a while went into a trance, and simnitancously saw IKIKIS sitting on a gravestone. We chatted with him, the Turks listening eagerly, and then followed his lead up the hill. The procedure was very similar to the revolver-hunt of six months before. About half-way up the hill, in order to test the Turks, we both “ collapsed" together. Our friends obeyed instructions. They turned their backs on us and sat down, carefully refraining from even a glance in our direction. We groaned and moaned, and made weird noises to see if they would turn round, but they paid no attention. All was well, so we “‘ recovered ” and went on. Unfortunately, the weather was again our worst enemy. The promise of the morning had not been tultilled; the sun was now hidden behind a heavy bank of cloud, which grew momentanly darker. A_ slight drizzle began to fall. “Can't snap ‘em in this,” Hill whispered ; "keep ‘em still.” HILL PHOTOGRAPHS THE COMMANDANT. I squeezed his hand to show I understood. A moment later Hill signalled that we had reached the spot, and “ collapsed.”’ I left him where he fell, staggered six paces to the left as arranged, and called loudly to the Turks that the Spook was demanding the Waa test. They hurned past Hill without a glance at him, and took up the positions I assigned, the Commandant on my right and the Cook and Interpreter on my left. I began to build the fire, carrying on an animated conversation with the Spook as I did so, and to my consternation plainly heard the click of Hill's camera. He had taken the first photo before I was quite ready. Hastily I put a match to the fire and stood up. “Watch the fire!‘ Tcred. “ For your lives do not move an eyelid. Be still, and watch the fire for a little bird." Then I stretched my hands above my head and began the incantation, speaking loudly to drown the noise of the shutter. My arrange- ment with Hill was that I should go on reciting Welsh poetry until he got on his feet, which would be the signal that the camera was safely back in his pocket. I heard a second click while I was still in the middle of the first verse, and then I heard nothing more. I seemed to go on reciting for ages, and wondered what was up, and why the third click was so long 1n coming. T had finished a favourite Welsh lullaby and was plunging desperately into a Burmese serenade by way of variety when IT noticed Hill was on his feet, standing quictly behind the Pimple. He gave an almost imperceptible nod as he caught my eye, and I broke off. he bird 1" [ shouted. Vhe bird |" yelled Hill. We both pointed to a neighbouring stone, and the Turks, who had remained motiontess through- out the meantation, were galvanized into life again Curiously enough, nobody had noticed the bl except Hill and myself. We had both distinetly seen it settle close beside the stone before it disappeared into thin air, The Cook began to dig where we said the bird had settled. He dug with such vehemence that he broke his spade. Nothing daunted, he fell to with the adze, and in due course he brought to light a tin can, about four inches long, care- fully soldered at the ends and somewhat rusted. “Spread the clean white handkerchief.” The Turks fully understood that it was not I who spoke, but the Spook through me. Moise obeyed.

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THE LIFTED VEIL. 121 $y “As Moise was forcing off the lid of the tin with his knife, Hill and I drank in the scene.” Vol. alvi.-8.

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122 ““ Now open the receptacle and empty it on to the handkerchief.” As Moise was forcing off the lid of the tin with his knife, Hill and I drank in the scene. The Commandant’s dark eyes were ablaze in a face as pale as death. The Cook, all wet with the sweat of his digging, bending forward with a hand on either knee, looked like savage greed personified. The Pimple could hardly master THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “ Evvet !" (** Yes "') said the Cook, shutting his mouth like a rat-trap. Once more he was all eagerness. * Then examine it, Cook!” The Cook ran down the hill, picked up the tin, vand after a short examination, discovered that it contained a false bottom. But he was still under the ban of silence. The pantomime he went through in trying to convey his discovery The all-important photograph showing the Turkish Commandant (on left) in the treasure-hunt. Hill took this photograph at great risk. the excited trembling of his hands. His knife slipped and he cut himself. “Ha!” said the Spook, “that is good. Blood is drawn, and now no more need be shed.” The lid came off, and the Pimple shook out into the handkerchief—a little heap of ashes. “‘ The emblem of death, as promised,” said the Spook. “Is the tin empty?” The Pimple looked inside, thrust in his fingers and felt carefully round. “ There is nothing,’’ he said. “Then if that is all,’’ said the Spook, ‘ you may throw it away.” Moise threw the tin down the hillside. All the light died out of Kiazim’s eyes, the unhappy Cook opened his mouth to say something, but remembered the orders for silence in time, and stood with his mouth agape. Moise was on the verge of tears. “Ha! ha! ha!” said the Spook. a casual person would throw it away ! Are you more careful than Moise ? ” “T said Cook ! to the others was almost too much for our solemnity. He poked a dirty finger alternately into the Commandant’s side and into the tin, dancing round him the while so that poor Kiazim, who did not understand what he had found, must have thought the fellow stark, staring mad. The Pimple pranced about beside the Cook, trying vainly to see into the tin. He told us afterwards that he thought the Spook had “ materialized ’’ a clue at the last moment, and put it into the tin. “Take your scissors,” cried the Spook, “and open it.”” The Pimple hewed at the tin with his very blunt scissors. In his excitement he cut him- self again—to the delight of the Spook—but finally got the false bottom opened. It con- cealed a Turkish gold lira, wrapped in paper, and the inner layer of paper bore a circle of beautifully written Armenian characters arranged clockwise. “ Now you may talk,” said the Spook.

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And talk those Turks did—all together and across each other. For five minutes they made as much noise as a rookery in nesting-time. The Commandant shook hands with each of us several times over. The Pimple was ecstatic. The Cook gave me the fright of my life by trying to kiss me, which made Hill choke sud- denly and turn his back. A little way down the hill a group of Yozgad inhabitants were watching in open-mouthed astonishment. The Spook came to the rescue and ordered us all home. On the way back the Cook, who was a native of Yozgad, informed us that we were undovbtedly on the track of the right treasure, and OOO must be the man we thought, because the spot on which the first clue was found was on the land of the deceased Armenian whose wealth we were seeking. Here was another coincidence ! The Spook’s last instructions kefore he bade us good-bye were for the safety of the mediums. He warned us that OOO would probably make an attempt on our hives that evering. No one, not even the Commandant himself, was to be allowed to enter between dark and dawn, lest 000 should “control” the visitor inte mur- dering us. We were to be left absolutely alone, so that our Spook might watch over us without any distraction. THE LIFTED VEIL. 123 Kiazim Bey rose to the occasion. He doubled the sentries round our house. He even pro- hibited the nightly visit of the Onbashi for roll- call. Thus we secured a quiet evening, safe from interruption. Had Kiazim been able to see into our house about ten p.m. he might have wondered what was afoot. Hill was locked up inside a cupboard in a well-darkened room. [ was in the room we usually occupied, pacing up and down in an agony of impatience and doubt, and ready to intercept any unlikely visitor. Much depended on the next few minutes. At length Hill came out. He carried in his hand a roll of newly-developed V.P. Kodak films, and without saying anything held it up between me and the light. [ saw three excellent pictures of the treasure-hunt. “ They are a bit over-exposed,”’ Hill grumbled —he is never wholly satisfied with his own performances—“ I gave them too long.” Maybe! But it says something for the nerve of the man that he held the camera without a quiver for three fime exposures under those conditions. TI could see nothing wrong with the negatives. They were everything I desired, and Bimbashi Kiazim Bey, Commandant of Yozgad, was clearly recognizable in each. At last we had our proof ! (To be continued ) A NOTE FOR TWO-PENCE-THREE-FARTHINGS ISSUED IN THE STRAITS SETTLEMENTS. THE GOVERNMENT OF Tut STRAITS SETTLEMENTS Promies to pay the bearer va demand at Sragapore TEN CENTS Leca) Carrency tov calue receives pentane eter enter Reena merctoss Treasurer. of mnCF, the publication in our June issue of a facsimile rile West African shilling note, numerous even sate all parts of the globe have sent in notes of ‘aller denominations that are in circulation in various British colonies. The one reproduced on this page shows a ten-cent chit in use in the Straits Settle- ments. This was issued on account of the shortage of silver, and its value is about 23d.

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OF TOE TAPIRS BY HARRY: H-DUNN ILLUSTRATED BY A°-G:-SMALL An account of an exciting trip into the wilds of Mexico in search of a mysterious ruined temple, built by unknown tribes long before Cortez landed. HE shadow of the cathedral of Cordoba, Mexico, fall- ing across the green, jasmine-scented plaza, is the coolest in the world. I have the word of my _ friend Eugenio Torres for this, and he, being at the time a capitan of vurales, had_ spent many years hunting cool shadows. [I have the Cordoba shade and Capitan Torres to thank for the most interesting trip I ever took into the Mexican jungle. A captive tapir, one of those hippopotamus- like remnants of another age which persist in the tierra caliente, was brought one day through the main street of Cordoba. As luck would have it, Torres and I were sitting on the same little grey bench in the shade of the cathedral, and the rural, who had been some sort of highwayman in Chiapas before Don Porfirio took him into the national police, told me the Mexican myth concerning the tapir. “ Of the tapirs,” he said, “ there are two kinds — those which dwell in the jungles along the rivers and in the valley forests, and those which live only in the hills and the faldas of the real mountains. These latter, being larger than the tapirs of the val- leys, we call vacas del monte (cows of the mountain), and with them range the old bull tapirs who have gone loco (mad) and cannot live at peace with their kind. Long ago my people ate and worshipped the tapir ; nowadays they eat him, but no longer worship him. On the border of Chiapas and Tabasco, just north of the Lago de Monte Cristo, there is an ancient temple with tapir heads carved on its stone posts.” The falling sun furnished plenty of shade for the capitan before we finished our talk of tapirs and hunting. The idea was well planted, and three weeks later Jack Harvey, who was then helping a British company to bring mahogany out of Tabasco, took me off the schooner La Santissima Guadalupe into a sea-going motor-boat two miles out on the seaward side of the mouth of the Rio Usumacinta. The Guadalupe poundcd on her way, while Harvey and I scudded across the shallow, shifting Ear into the second river in Mexico. The Usumacinta is a_ strange, chocolate-coloured stream, rising in Guate- mala and flowing north and west and north

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\ «. THE again to pour its tide into that great liquid sapphire the Bay of Campeche. Neither Harvey nor I believed the story of the “rogue” tapir bulls, and we had serious doubts about the existence of the tapir temple, but when, the following morn- ing, we left the first camp of caoba-cutters, we carried picks and shovels in the mule- ks, and were armed with those ancient but reliable rifles, -44-calibre repeaters, com- monly known in Latin-America as “’ seventy- threes.” At the first camp we abandoned the motor-boat for horses, with mules carrying the packs. We also enlisted three muchachos to cate for the horses and act as servants. At the second camp, twenty miles up the river, we planned to pick up Francisco Ortega, a Chihuahuense who had_ been appointed mayordomo of that division of the mahogany-cutters, and who knew more about Tabasco and Chiapas than did the natives of the two States. At Riata, as the second camp is called, owing to the prevalence of poisonous snakes of that name, we found Ortega very busy trying to learn just which of his Indios had stolen two big cans of peaches from the company’s storehouse. Harvey's arrival took the responsibility off Ortega’s shoulders. My companion, remark- ing that we should have to waste a night there, immediately called for a box of toothpicks. Ortega had already lined up Stay the hundred odd male em- Toothpick. ployés of the camp in front and to each of the office, Harvey gave a toothpick — just a little splinter of Connecticut or Rhode Island or isconsin pine suddenly called on to doa great work of justice over two cans of California Peaches, By the time he haddistri- buted thesplinters dusk was. begin- ning to fall. “Bring y toothpicks to ine In the Morning,” atvey told the \} solemnly. Man wi stole the sient will find that his ecthpick has TEMPLE OF THE TAPIRS, 125 In the morning one Indian presented a toothpick from which nearly a quarter of an inch had been broken! Search of his brush jacal (hut) revealed the canned fruit buried in the dirt-floor. He confessed that, fearing his toothpick would reveal his crime, he had endeavoured to forestall Fate by shortening its instrument. After this incident, and the appointment of a temporary mayordomo until Ortega should return, we swung into the trail, Ortega ahead on a mule, for he disdained horses in the jungle; then myself, with Harvey riding behind to see that the three boys did not lose or steal any of the supplies. Within gunshot of the camp three deer trotted along the trail for a few rods and then left it unhurriedly. Turkeys pattered across the path, their vivid bronze dulled almost to black by the intense shadows of the overarching trees. Chacalacas, the big pheasants of Mexico, called their names querulously from high perches; parrots flashed ribbons of red and blue and green and yellow against the background of jungle, monkeys gibed at us, and once a pair of ocelots—little leopard cats, often mistaken for young jaguars—cleared the narrow trail at a leap, their spotted skins merging in- stantly with the mottled lights and shadows of the leaves into which they plunged. Once, as we crossed the arm ot a swamp, my horse's hoofs thudded against rock beneath an inch or two of mud, and Ortega informed me that the trail followed a laid- stone road, constructed by los antiguos—the Ancient Ones, a term by which modern Indians of Mexico refer to all the tribes who have _ lett ruins alone to tell of their one-time presence in Ame- rica's Egypt. “Where does it end?” | asked. “At the sea, sefior,”” “* Where does it begin?” “Outen sabe, sehor? TI have never seen its beginnings. Some say it starts at Palenque; others, that it comesfrom the Hill of the Tapirs,”’ There was that mysterious Hill of

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126 the Tapirs again! That night Harvey and I determined to find it. But many things can happen between two nights in Mexico, and I find that the tale of the temple is taking me away from the trail of the tapir. About two o'clock of the afternoon, just the time when all Mexicans love to be lost in the siesta, we came to a gravel bar, forming the convex side of a curve in the river. Dismounting and slipping off our clothes, Harvey and I prepared for a bath while the mozos set out the lunch. As we approached the water, however, a gar—a great fish, seemingly six feet in length—moved slowly out from the bank, and Ortega shouted to us almost at the same instant to beware of the “ fresh-water sharks.” I afterwards saw one of these gars which measured seven feet four inches in length, and have been told of one captured near Frontera which was nearly ten feet long. They do not hesitate to attack bathers, and are said to be responsible for a great many deaths both in the rivers and in the great Laguna de Terminos, in Campeche. We resumed our clothes, had lunch, and were debating whether to camp there for the night or push on to the third and last mahogany camp, when Harvey whispered in my ear, ‘‘ There's your tapir !” and pointed down and across the stream to a black mud-bank about seventy-five yards away. There stood an animal with the body of a baby rhinoceros set on the legs of a dwarf horse, Its head was like that of some monstrous rat, save that it ended in a pre- hensile upper lip, four or five inches in length, as if Nature had planned to give the creature the trunk of an elephant and then run out of material before she could complete the job. It appeared to stand about three feet high at the shoulders. Small, rounded ears, laid back like those of an angry mule, added to the rodent-like appearance of the head. For colour, one could pick brown, grey, slate, and blue, as the varying sunlight fell through the leaves on the fat body. Evidently the noticeable ears and the Hebraic nose were of little use to the tapir, for the wind was blowing directly from us to the animal, and we had made no effort to keep quiet since we came to the gravel bank. It continued to feed while Harvey and 1 took turns in watching it through the glasses. Just as we discovered that the tapir pos- sessed a short tail, somewhat like that of an elephant, the mayordomo pointed to a big brown cavba log which had fallen into the stream on our side of the river, and almost opposite the tapir, Gliding like a snake out on to this log was an Indian boy, his long muzzle-loading rifle pushed out ahead of him, his toes gripping the fallen tree like The First Tapirs. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. > those of a monkey, while with his one free hand he pulled himself trom stub to stub of the dead branches. It appeared that if I wanted my tapir I should do well to shoot; so, dropping on one knee, I selected a point just below the ear, where the head seemed to join the thick neck, and, as the animal raised its head to pull down a leafy branch, pulled the trigger. The tapir staggered forward, re- mained upright for a few seconds, and then fell in a heap on the mud-bank. The Indian hunter, leaping up and down on his log, evidently regardless of the gars waiting for him below, began shouting curses in Spanish and his own Quiche dialect almost before the tapir had hit the earth. Had I been alone on the gravel spit, I imagine there would have been a fine young artillery duel, with the Indian getting the first shot. As it was, our numbers overawed him, and Ortega was able to shout to him in his own language that if he would bring the animal into camp we would feed him and give him the tapir-skin. Thus mollified, and further reassured by hearing his own language, the Quiche pro- duced a canoe from the brush-covered bank, paddled over to the tapir, dragged the animal —which must have weighed close on three hundred pounds—into the little craft, and brought it safe to the gravel spit. There Ortega recognized him as Felipe Alcazar, a lad who, though only seventeen years old, was already a celebrated hunter in Jonuta, a village just over the line in Campeche, and a few miles farther up the river. We fed him, gave him cigarettes, tried his tapir steaks—but did not like them—and gave him the skin and carcass of the New World hippo. In return, he repeated the story of the ‘‘ rogue” tapirs, assured us that the ruined building with the carved tapir heads actually existed in some in- definite spot ‘ up the river,’’ and—what was of as much importance—declared that the tapirs of the mountains were the same animals as those which roamed the valleys, save that usually they were not so fat. Asked where the tapirs came from, what they really were, and how many years they required to mature, he answered all three questions at once with “‘ Yo no sé, sefores” (“ I do not know ”’). The average Mexican Indian, by the way, knows less about the animals, birds, and flowers he sees every day of his life than any other aborigine in the world, I believe, and what little he imagines he knows is more often fancy than fact. The following morning we were awakened before ‘break by a column of black ants some feet wide and apparently endless. Individuals of this column were more than

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THE TEMPLE OF THE TAPIRS. 127 “As the animal raised its head to pull down a leafy branch I pulled the trigger.”

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128 a quarter of an inch in length, and there were millions of them. They overran our cooking utensils, perished by thousands in the coals of the fire, caused our horses to break loose, and finally routed us from the brush shelters our muchachos had thrown together for us the night before. Evidently the little insects were moving down the river bank, which 1s a trifle higher, and therefore drier, than the surrounding country, and flowed over our camp just as they overwhelmed everything that came in their path. We hoped to make the third and last of the caoba-cutters’ camps by night, but it was still some twenty miles distant when rapidly lengthening shadows warned us that the early darkness of the jungle was near at hand. We camped on a mud-bank, which the Indian boys covered with branches and leaves so we could walk on it, while the horses were tied in the trail. We tcok turns stand- ing watch, two at a time, one with the horses and one at the camp, but nothing happened until the false dawn came about four o'clock, when one of the Indians frightened analligator back into the stream after the saurian had dragged half his body out on to the mud- bank. A flaming branch from the camp-fire did the trick, and saved us a nasty fight in the half-darknc We breakfasted and were under way shortly after five. The trail hegan to rise slightly, and soon we found better going, with here and there the old stone read showing through the earth; here and there a grassy ciencga breaking the samencss of the jungle. Dcer became abundant. In what I estimated was two miles I counted eleven of these animals feeding or travelling. At one of the springs we “ flushed ’' a small jaguar, but the spotted cat fled so swiftly that neither Harvey nor I could get in a shot. A herd of little wild pigs also appeared, but having had previous experience with these pugnacious beasts we left them severely alone. Noon found us at the third camp. Most of the men were absent, at work in the forest, but we had as good a dinner as the best hotel in Mexico City could have fur- nished, for the white superintendent was all but overcome with joy at sight of men of his own race. Also, much to Ortega's satis- faction, we had a siesta, sleeping out the hour in hammocks imported from Yucatan. Then out we went into the jungle again, this time with only the old stone road to follow, but with more open, less swampy country. Two hundred vards from camp we were as completely buried in the jungle as we had been at any time on the trip, and I think none of us was surprised when a puma (mountain lion), somewhat smaller and more red than the Colorado cat, crossed the trail THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and turned to glance at us from what it thought was safety in a clump of brush, Ortega whipped out his revolver—a_ well- preserved ‘ hoss pistol” of the days of ’48— and fired. There was a scuffling in the brush, and some snarling told that the animal was hit. We dismounted, surrounded the brushy area, which was about twenty-five by forty or fifty feet, and fired a few shots into the tangle. Presently the puma appeared in the branches of a low tree, and Harvey killed it at the first shot. From the presence of the leon de los montes, as the Yaquis call the puma, we concluded that we were rapidly approaching higher land, for the puma, unlike the jaguar, has no fancy for the swampy jungles. Sure enough, another's hour's ride brought us within sight of a hazy blur on the horizon, which we knew to be that rounded mountain- wall which rises near Babachano, in Quintana Roo, and joins the North American Cordillera at the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Solitary, rounded hills, like the halves of huge billiard balls, began to appear; the trees became Jarger, the pools and swamps less continuous, and the river bent away south and west to form a bit of the Tabasco-Chiapas boundary, pass between Monte Cristo and Balancan, and eventually lose itself in the great forests of the Guatemalan hinterland — territory which few white hunters have penetrated. We forded. a branch of the Usumacinta, coming in from the west above Jonuta, ° which Ortega called the Rio de San Pedro y San Pablo. Good sectional maps of Tabascc and Campeche give, this stream as running parallel to the Usumacinta, however, so 1 suppose Ortega was wrong. Leeches by hundreds attacked our horses as they waded this stream, and the three boys were kept busy for nearly an hour removing them. As we came cut of the water Ortega leaned from his saddle and slashed a long black rtata snake into bits before it could strike at any of the horses. This snake has the reputation, like the skunk and the porcupine of more northern lands, of never giving up the trail to any living thing, and all the wild animals except the javelins (pigs) give it a wide berth, So delightful was the country into which we were riding that we determined to camp early that afternoon and spend the next day hunting. This plan was unanimously adopted about four o'clock, when we rode into a wide savannah and: saw three tapirs, two adults and a young animal from whose skin the spots of infancy had not entirely disappeared, leaving hurriedly on the opposite side. Two of the round hills rose from the upper end of this meadow, and a little stream flowed across it. On an open shelf at the base of one of these hills we made

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THE camp, the Indios erecting brush shelters, swinging our hammocks, and hanging mos- quito nets, until the place looked as if it might be intended for permanent residence. . While this was going on Ortega rode alone into the forest, to return in less than half an hour with a spike buck, steaks from which provided a delightful centre-piece for the dinner. The Indian boys discovered that the stream was full of tiny fish, few more than two inches long. Taking off their cotton shirts, they tied the necks and arms and went trawling, and soon had a panful of the tiny swimmers. These they dried thoroughly, mixed with the ever-present TEMPLE OF THE TAPIRS. 129 but missed, one of the largest deer I have ever seen. After the siesta, which we found we really needed here in the heart of the tropics, barely eighteen degrees north of the Equator, Harvey and 1, accompanied by one of the Indians, picked up the stone road where it ran between the two hills into and across another meadow which must have contained thirty or forty acres. In many places we found the road sunken ; always it was grown up with weeds, but everywhere was evident the skill with which the uncut boulders had been laid, probably centur'es before. The road, still slightly raised, ran in a straight Remnants of the ancient paved road, supposed to have been built long before Cortez landed. Photo, C. B. Waite, Mexico City. cornmeal and nixtamal of Mexico, and then half baked, half fricd the ‘' fish loaf” in a pit filled with coals. The night passed without incident, though one of the Indios must have slept on watch, for the footprints of a large tiger appeared in the mud along the strcam that morning. The wind being from the camp down the valley probably saved us from a stampede, and may have kept news of us from the jaguar, as he left the brook before he came opposite the camp. In the forenoon Ortega, who had gone into the group of large trees to the west of the hills, killed a solitary javelin, but the flesh wes too rank to eat. Harvey secured a wild turkey, and Ishot at, line, as if it had been surveyed, over the savannah to the base of a hill somewhat higher than several other knolls which united to form a chain perhaps a mile in length. Just as we gained the base of the hill, Harvey, who had been watching the western side, fired into the brush, following his first shot with a second as rapidly as he could work the lever. Watching his line of fire, I saw an animal fall, then scramble to its feet and go crashing into the jungle. ‘‘ Tapir ! I got him!’ my companion shouted, and away we went across the meadow to beat fruitlessly through the clump of brush, until the Indian, to whom we had not paid much

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130 attention, called us from another thicket about two hundred yards away. Like a hunting dog, the boy had circled the first tangle until he found the spot where the tapir left it, badly wounded, and then followed the trail to where the animal lay dead, in the farther jungle. This tapir was a tritle lighter in colour than those we had seen in the first meadow, and much lighter than the one killed on the river, The difference is probably due to protective coloration, inasmuch as the sur- roundings of the swamp tapirs are much darker than is the landscape and foliage of the hill forests. The skin, when tanned in a pit with certain barks from the jungle, was nearly a quarter of an inch in thickness. It went to make guaraches for our Indios, all three of whom provided themselves with these durable sandals while we remained in the camp. We sent the boy back to camp for help to skin the tapir and 0 rselves walked back to the stone road, and along it to the base of the hil. There the causeway—for such it had been across the lowland of the savannah—ended in rude stone steps, about six feet wide, each step only a few inches in height, winding spirally about the hill to the top, where trees of some size hid its end, To both of us it appeared that this was the Hill of the Tapirs, but night, and black clouds portending a thunder-shower, came between us and our desires, so that we went back to camp much faster than we came. The wind blew the rain down into Guatemala, and we got only a slight downpour, while morning found the air and ourselves freshened by the shower. Out came shovels and picks, and, leaving Ortega to guard the camp, Harvey and myself made our way back over the old Quiche or Maya or Itzae road—for no one knows who made it—to the hill and its stone stairway. On the way we saw four more tapirs and three deer feeding in the meadow, but did not molest them. Earth covered many of the stone steps, but enough of the outline remained to show that the curves they had been given by their primitive builders were perfect. Five of these spirals were required to reach the top, but two false spirals had also been constructed—evidently to make up the magic number seven which prevails with such regularity in the ruins of Mexico, from the fallen Chinese temple in the Sonoran desert to the mounds at Bacalar, in Quintana Roo, At the top of the mound there had been a building, this much was certain, but what sort of structure it was impossible to say without lengthy examination and a large force of men to excavate. At one time The Seven Spirals. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the cone of the mound had been truncated. into a flat platform, possibly forty feet square, and on this the building had rested, but the winds and the rain of centuries had deposited earth, and the birds had carried seeds, until, to the casual eye, it was nothing but a natural hill, topped with brush and trees. Large, squared blocks of hewn stone, one of them six feet in length: by three feet in width and two in thickness—roughly measured with our hands—projected from the earth, and we found a number of obsidian (uxtlt) arrowheads and one or two broken spear-points. Digging by the boys produced the fragments of pottery found in all the ruins in Mexico. These shards tell nothing, for they were left by nomadic tribes which, following the builders of the palaces and temples, occupicd the structures through several centurics until they were no longer habitable. The elements have destroyed the pottery ‘of the ancients, save where it has been preserved in buried chambers, as at Mitla or Palenque. Our search of the top of the hill developed little, save that the knoll contained so many scorpions and centipedes that we did not dare to sit on the ground. During the hour of lunch and rest at noon, however, one of the Indian boys wandered down the farther slope of the hill in search of wild onions. He had been gone but a few minutes when his shout of ‘‘ Aqui estan los dioses ”’ (‘‘ Here are the gods "’) called us to two stone posts, probably the pillars which had once formed part of the framework of a door. Half of each, as digging afterwards showed, was buried in the earth, but about four feet still projected—and each post was topped with a well-carved head of a tapir ! Each pillar was about a foot in diameter, carved of grey- green diorite, a stone found in the heart of the State of Guerrero, nearly five hundred miles from the Hill of the Tapirs. I have the word. of mining men that the Guerrero diorite dykes are the nearest deposits of this stone in Mexico to the part of Tabasco in which we hunted. Palenque, Chiapas, whose ruins also produce diorite “ artifects,” is only about fifty miles from the Tapir temple; but in the State of Chiapas there is no diorite deposit, and this beautiful stone must have been brought in large pieces, over hundreds of miles of mountain and valley and across at least three good-sized rivers, to reach its final resting-place here in the heart of the Tabascan jungle. Every line of each head was carved in most lifelike fashion, and one was so like the other that only a sculptor could have told the difference. The eves had originally been set with brown pebbles which looked like onyx The Tapir Pillars.

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THE TEMPLE OF THE TAPIRS. 131 “The running animal had cleared probably fifty OTD when the jungle behind it threw out three golden-brown bodies.”

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132 or petrified wood, but only one eye remained, in one tapir, and that we did not disturb. I only wish I could have taken a photograph of these remarkable pillars. While we measured the pillars and talked of the realistic work of the prehistoric Phidias who made them, one of the Indian boys called to us softly to look at the originals in the valley. Turning to the inner meadow across which the two stone tapirs looked, we saw five ot their living counterparts moving slowly to- wards the jungle on the farther side. Harvey raised his rifle, but dropped it as all five came to a stop and, turning their heads like sheep, gazed back at us. Like sheep, too, they came a few steps nearer, then moved off, and again came on, never taking their eyes from us, I sent the Indian boys to the other side of the hill, and when the white-clad muchachos trotted over the summit the tapirs ran a few steps towards the jungle, paused, and, seeing nothing moving, came back. A remembrance of the wigwagging of antelope on Western plains came to me, and, hastily tying a handkerchief to a dead branch, I stepped behind a clump of breast-high brush, pulled Harvey with me, and began waving the improvised flag in fantastic motions over our heads, Of the five tapirs one was notably smaller than the rest, either a “runt” or a young animal, and this one had showed the most fear, being the first to run away and the last to turn back to gaze at us. Continued Silence on the hill and alternate waves and disappearances of the flag, after ten or fifteen minutes, brought all five fifty feet nearer to us, They came, not in wide circles, as deer and wolves approach an object of curiosity, but straight on, like sheep, their beads bunched together and held almost motionless. Half an hour saw the tapirs within one hundred yards and steadily coming nearer, when out of the jungle behind them came a deer at full speed, heading straight for the hill on which we were hidden. Only one thing—fear—could make a deer run hke that, and I dropped the flag for the rifle. The running animal had cteared probably fifty yards of the meadow, which was nearly THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, two hundred yards in width at this its narrowest point, when the jungle behind it threw out three golden-brown bodies, stretched to their full length in long leaps over the grass. Full-grown ocelots they were, combined to bring down an animal none of them could kill alone; and, con- trarily enough, my sympathies went out to the deer, which, had it appeared alone, I should have shot for food. Harvey seemed inspired with the same sentiments, for by the time I had got my eye, the rifle-sights, and one of the ocelots just at the point of coming together, his old “ forty-four” roared in my ear. Of course we missed—try shooting at a running house- cat with a rifle some time, if you think it is easy—but with the crack of the rifles the ocelots disappeared. I suppose they dropped flat into the long grass and crept back into the jungle. The deer veered off to the west and tumbled head over heels into the brush, while the startled tapirs ran with the odd gallop of their kind clear to the opposite side of the meadow. I believe we could have killed all five had we so desired. When they gained the shelter of the brush they turned for a last look at us, and then slowly walked into the cover, We spent two days exploring the hill and what had been the temple, but we found nothing worth carrying away. At the upper caoba camp on the return journey the power-boat met us, and, leaving the Indios to take the horses to camp, Harvey, Ortega, and I set out down the Usumacinta for Frontera. On that nde we fired at least fifty shots at alligators, and as many more at the big gars, as they floated on the surface of the silent stream, but we could swear to killing only one alligator and three of the gars, so suddenly did they disappear with the crack of the rifle. Back in Mexico City, I told Dr. Batras and Professor Mena, of the National Museum, about the Tapir temple. “ Are you sure the figures are of tapirs?"’ asked Batras. “You know we have found ivory ornaments at Mitla and the tooth of a mastodon at Lake Chapala?” Professor Mena merely shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘ There are many strange things in Mexico,”’ he said. 7

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Draw Foker HARWOOD KOPPEL ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK WRICHT A New York detective’s account of a most extraordinary affair which happened in that city only a few months ago. OUR interest in the great American y game of Poker may be more or less academic, but when a “pair” beat “five of a kind” and take “a full house,” you will at least admit that it must have been an unusual and possibly quite an exciting game. It all came about when Young Phihp Ryan, of the New York detective force, ' drew one.” When he did, things began to happen—but perhaps 1 had better begin at the beginning and let Ryan tell the story himself. Here it is, as told to me in the Harlem station-house a night or two after the events recorded herewith had found their way into the New York dailies, which described them as constituting one of the most unusual cases in the criminal annals of that big metropolis. Detective-Lieutenant L. F. McMahon came into the station on the night of Sunday, April 25th, and, signalling to Detec- tive Coakley and me to join him, pulled up a couple of chairs out of earshot of the rest of the men in the office. * There’s been a complaint from a tenant in the apartment-house at 321, St. Nicholas Avenue, that there is gambling going on there,’ said Lieutenant. McMahon, when we had seated ourselves near him. “I want you two to come with me to-night and make an investigation. We will wait until close to midnight, so as to give the gamblers a chance to get into full swing. Then we Mr. Philip Ryan, of the New York detective force, who tells this exciting story. can drop in on them unexpectedly and catch them with the goods. ‘ This is not a dangerous job,” continued the Lieutenant, “for the players are all small business men— men of the type who are really good law-abiding citizens, but inclined to overstep the regulations occa- sionally in order to indulge in a little friendly game of ‘draw.’ There are no bad men’ among them, so there is no use in getting ready for rough stutt.” Shortly before | midnight the Lieutenant, Coakley, and I started for the St. Nicholas Avenue apartment, which was not many squares from the station-house. Reaching the place, we got the negro lift- attendant to take us up quictly to the floor on which the apartment of William Fox was located. It was in Fox’s rooms, we had been told, that the game was to be in pro- gress. It seemed that it was a weekly affair, indulged in as a sort of recreation from business worries by a number of retail tradesmen, clerks, mechanics, and men of that prosperous nocking at the door, it was promptly opened to us by one of the unsuspecting gamesters, and we walked in to find a poker game in full swing. “IT am sorry, gentlemen, but you will have to get ready to accompany us to the station-house,” the Lieutenant informed the startled players. They realized that we had caught them

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134 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, properly, and uttered no pro- test, seemingly taking their ar- Test quite good- naturedly. While the players were getting their coats and hats and otherwise preparing to ac- company us to the station, the Lieutenant dis- patched De- tective Coakley to telephone the station for the patrol wagon. For some reason the tele- phone connec- tion with the station-house could not be made, and the Lieutenant thereupon told Coakley that he had better go over there and come back with the wagon. There seemed to be no risk in this, inasmuch as our prisoners were all con- ducting them- ‘selves in an orderly manner and had readily submitted to arrest. Coakley had been gone some little ttme when there came a knock at the door. "I guess Coakley's come back with the wagon,” said the Lieutenant. Ryan.” I nodded, left the dining-room, where I had been on duty (the Lieutenant was on guard in the adjoining living-room), and, following the narrow hall-way that led to the door opening into the common hall-way of the apartment-house, threw the portal open—and found myself looking into the barrels of a pair of revolvers in the hands of “Let him in, “Crowding behind him were four other men, all wearing a stockily-built masked man, about five feet six inches in height. Crowding behind him were four other men, all, like their leader, wearing blue masks covering the entire face, with eye-holes slit in the cloth. Each was covering me with his pistol. Get ‘em up! Get ‘em up quick!’ said the leader. His laconic command was sufficient ; there was no need to say more. In America, when

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‘blue masks. Each was covering me with his ‘pisto bd aman has the drop on you, you generally put your hands up, unless you are contem- Plating suicide. I was wearing my overcoat, and had my own regulation police revolver in my outer Tight-hand pocket, but there was no chance to get at it. , The whole performance was so astounding that I could not quite comprehend it for a Moment. I had gone to the door expecting “DRAW POKER.” 135 to admit my com- rade, Coakley, and had been confronted by five masked men, guns in hand. My frst thought was that we had been trapped, and that the prisoners had in some way sent word to their friends, who were staging a rescue. A moment’s reflection, however, convinced me _ that | this could hardly be the case, as most of the players were well-known citizens of that section of New York, and could easily be recaptured at any time at their homes or places of business, There was only one other explana- tion—that the five men were a_ bunch of ‘stick-up guys” (criminals), who, not knowing that detec- tives had made a raid on the poker players, were them- selves raiding the game—but not for the same purpose. There have been many such raids recently, by armed and masked gentry, on card and dice games in private homes and apart- ments throughout the city, and my reasoning, as it after- wards turned out, was correct. * Back up!’ was the next command that came from the leader of the hold- ups, and he kept me backing until I had retired into the dining-room where the gamblers were assembled, all ready now to pile into the patrol wagon, which they thought was waiting below. When they realized the situation their faces were a study of incredulous amazement. The gamblers appeared to be in for a spell of real hard luck, for in addition to spending some time in the police station, and later in

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136 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, court, they were now confronted with the loss of their money. “Hands up, everybody !‘’ commanded the bandit leader, and twenty-eight hands shot into the air, for we had captured fourteen players. Lieutenant McMahon was out of the direct line of vision of the robbers, and was awaiting an opportunity to get into action, but he did not know exactly what was going on, as there were so many gamblers crowded into the two small rooms that his as obstructed. It takes a long time to tell about, but the whole drama had so far happened in about a minute and a half. As | backed into the dining-room, with the robbers crowding into the doorway about six feet behind me, I managed to turn so that my left side was toward the door. This gave me a chance to drop my right hand, before it was noticed, to my side overcoat pocket. Ina second I had my gun out, and— ‘ Crack!" [let fly at the leader, “Crack! crack!" came two answering shots from the robber’s pistol, but they went wild, and as I fired again the leader staggered back, and all five bandits hurriedly started down the passage-way for the door. Lieutenant McMahon now got into action, and his pistol also began to bark, but the gamblers—who were now in a panic-- inter- fered with our aim so much that all five bandits got safely through the passage into the hall. One of them, 1n his fright, jumped down a dumb-waiter shaft and went sliding and tumbling into the basement of the apartment building, where we found him after the milée was over— quite uninjured, Meanwhile, outside the apartment, Flerbert Hayes, the negro elevator attendant, was standing in the hall too frightened to move. He had brought the five men up, and as ‘they came up in the lift they put on their masks, so that the negro was the only person who had seen their countenances. Now, as they dashed out, foiled in their attempt to capture a rich booty, and in danger of arrest, if not of death from the flying shots, the leader callously fired point-blank at the un- fortunate lift-attendant, who crumpled up in his lift with a bullet in the abdomen. Down the stairs dashed the five bandits, tearing off their masks as they fled, and behind them came the Lieutenant and I, pumping lead at them whenever an oppor- tunity offered. The stairway, however, wound round the lift-shaft, which made it difficult. to shoot with any degree of accuracy, Through the courtyard oft he apartment- house the rascals dashed, with the Lieutenant and I close behind them. There is an ornamental fountain in the centre of the courtyard, and behind this they made a stand, evidently determined to beat back pursuit long enough to make their escape safe. Dropping behind the shelter afiorded. by the concrete bowl of the fountain, four of the gunmen took up positions on their knees, while the leader, made of sterner stuff, stood behind the bronze figure that spouted water. Finding that our quarry was determined to give battle, the Lieutenant and I— knowing, ourselves to be outnumbered—also took up positions where we could get protection from their fire. The Lieutenant partially shielded himself on one side of the doorway, while [ dropped behind a window. ‘The bandits laid down a regular barrage, which we answered as best we could, taking pot-shots at whatever presented itself in the way of a human target. This did not last more than a minute or two, for, finding our fire too hot and too accurate, the five gave up their attempt at covering their retreat, and fled precipitately out of the courtyard and into the street, with McMahon and I about two jumps behind them. Drawn up at the edge of the kerb was a black taxicab, with its engine running, and a man at the wheel with his foot poised ready to drop in the clutch. The five piled pell-mell into the taxi, the car started with a jerk, and the Lieutenant and I, coming up just too late, stood on the side- walk and emptied our revolvers at the rapidly receding motor-car. The bandits, in turn, poked their heads and arms out of the doors, and through the blackness of the mght came back the ‘Crack ! crack ! crack!” of their guns in answer to our own. The unfortunate lift-attendant now required our attention, and we summoned an am- bulance and rushed him to the Knickerbocker Hospital, where the poor fellow died later in the morning without being able to give much of a description of the hold-up men. He said that one of them was helped by his com- panions as they retreated from the Fox apartment, and I believe that when the leader staggered back one of my bullets had found its mark. Be that as it may, it was one of the strangest coincidences in police history that hold-up men should attempt a raid on a bunch of gamblers at the very same time the police had raided them. The gang has not yet been traced. Fe INA et Se POLY Pa aN nee ee eee ee ee Oe A a he oa rc a Ee oa

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( Almo ng the Kalshevists TOLD BY AN OFFICER.RAF. “7 AND SET DOWN DAVID MASTERS Some interesting sidelights on the operations against the Bolshevists in North Russia. What with runaway trains, prisoners who came in voluntarily, bombing raids against the enemy, and the ever-present risk of capture and torture, the Author’s sojourn among the “Bolos” proved distinctly exciting. * OING to Russia ?”’ said a friend, when I told him I was bound for the North. “A perishing cold place. You'll be frozen to death !'” “Or lose your toes and fingers and nose through frost-bite,’’ chimed in another. “ Probably stop a Bolshie bullet,” said a third. “More likely to be captured by the Bolshies and find out from personal ex- perience what the Spanish Inquisition was like,” added my first friend. I wasn’t very keen on losing toes or fingers or nose through frost-bite, any more than I was charmed by the prospect of freezing to death. Still, I looked upon these things as probabilities. The one thing I was deter- mined to avoid at all costs was being captured and tortured by the Bolshevists. Whatever else happened to me, obviously there was no escaping the terrible cold. Everyone reminded me of it, and conse- quently the furs and warm woollies I collected in order to avoid being frozen to death made a pretty big parcel. I left Rosyth one week-end and went down south to see half-a-dozen seaplanes safely housed on the steamer. When I arrived I found the six of them ready to be handed over, so we hoisted them inboard without mishap, and made them secure for their trip across the North Sea to the Arctic Circle. Then we stowed our kit, said good-bye to our friends and relatives, and set out in quest of adventure amid the northern snows. The weather was good, and the trip to Vol. xlvi.—10 Murmansk uneventful. The attractions of Murmansk, however, did not leap out at us. We had to seek them, and even then we did not succeed in finding them. The place was built entirely of wood. Some of the houses were finished off better than others, but the majority were made of straight fir logs, roughly trimmed with the axe so that they dovetailed together at the corners. The land came down to the sea almost like some of the Norwegian fiords, but every- thing seemed bleaker and more desolate. When my machine was properly tuned up and I went for my first trip over the town [ found it looked just like a little collection of wooden huts nestling amid the bleak, snow-capped hills and interminable forests that came down to the very water's edge. Certainly no place could have looked more peaceful. It was difficult to find any indica- tion that a war was on at all, until you noticed the ships in the bay and the huge dumps of stores dotted here and there. One of the amusing things was that Russia did not give me the cold reception I had been led to expect. I was in the Arctic Circle, it is true, but as for freezing—well, you might as well talk about freezing at Monte Carlo in August. I found the climate gloriously warm, and never once had I occasion to use any of the winter garments with which I had so thoughtfully provided myself. So hot was it, indeed, that I was able to work in a shirt and trousers and with my sleeves rolled up, and even when flying I only found it necessary to slip on my tunic and leather helmet.

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138 You must remember, however, that this was the height of summer, and that it was always daylight. The sun dipped below the horizon, it is true, but it was never dark. I have no doubt that Murmansk in the winter, with its perpetual gloom, is a terrible place to be in. 1 was lucky to see the best side of the Russian climate. We had not been in Murmansk long when THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. me to make all the preparations we had planned. Having fixed on our site on the edge of the lake, we took out all our stores, pitched our tents, and made camp. Then came the usual trying job of getting our machines off the trucks with the inadequate crane at our disposal. The Bolshevist lines were only about ten miles away, but the country was - so impassable that it was most diffi- cult to work in. The ‘' Bolos,” as we called them, were not long in finding out we had arrived, for their spies were pretty active, so we got one of our machines ready as quickly as possible and sent it to drop a few bombs on the enemy, just to con- firm the reports of their agents and let them know we were indeed on Machines packed on trucks ready for the journey to Lake Onega. the order came that we were to take our machines overland to Lake Oncga, some- thing like five hundred miles to the south. We set about folding back the wings of our Fairey machines again and getting them ready to hoist on the railway trucks, We got them upon the trucks eventually, after a deal of trouble, and lashed them securely into place, thereafter attending to the pack- ing of our baggage. As it was impossible to embark all our stores and equipment into one crain, we made up two, and it was arranged that I should leave in the first tram and set up a depot on the shores >t Lake Onega ready to receive the stores and general equipment from the other train when it arrived, some eighteen hours later. The trip trom Murmansk was a weary journey through endless forests of pine and fir, and we should have hailed the so-called discomforts of railway travelling in England as veritable comforts just then. Our time- table was rather upset by floods, which had washed away a wooden bridge over one of the rivers we had to cros There was nothing for it but to rebuild the bridge, a task that took us fourteen hours, SO we arrived at our destination a bare two or three hours in front of the other train, and there was no time for the spot, with the intention of stir- ring up things in that quarter. After that we sailed over their lines regularly, never giving them any peace, and dropping bombs that did a great deal of damage. I myself dropped over ten thousand pounds of bombs on them, and my only regret is that I was not able to drop ten times this amount, for, however much the * Bolshies " may pose as apostles of light, one need not be long among the peasants who have experienced Bolshevist ‘‘ rule” to dis- cover that the “ Bolos’”’ are devils of dark- ness who have committed the most appalling and infamous atrocities, The peasants who have been under the heels of the Bolshevists are extremely an- tagonistic to Bolshevism ; they have learned through bitter experience what the terror is. People who are far removed from the Bol- shevist zone, however, and who listen daily to the insidious and glowing accounts of the propagandists, are much more tolerant, and inclined to look upon Bolshevism es salva- tion—until they feel the Trotsky grip. Then, whatever they may say cr do, in their hearts they become bitterly anti-Bolshevist. Everywhere within my own ken it was the same. Those who knew the “ Bolshie” hated him; those who did not know him loved him, or were at any rate tolerant. “ Devils of Darkness.”

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‘AMONG THE BOLSHEVISTS. The “ Terror” in France is not to be compared with the reign of terror that existed when I was in Russia. If the “ Bolos”’ took a village, the only hope of the inhabitants was to go over to the Bolshevists, otherwise they would have been shot down in cold blood, as countless thousands actually were. The Commissars appointed in the various villages committed all sorts of hor- rible excesses, and whenever they fell into the hands of the roving bands of “ Partisans ”’ behind our lines they were summarily shot. These ‘‘ Partisans,’’ as they called them- selves, were men and women who were the sole survivors of ‘‘ Bolshie ’ massacres and shootings, wherein husbands, wives, sons, and daughters had all been wiped out. These desperate people, who had lost kith and kin and everything, collected together and vowed eternal vengeance upon the tyrants, and they were as keen on the quest of a Com- missar as a bloodhound on the scent of a murderer. They knew no mercy. They made all sorts of daring raids, and the Com- missars they captured were taken into the forests to be executed. Some of the women Commissars, by the way, were even worse than the men. One such woman, with a most bloodthirsty record of murders, was captured by the “ Partisans,” and shot immediately her identity was proved. The appalling Condition of affairs in Russia cannot be Property realized by people in Great Britain. Although we are not such a Breat distance away, measured in miles, we are as far asunder as the poles in our thoughts and feel- ings. Moreover, Russia itself is so huge, and made up of so many different Nationalities, that 139 morning and march them back at night in the same way. 3 As I can speak no Russian, you can imagine that at first these prisoners were a very mixed blessing to me. They knew as much English as I knew Russian, and consequently the only way of getting them to do things was first of all to show them what I wanted done. I had to teach them everything in this manner, but they were not long in picking things up, and we soon got along splendidly. I found them very willing and industrious, and they responded in a wonderful way to the slightest kindness, There was, indeed, nothing of the cut-throat about them at all, and [ never for one moment anticipated that any of them would do me the slightest bodily harm, even if they got the opportunity. It must be remembered, however, that the greater number of so-called Bolshevists are not Bolshevists at all, but merely simple peasants who have been pressed into the Bolshevist ranks against their wills, While the ‘ Bolos "’ hotd the upper hand these poor wretches realize that the only hope of life and safety lies in doing what the tyrants desire ; consequently they turn ‘ Bolshie”’ for the time being, and look forward to their deliverance with whatsoever patience they can muster. R ussians who Journey to distant parts of the country are actually strangers within their own gates. Not far from our station on the lakeside was a camp wherein the Bolshevist prisoners were interned, I found that they were being used for various jobs, so I sent in an application and was allotted seven prisoners to assist me in my duties. I used to send a Corporal up to the camp for them every Some of the Bolshevist prisoners who were sent to help the Author. They proved very willing workmen. There was great excitement at the in- ternment camp one day when it was discovered by the Commandant that he had too many prisoners! No one could understand it. The men were paraded and carefully counted. Sure enough, there were about thirty more than he had signed for. How had these men come there ?

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140 A little judicious questioning Self-made revealed the fact that the Prisoners. prisoners were obtaining a bigger and better food ration than the villagers in the vicinity. The peasants found this out, and in order to get the benefit of the extra ration they volun- tarily interned themselves by mixing with the ‘ Bolos’’ and marching into camp with them at sundown ! If this Gilbertian incident caused some of us a little amusement, we were even more amused by the unfolding of another comedy. I wanted some prisoners to do some special work one Sunday. Not one of the Russian guards at the camp would work on Sundays. It was their day off, and 1 was informed that I could not have the prisoners because there was no Russian guard to send down with them. I thought the idea of soldiers work- ing only six days a week was priceless, and I accordingly sent a further request that the * Bolos”’? be sent down without delay. However, not a single Russian guard would volunteer for the job, and things had reached a deadlock when the prisoners suggested that they should come down without a guard. As noone scemed to object, they duly marched out of camp, reported to me, and carried out the work required. When the Russians found that the prisoners had faithfully carried out what was wanted and then returned to the camp without run- ning amok, they apparently thought that if the “ Bolshies ” could go down without a guard on Sunday there was nothing to hinder them from doing the same thing for the rest of the week. At any rate, from that day on the prisoners always marched down without a guard, and they never once made the slightest attempt to escape. When we arrived the railways were being worked by the Americans. and everything went like clockwork. If the “ Bolos "blew up a bridge, the American engineers had it Tepaired in no time. They were up to all sorts of tricks. For instance, they never wasted time tinkering up a ruined bridge ; there was nothing to be gained by it. Ample material was available—often the trees all but grew on the track—and so they used to build a new bridge by the side of the old one and just shift the track a little on either side of the river so as to run on to the new bridge. If the stream was very wide, another trick of theirs was to cut away the banks on each side and then construct a bridge only half the height and length of the old one in order to carry the track across, The train then went down a decline on to the bridge and had to pull up an incline on the other side, but the Americans had the trains running across ina third of the time it would have taken to pull down the old bridge and rebuild it, or THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZI) E. to build a new bridge as high and long as the old. There was a great shortage of points on the railways, and I have no doubt that some of our railwaymen would have opened their eyes very wide if they could have seen how the Russians overcame this difficulty. If our Allies wanted to run a train on to a line that was minus points, or into a siding that was similarly deficient, a gang of men would go to the nearest set of points and work furiously for a time. Then they seemed to pick up the track and the set of points bodily, afterwards placing them exactly where they wanted them. It must have been desper- ately heavy work, but they had trained them- selves to do it in a marvellously short space of time. Similarly, whenever they wanted a length of rail—which was fairly often—they would just go and take it from another section of the line. Directly the staff of the other section wanted to run a train, and found that a length of line was missing, they would go off and “ borrow” a line from somewhere else. This seems a happy-go-lucky way of going to work, but it is typical of the Russian rail- ways as I saw them, The rolling-stock was in a terrible condition, only about one truck in ten having a brake—and that would never work, Consequently we had some exciting moments, for the line ran downhill from the station and took a wide sweep through our seaplane station on the front of the lake. ‘The railwaymen used to put blocks of wood under the wheels to stop the trains from running downhill to us, but very often they took the blocks away too soon, Then we would be treated to the sight of trucks rushing down on us, gathering speed every moment, while stringing out behind would come a long line of gesticulating Russians yelling at the tops of their voices and giving all and sundry injunc- tions to “Stop the train! ’’—no easy job, by the way. The Russian method of achieving this result was to drop billets of wood in front of the train at various intervals, with a great baulk of timber at the last. The train, on meeting the first billet, would hit it, jump it, and come down with a thump on the other side. It would do the same with the next and the next, but each obstruction would tetard it more and more, and by the time it got to the fina! heavy timber it would just stand on end and stop. Ferhaps it ran off the rails, perhaps it did not. In any case, the railwaymen accomplished their purpose and stopped the runaway. We got quite used, eventually, to secing runaway trucks flying through our station and piling up farther along the line.

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Once a fully-equipped ar- The Runaway Moured train, with big guns Train. and shells all complete, was resting at the top of the slope waiting for an engine to take it away to stir up the enemy. The engine came up and the railwaymen took the blocks of wood from under the wheels of the train. Un- fortunately, they removed them before the engine had coupled up, and as the engine bumped into the train the impact started it down the incline. The railwaymen could not stop it, and the usual chase ensued. The heavy train brushed two trucks off the line as though they were thistledown, piling them up in pieces \. Siew : ~ A railway bridge blown up by the Bolshevists. AMONG THE BOLSHEVISTS. 14 “get” a train. He dropped a bomb right in the centre of the track in front of the engine, and you have never seen such a mess in all your life as that two-hundred-and- thirty-pound bomb made of the train. The explosion simply reduced it to a pile of wreck- age, tore up the railway track, and cut the enemy line completely, This happened at nine o'clock at night, and shortly before midnight my observer and I scrambled into my machine to see what the ‘‘ Bolos’”’ were doing about the disaster, I “taxied” over the lake for a short distance and then put up the nose of my machine and got away. The Fairey machine is built so that by turning a wheel just beside your seat you can alter the angle of the wings to enable you to gain height quickly. I went up to two thousand five hundred feet and then made a line for the bombed train. We were well over enemy country when the unexpected happened. ‘The ‘ Bolos’’ fairly riddled the seaplane with bullets—without, however, hitting the observer or me. We beside the track, and then rushed throughour station with a roar and a clattering at about thirty miles an hour. It finally came to a stand- still farther along the front of the lake without doing any further damage. My little unit bombed the “Bolos” regu- larly, “* putting the wind up them” properly, and they had a bigger at- tack of funk than ever when one of my colleagues waS The same bridge after being reconstructed in an incredibly short time by the American engineers. lucky enough to av le

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142 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE could, of course, hear nothing, for the roar of the engine is very effective in drowning all other noises. Presently, however, I was startled to see a wisp of smoke come from one of the petrol tanks, and there gushed forth a sudden spurt of petrol. Instantly the engine lost power and the ’plane began to drop. I saw the needle indicating the amount of water in the radiator rush over to zero at an incredible speed, for the radiator was holed in so many places that the water just fell out all at once. “ This is the end,” I thought, and started to pump air into the spare petrol tank to increase the pressure and keep the engine running. I instructed the observer to pump as well, and we worked like mad. of making anything like a decent landing. There were trees everywhere! All about us was dense forest, and that forest proved our salvation, paradoxical though it seems, for an instant later we hit the tops of the trees with a terrific crash. They cracked and groaned and sagged beneath our weight ; then we slipped through and hit the ground. “Hop out, quick!” I called to the observer, and we both jumped more quickly than we had ever done before, for we fully expected the battered machine to go up ina roar of flaming petrol. Fortunately for us, however, the petro! did not catch, but we had barely scrambled out when the trunk of a great tree that we had hit in our fall came A Bolshevist train after being hit by a British bomb. As I was running the engine on the two tanks, the air was naturally escaping from the holed tank, and, noticing this, [ switched over to the undamaged tank, but it was quite useless. The engine gave a feeble kick or two and I saw the flames from the exhaust go stream- ing past my head as we came down. Then the engine “‘ seized up,’”’ and I realized that my only hope lay in getting the machine into a decent gliding angle and so lessening the force of the coming crash. We had by now fallen over two thousand feet and were about four hundred feet up. With an effort I brought the ‘plane round and managed to straighten out a bit. 1 looked to see if there was a chance Shot Down in a Forest. down with a terrific crash across the wings of the machine, barely missing us. It was just a miracle that neither of us was hurt. The first tree we hit was a silver birch, and this, bending under the force of the blow, helped to lessen the shock. That birch undoubtedly saved our lives; if we had struck a hard-wood tree we should have been killed. The machine was simply a tangled mass of canvas and wood, with five uprooted trees lying all about it. In cases like this we are instructed to fire the machine at once, but I decided not to do so. The ‘“ Bolos” had seen us fall, but it would be difficult for them to tell exactly where we had alighted. We were in the midst of a forest hundreds of square miles in extent, and the machine would probably

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AMONG THE BOLSHEVISTS. 143 The Author and his companion after the crash in the forest. remain there undiscovered for months. If, however, I carried out instructions and fired the machine, the resulting smoke and flames would merely serve to indicate to the “ Bolos ’’ where we were, and if they came up and captured us we could expect little mercy. We were not very anxious to give them an opportunity to exercise their tor- tures upon us, So we left the wrecked ‘plane and set out to try to find our way back to our own lines, Our position was not too hopeful. We were absolutely lost. It was just after mid- night, but quite light. All around us the boles of the trees shot up straight to the heavens, and their ranks stretched endlessly into the purple distance which ever way we looked. At any moment the pursuing

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144 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ Bolos’” might burst into view and seek to — settle our account. Luckily the observer had a pocket compass, so we set our faces to the north and started out. We swung along over the soft pine- needles for hour after hour and never met a soul. The mosquitoes provided all the ex- citement we needed, for we walked in clouds of them, and they nearly ate us alive and drove us mad at the same time. Eventually, after six hours’ weary tramp- ing, we came to the edge of a fast-flowing river. The only way of getting across was to swim, so we made the plunge and swam to the other side. That swim lost us our only guide, for the water put our compass out of order, There was nothing to denote what direction we were taking until the sun rose, when we corrected our course and turned due north again. “Look!” said the observer suddenly, and pointed out a stick that had been sharpened and thrust into the ground. A little farther on we came across another one, and then another. We determined to follow these sticks, which were placed at fairly regular intervals, in order to see where they led. Following them carefully, we came at last to a rude village. We entered it very gingerly, suspecting it was a ‘“ Bolo” stronghold. One or two people eyed us curiously, but we were not molested, Then I came across an old peasant and made him understand that we were hungry and wanted something to eat. It was evident by now that we had fallen among friends, for this old man prepared a decent meal, which we soon dispatched, and afterwards we conveyed to him the fact that we wanted to get to the British lines. Appa- rently they were too far off for us to go there on foot, so I drew a horse and cart. The old man nodded and smiled. Going to a stable, he harnessed up a pony to his ramsha -kle cart, we got in, and he drove us leisurely back to our lines. By way of return we gave him some bully beef, biscuits, and tobacco, and he went away highly de- lighted. The five golden sovereigns served out to us for use in an emergency like this were not touched, A few weeks later we made two or three casts to locate my wrecked machine, and eventually succeeded in finding it and bring- ing away one or two parts with which to tinker up our other machines. The machine, when we found it, was quite untouched, and T expect it is still there just as we left it. After the bombing of the train, the ap- proach of one of our machines always sent the “ Bolos " scattering into the woods on both sides of the railway, where they would remain hidden until the seaplane haa de- parted. The bloodthirsty Chinese mercen- aries employed by the “ Bolos” used to scatter in the same way, but instead of separating they crowded together into a compact mass and waited for us to go. One of our bombs happened to fall among a crowd of these Chinamen one day, and wiped out about five hundred of them. While we were on Lake Onega we trained a Russian unit to take over our machines when we left, and the Russians proved apt pupils. The internment camp was also handed over to them, but the “ Bolo” prisoners did not seem to pay much attention to them, whereas they were quick to do what we wanted. The prisoners were quite ready to declare on the Russian side, but they were so afraid that the ‘‘ Bolos ” might fight their way back again that they were taking no risks, As one of them said: “If the “ Bolos’ come back and find us here, we be set free. If they find us free, they shoot us for traitors. No; we stay in camp.” Anyway, when we left the prisoners and Russians alike were all weeping at our de- parture, and my own “ Bolo” servant pleaded hard to be taken with us. He would come to England and work for nothing, he said, if only we would take him. Of course it was out of the question, so I fixed up a job for him with the Russians and left him to work out his own salvation. Most of the time I was on Lake Onega 1 lived in an aeroplane packing-case, which I fitted with two bunks, one above another. A curtain screened this “ bedroom ”’ off from the living-room, which was filled with a table, chair, and stove. My house was very “compact” but wonderfully cosy. We rigged up an old petrol tank on the roof, in connection with the stove, to supply us with hot water, and we “ borrowed " a couple of windows to let in a little light. We even fitted up electric light, so we were not nearly so uncomfortable as we might have been. As for food, we got on fairly well. 1 have comforting memories of a most delicious salmon, purchased for a few cigarettes, and cooked in an old petrol tin. No chef ever served up a better. It was superb. The women do most of the heavy work in this part of the world, and I shall never forget the sight of two white-haired women of about seventy getting into a boat with a strapping young fellow of about two-and-twenty. They were bound for a spot thirteen miles up the lake, and I expected the young man to take them there. Not a bit of it! He calmly sat down and took the helm, while those vigorous old Jadies picked up the oars and sent the craft speeding on its way.

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So popular were the Author’s prevous articles, “In Quest of Cannibals,” that we commissioned him to write an account of his adventures on another most hazardous expedition —the hunting down of the mysterious nomads of the Mount Victoria region of Papua, who, descending ll. UR route lay along the gorge ot the Yodda. Swollen rivers had to be bridged, and other obstacles, such as jungle growth, removed from our path. Progress was necessarily slow. But on we went, and after the second day were rewarded with the sight of foot- prints near one ot the small streams which crossed our path. Thence onward we left the old miners’ tracks and followed the footprints. And what a dance they led us ! Upand down precipitous landscapes, through hornet-infested thickets, and along the boui- der-strewn beds of small streams. When they disappeared (and that was often) the whole party would open out and search the eround or the small shrubs and undergrowth until they were found again. So we went on until the fourth day. Davhght found us ascending @ Mountain-side. We soon discovered that it was not one of the foot-hills which had been in our path for the last few days, and for hours we climbed steadily, but mever reached the top. The slopes were slippery and steep, and rain fell incessantly. After advancing one step we would often ‘slip back half-a-dozen. Hard knocks came to everyone. In places we had to use both hands and fect in ascending. Not one of our men knew this part of the LIEUT-E-W-P CHINNERY ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L WOOD CHASING MOUNTAIN OUTLAWS IN NEW GUINEA from their hill-top villages, killed the native labourers of the Yodda goldfield and then disappeared into the unexplored fastnesses of the mountains. In this article Mr. Chinnery de- scribes how his party was ambushed and what hap- pened subsequently. district, but 1t soon became obvious that this must be the mountain on which A our quarry was concealed. Fearful of discovery, we decided not to risk a halt for lunch, so kept doggedly on, Mid- afternoon found us still climbing. Our backs ached and our limbs were like lead. Many muttered curses came from the ranks of the carriers, and harsh criticisms of the Bede system of mountain villages, which entailed such hard labour on the part of visitors, Suddenly we saw light through the jungle ahead of us, and in a few moments we entered a vast tract of garden land, where a glorious panorama unfolded before our eves, The mighty slopes of Mount Albert Edward, with ats jagged-edged pinnacles jutting through the clouds, lay to the north-west, well over thirteen thousand feet above sea- level, winle to the south was the saddle thrilling was a spot on the upper margin of the garden lands in which we stood, a spot marked in our sight by a house roof. 1t stood on what was evidently a small plateau, and here, undoubtedly, were the men we wanted. As we watched, careful not to expose ourselves, we heard wild mountain songs ringing through the valley. The fugitives and their hosts were dancing.

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146 DISCOVERED! . We retired again to the edge of the jungle to arrange our advance. The carriers were left under an escort, and I returned to the garden with the police. We made our way through the sweet potato plants, wriggling serpent-like on our stomachs. The wet clay made progress fearfully slow and difficult, but nevertheless we neared the summit. The songs continued unabated, and we had every hope of being able to reach the top unobserved. Unfortunately for us, however, the Bede had provided for a possible visit of this kind, and suddenly a blood-curdling yell came from the potatoes just below us. 1t was the guard posted by the Bede! I raised my head and saw him bounding away over the plant-tops with mighty leaps. “ Gawga! Gawga!”’ he screamed to his chief.‘ Ferlicemen! Ferlicemen ! ’* (police). But the songs of the people drowned the notes of warning, and we jumped to our feet and dashed up-hill to try to reach the top before the singing finished. But we were too late. We were just under the plateau when the song ended and the screams of the agitated guard reached the dancers. One of them, drum _ in_ hand, leaned over the edge and saw us a few feet below him. [for a moment the shock para- lyzed him; his eyes and mouth opened wide, as if they would never shut again, and the drum dropped from his lifeless fingers. We almost reached him, but not quite. Like a flash he recovered, and when, a second later, we were on the dancing-ground of the plateau he and his companions were disappearing in the jungle thickets above us. Pursuit was impossible, for we were completely ‘ done.” The long climb and that last hundred yards in a mad rush uphill had taken its toll. We lay for nearly ten minutes, gasping and blowing THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, like so many fish out of water. Keloia was the only man who could stand upright, and even he, though mountain-bred, had to abandon the pursuit before he reached the summit of the mountain above the plateau. Just as the clouds settled down over the plateau for the night we completed our camp, and no time was lost in posting sentries and preparing for rest. Next morning half the carriers were down with a form of whooping-cough ; the sudden change to the high altitude had been too much for them. This made further travel impossible, so I decided to use this camp as a base for future operations. Patrols examined the surrounding hills for traces of the runaways, and on the third day information was brought in which decided my course. One of the scouts had observed a number of men moving south- ward towards the Wharton Range. 1 left camp next morning with my corporal (“ Ginger "’ by name), Keloia, and a couple of trustworthy village constables armed with steel tomahawks. The route led us along the sharp, narrow mountain ridges. Here the intertwined aerial roots of the trees, with their mossy coverings, tormed a pathway which yielded under our tect and swayed with our weight as if we were walking on a long spring mattress. It was only with great difficulty that we were able to proceed. In fact, at many places we were forced to continue on hands and knees to avoid being hurled over the precipice on both sides of our ant-like track. Heavy rain had made the roots slippery, and this fact did not make our task easier. A SIGNIFICANT HINT. About eleven o'clock we entered an old garden, and found a_ well-formed native track. This was much better than the root and moss covered ridges. It took us round the southern side of the mountain, out of sight of our camp, and for the first time we looked full at the whole of the north side of the Wharton Range, lying across the valley. Many villages could be seen perched on the high ridges, and as.our track commenced to de- scend the gorge I A stockaded village in the mountains. concluded that the

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 147 Digitized by Google

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148 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. men we were following had crossed to the Wharton Range side of the valley. In order to make sure of this we negotiated the descent, but within a few feet were brought to a sudden halt by a spear-point. This spear was placed on a tripod, and it was directed against anyone descending the track. Its meaning was clearly ‘* No road this way.”” Thence onward we proceeded warily. About midday we reached the river at the bottom of the gorge. Here we found a bridge of vines, but examination revealed the fact that it had been tampered with ; its condition was such that the weight of a man crossing it would result in its collapse, and a glance at the rushing waters of the boulder-strewn river some thirty feet below told us what would happen to anyone unlucky enough to tumble in. We did not bother about the bridge, but cut some long saplings and were soon spread- ing them across from boulder to boulder. It took us an hour, but at last we successfully reached the other side and commenced the ascent. I was going much farther than I had intended, but it seemed an excellent oppor- tunity to examine the movements of our quarry. The ascent was a dreadful task. The sides were almost precipitous in places, and we all had heavy falls. The nails came out of my boots, and I was scarcely able to keep on my feet at all. The village police- man carried my revolver and rifle and walked a short distance behind. Natives, of course, manage this kind of travel much better than white men. Their toes appear to be specially adapted for grasping any little rock or stick underfoot ; but this route tried even their skill, After climbing for about three hours we came to a spot where a tree had fallen across the track. I did not notice the significance at the time, but Keloia did, and he imme- diately stepped in front of me and remained in that position. We climbed warily on, but it was all I could do to continue, even with the aid of the stout’ pole I carried. At four o’clock we came to a landslip. The ground fell away abruptly in a steep slope on our right for about sixty feet. On our left, almost to the edge of the landslip, was grass, waist high. Between the grass and the precipice was a slippery track about six inches wide. THE AMBUSH. Keloia and I were some distance ahead of the others when we came to this dangerous spot. Unknown to us, the track turned at right angles to the left about half-way across the landslip. We were walking very care- fully along the dizzy track when a dreadful cry came from Keloia, who was about two feet ahead of me. The shock of it nearly sent me over the edge. I looked up at him. His face was horrible; his eyes protruded, and his hands fumbled desperately at the chamber of his rifle. I followed the direc- tion of his upward gaze, and then I telt exactly as he looked. Instantly I yelled to the village policeman who was carrying my firearms, for we had walked into an ambush ! Rushing down at us from above were a number of small, sturdy natives, with spears on a level with their shoulders, ready to be thrown, An instant later a shower of these deadly weapons were hurled at us from within five yards. Luckily for us, they went over our quickly-lowered heads, but before we could recover our balance the little men were on top of us. The first one simply jumped at Keloia with his spear couched like a lance. I remember bringing my heavy stick down on the back of his head as his body hurtled through the air; then came a heavy jolting and a choking sensation, and the next thing I remembered was finding myself neatly jammed in the fork of a small tree, covered with bruises and blood, with scarcely a bit of skin left;on my body, and a vague feeling that something had happened. ; 1 looked around me, but the locality was strange and unfamiliar, Something blurred was in front of me. I put up my hand to feel what it was, and to my horror discovered it was my own nose ; it had grown to a tre- mendous size, and there was no skin on it! Something must have hit it, I decided, dully. My head ached dreadfully, and I found my hair matted with blood. I found also that in some places there were large lumps and no hair. Every movement caused pain, so I just rested quietly and tried to reason out what had happened. How long I should have remained there I do not know, but just as my mind was wrestling with the most interesting part of the problem a small, sad voice reached me from somewhere below. “‘ Taubada! Oh, Taubada !” (Master) it called. Then I remembered. Keloia and I must have been knocked clean over the edge of the landslip! But why hadn’t they finished us ? The tree which had received me lay just at the bottom of the landslip, though how I got into such a position I shall n know. Remembrance of our plight restored my vitality, and in a few moments [| joined Keloia. Together we restored the man who had flung himself at Keloia, and who now lay semi-conscious beside him. Then we looked around for the rifle which Keloia had lost during his fall. “‘ Why didn’t you fire ? my asked him, on noticing that the rifle i even been loaded. the spears,” ever ir had not I was too busy dodging he replied; “and then this -_ weg, ema ae

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INTO THE UNKNOWN. 149 “Rushing down at us from above were a number of smail, sturdy satives, with spears ready to be thrown.” Google Cc

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150 THE WIDE WORLD fellow’s weight came on top of me while I was trying to regain my balance.” We picked up several spears at the bottom of the fall, and while thus engaged ‘“‘ Ginger ” and the others joined us, having made their way by the nearest safe descent through the jungle growth. From him we learnt why we had been spared. When we were attacked he was a few yards below, readjusting his loin-cloth, which had come loose during the climb, As soon as he heard our yells he knew we had walked into a trap, and he dashed towards the place, firing his rifle as he went in the hope of disconcerting our assailants. As soon as he appeared on the landslip he re- ceived two spears, one on the rifle-butt and the other through the side of his uniform jumper, and he almost fell over the edge as we had done. But his rifle-shots had had their effect, and the attackers bolted. With great difficulty we managed to get to the top, and when safely on the track again attended to our hurts. Keloia had a broken toe and several nasty bumps and abra- sions, and both the prisoner and myself were little better off. We had no bandages, so just had to make the best of things. It was too late to return to our camp, so we decided to keep on climbing until we reached the village of our attackers, where we hoped to find shelter for the night and perhaps a little food, for we had eaten nothing since breakfast. In the vicinity of the ambush we found a large number of spears and cunningly-con- trived resting-places in the grass. It was evi- dent that the people who attacked us had been waiting some little time for our arrival. The prisoner exhibited great excitement when he saw that we intended to climb to the village, and, with many gestures to suggest that the village people would kill us, he attempted to scare us off. Presently we entered a garden and enjoyed some fine sugar-cane before continuing to the village, which we could sce ahead of us. Here again the prisoner endeavoured to convey a message by signs. We understood Sketch of a burial platform, illustrating the method of disposing of corpses. MAGAZINE, him to mean that the people were hiding in the grass ahead, so we proceeded very warily, and as quickly as our smarting wounds would allow. A clump of bamboos stood outside the hamlet, and in this was a lookout-house, sur- rounded by a fighting platform. Fortunately for us it was untenanted. A stockade sur- rounded the village, and the entrance was underneath the fighting place—just a small hole through which one had to creep. It would have gone hard with us had the place been manned, but ‘ Ginger’s’’ rifle-shots had luckily saved us that trouble. The village was situated on the summit of a razor-backed ridge, about six thousand feet above sea-level. The houses overhung the precipitous sides. A small hole appeared in the back of each house, and it was evident that refuse was passed through this and al- lowed to drop into the depths below. Onone side the ground fell sheer away, forming a perpendicular drop of several hundred feet. Some dead bodies in an advanced state of decomposition reposed on platforms within the village. This me- thod of disposal leads tc one of the religious Tites of such commu- nities, for on occasions the village people stand beneath the plat- form and anoint their bodies with the fat of the corpse, thereby, they suppose, acquir- ing whatever virtues the deceased possessed when in life. Having had a look round the deserted village, we soon settled down for the night, each one taking it in turn to watch. Morn- ing found us very stiff and scarcely able to move, so that the journey back to camp was a particularly difficult one. The return trip was uneventful, and we reached our destina- tion at sunset. The rest of the party had been anxious regarding us, as a number of natives had been prowling round during the night. Double sentries were posted and we went to sleep, but presently our rest was rudely broken by a rifie-shot. Thereupon, according to plan, we all fell back to the police tent, and there, in the darkness, awaited the attack that we felt certain was coming. "* (To be continued.)

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“ILLUSTRATED BY E.PRATER FRANK M¢ MAINES Bad luck often runs in cycles, and if the Author's horses had not been frightened by the jack-rabbit in the first instance, causing him to lose his job, he would probably never have stumbled into the alarming adventure here described. Never, surely, was a range-rider more out of his element ! AR up in the north-western corner of Montana, near Flathead Lake, ranged the cattle of the “ Lazy S.” brand. All the way from the southern end of the lake to Kalispell was rolling prairie land, where the cattle needed constant watching and the riders must always be moving to keep the stock under observation. One sunny morning, some twenty years ago, I rode up to the door of the ranch-house and asked for the foreman. I was directed to the corrals about a quarter of a mile away, where I found him busy getting his outfit ready for the summer camp. Alter passing the time of day 1 asked him if he could use another man, as 1 was out of a place and looking for a job. “Wal, [reckon [ can," was his reply. - Are you an all-round hand ? ” I replied I was good all round, except that of late I had been getting a little heavy for the saddle. “Can you handle four and six?” was lus “Next question. “T can,” I replied. “Al right; you can report for work to-morrow morning, driving the camp wagon,” And so it was I found myself a member of the “Lazy S.” outfit, one of the best in north-western Montana. For eight years I had been riding the Tange as an ordinary cow-hand, and I thought the change to driving would be a good thing for me. The next morning we started for the camp. I was perched on the top of a load of camp paraphernalia, with six half-wild bronchos in the harness ahead of me. I had handled six horses many times before, so was not worried. When we had got about two miles from the ranch-house, however, a jack-rabbit jumped up almost under the leaders’ fect. They went straight up in the air, and hit the ground running. The other four followed without any urging, and 1t was no use trying to do anything but keep them on a straight course until they had run themselves out, I gathered up the“ ribbons " and threw on the brake to make it as hard for them as possible ; then IL started to watch the road ahead. The horses had hardly gone two hundred yards when | telt the load slipping. | knew from the way we were bounding along that if it ever got started there would be nothing lett but the wheels by the time the horses were tired, Presently IT heard a crash, and, looking back, saw a stack of tin buckets rollmg on the praine. A cot followed, and then a piece of the stove, 1 could do nothing at the speed we were going, and [ realized that if we didn’t stop pretty soon L should hit the prairie along with the rest of the load. I was looking tor a soft place to alight, when the left front whcel struck a prainie-dog hill—and I stopped looking. I hit the ground on my hands and knees. The team and wagon tore on, with the lines

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152 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. dragging under the horses’ feet. 1 watched them long enough to see the load scattered over a mile of the trail and the team still going. Then I made my way back to the house, got my horse, and “ hit the trail” for the border of Washington. waiting till the foreman got back to “ fire”’ me. I just went. I crossed Idaho below Lake Pendoreile and turned south, arriving at Pendleton, Oregon, on the evening of the fourth day. I put up my horse and went to the City Hotel for the night. While sitting in the office after supper, smoking a cigar, I fell into conversation with a middle-aged man who said he was from Portland and was engaged in the meat- packing business. After we had made a trip or two to the bar in the rear he confided in me enough to tell me that a man with a little It was no use: “I bit the ground on my hands and moncy could do mighty well buying stock for the meat-packers of Portland. The next morning I turned my horse's head towards Portland, my mind busy with what my companion of the night before had told me. I had saved some money from my wages while on the range, and I had taken part in several poker games which had fat- tened my bank-roll considerably. J felt that if a man could do any business on a capital of twelve hundred dollars [ would take a try at it. In due time I arrived at Portland and inter- viewed the stock-buvers. I discovered that twelve hundred dollars would buy quite a number of cattle at the current price, and, as there was a good market and ample shipping facilities, I believed I could make a living, if nothing more, and it would be a change from the old life.

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A COWBOY ADRIFT. 153 ~ ek. knees. The team and wagon tore on.” I started operations from Independence, a smali town on the west bank of the Willa- mett River, in Polk County, and worked the Surrounding country for some time, with fair success. One morning I started for Falls City to pick up two or three head of cattle to finish my car-load. About four miles out I met a young fellow driving three steers into town. I struck a bargain with him for the animals and came back to town with him. After loading my car and seeing it start for Portland, the young man, whose name was Worehl, proposed that we should take the steamer that night and go up the river to Corvallis, the county seat of Benton County, and have a good time. When the buat pulled in to the wharf we went aboard and proceeded to the smoking- Toom. Later, going to my state-room, I Vol. xlvi.—n tng oe rang the. bell for the steward, asking him if Le could get a drink of good liquor. He said he could, and I asked him to bring two. We sat and talked for a short time, when Worehl left aud I retired to bed. My young friend and I passed the next day seeing the town, and by night were ready to go home. When we boarded the steamer my friend the steward asked me to have a little drink with him, and before bed-time we got fairly well acquainted. His home, he told me, was in Portland. When he got in he had one day off before he started out on his next trip. When we pulled into Independence he invited me to go on to Portland with him and return on the next trip, saying 1 should be his guest and the trip would be at his expense, T accepted and thanked him.

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154 Arriving at the city, he changed his clothes and was soon ready tor the street. We went to a show, where we staved for an hour or two before starting for home, He said he hved down near the docks and could furnish me with a room, so I need not go to an hotel, Before we got to his home he proposed that we should go and have a good-meht drink. The first saloon we came to we entered, and called for a bottle. I took two drinks—and that is the last I remember, Some long time afterwards | opened my eyes to find myself m complete darkness. For some minutes I could not remember anything, but soon my mind became clearer and everything came back to me. I felt in my pocket for matches, but found none. Then I went through all my pockets, but could find absolutely nothing—monev, watch, everything had disappeared. Evidently 1 had been robbed, but where was I now? I lay and listened, but could hear nothing save the tramp of feet overhead and the swish of water somewhere near me. Rising from what appeared to be a rude bunk, I felt my way across the room to the opposite wall. The room seemed about twenty feet across. The walls were roughly timbered, and [ could locate no windows or doors, The air was so warm and thick that I could scarcely breathe. I was just about to raise my voice in a shout when a heavy trap-door in the ceiling was raised and a voice cried :— Halloa, down there !”" “What are you doing with me down in this hole ?” I answered. ‘You'll soon find out,’’ was the stranger’s Teply. With that he dropped the cover in place and all was silent. I sat on the edge of the bunk and waited, wondering what | was up against. About half an hour later the door (which afterwards Iearned was called a hatch) was agin raised, a rops latder was let down, and I wa. roughly told to “Come up!” When To came out into the daylight I found Twas on the deck of a steamer, much larger than the one I had come to Portland on. One of the men standing round, a rough- looking sailor, told me the captain wanted to see me in his cabin. 1 followed him to the stern of the boat, where we met the captain, He took me to his quarters and, after locking the door and putting the key in his pockct, sat down at his table and lit a cigar. After a few minutes he turned to me and said :— “Young man, when you came aboard this vessel in Portland last night you were drunk. You asked me to sign you up for a trip to China and return. I thought you had better THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. wait till morning, but you insisted on signing the articles there and then. Now you will report to the first mate for duty.’”” I looked at him in astomshment for a moment, and then said :— “Tf TP came aboard last night of my own free will, how does it happen that I found myself a prisoner in that foul hole under the deck, with all my possessions gone, even to my hat and shoes ? "” “I knew nothing about it whatever,” answered the captain, "except that you came in and signed up tor a trip, and that settles it.” I felt my anger beginning to rise, but managed to keep my temper. I had lived all my life on the open range, where a man was always free to do as he pleased, and the idea of being ‘' bulldozed ’’ into doing some- thing I didn’t want to went sorely against the grain. I was pretty strong, and well used to taking care of myself. I thought, if it came to a“ show-down,” I could hold my own, so T said quietly :— “May I see the papers I am supposed to have signed last night ? ” The captain looked at me a moment, as if about to refuse; then he turned to his desk, took a folded paper from one of the drawers, and handed it to me without a word. J looked it over and found, as I expected, that the signature was not in my hand- writing. Handing it back to him, I said :— “ That signature is a forgery. I never wrote it, and I will see you and your entire crew in Hades before I go to sea in your ship.” With that I started for the door, but before I could reach it the skipper grasped me by the shoulder and, swinging me partly round, drove his right fist into my face with all his force. I saw the blow coming and threw my head back, but not far enough to .escape entirely. I was knocked down, but was on my feet again instantly, raging like a mad bull. [struck at him with all my strength ; then the whole world seemed to crash down upon me, [ felt) myself sinking amidst a shower of fiery stars, and all became blank. When I regained consciousness 1 found mysclf lying on the deck with a dozen sailors standing around me. One of them was hold- ing a pail of water ready to throw over me if I failed to come round, and I was soaking wet from the water they had already used. I sat up and felt my head, to see if it was all there. The blood was running from my nose and mouth and my lip was split through to my teeth, I learned afterwards that the captain had used a club to put me out of business, When I could stand on my feet, two of the sailors took me forward and, raising the hatch of my late prison, dropped me through to the floor below. I was in such a shape that

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A COWBOY ADRIFT. 155 “1 looked it over and found, as I expected, that the signature was not in my handwriting.”

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156 THE WIDE WORLD I hardly knew what I was doing. My face was swollen and my head rang like a bell. 1 found a place where I could lie down, and presently fell asleep. I was awakened by the noise of the hatch being removed, and, sitting up, found that my ¢lothing was almost dry. L was stitt as a board, however, and so sore LT could hardly Move, A pail was let down, contaming a mixture of what IT should call swill, It was meant for my breakfast, but I did not care to eat. I was almost dead from thirst, and asked the man at the top it I might have a pail of water. In a few minutes it was fet down, and tomy intense satisfaction I found it fresh. I could tell by the rolling of the boat that we were under way, and when the sailor came again | asked him where we were bound, “We are just out of Astoria,” he replied, “bound for China, with a stop at San Francisco.” I asked for a candle, but was refused. When the hatch was replaced | bathed my fice in what was left of the water and, feeling somewhat better, began to explore the room s best IT could in the darkness. 1 found I vas in the hold, which happened to be empty save for many casks, barrels, and bales. ‘Trying some of them, I found I could move them without much trouble. I tried to think out a plan of escape, but had to give it up, at least for a time. Twice a day my pail was Ict down to me, and [I managed to eat and drink enough to keep me going. Finally, after what seemed to me many days, I heard them Ict go the anchor, and the ship lay still. When next the hatch was removed to let down my pail, T asked the sailor where we were, “ We are anchored in the be from the city,” he told me. anchor at eight bells to-morrow,’ With that he left me and closed the hatch. It was now or never! 1 knew if we ever lft the bay of San Francisco it was all over vith me. My only hope lay in getting that Patch open, Tf it had not been fastened I vaight stand a chance, Rolling a barrel under the opening, T stood it up on end, On top of the barrel T put a small bale of what felt to my touch to be regs or waste, Climbing on top of this, T found Lcould easily reach the cover, but could not raise it by the strength of my arms alone. Scrambling down again, 1 felt around until 1 found another small bale, which I placed on top of the first one. This time I was high enough up to exert all the strength of my shoulders against the hatch, and it began to move. Little by little I raised it until I half a mile “We weigh MAGAZINE. could look out. It was a pitch-dark night, and the deck seemed to be deserted. Lowering the cover, I waited tor what I thought was about four hours and then prepared to make the attempt to escape. 1 had on only my trousers and shirt, my captors having removed my coat, hat, and shoes the night Iwas brought aboard, Again I climbed up and raised the hatch to look and listen. 1 could neither see nor hear anything except the slow, measured tread of the man on watch, as he paced backwards and forwards. Slowly, inch by inch, I raised the hatch and held it up on my shoulder, but [ found it impossible to climb out with all that weight resting on me, Despair seized me, and once more I lowered it and climbed down, Did the hatch work on hinges, or was it just laid on the opening ? If it was on hinges I could not get out without something to hold it up, but if it was only laid on 1} might be able to slide it far enough to one side to enable me to crawl through, I spent another half-hour searching my prison, but could find nothing to use as a prop, so gave it up. Mounting my perch, I again lifted the hatch, and this time tried pushing it to one side. To my great joy it gave way, and I wriggled out and stood on the deck. The next thing was to get into the water without being scen or heard, I was a fairly good swimmer, and I was confident if I could once get into the water 1 could reach the docks. Moving as silently as a shadow, I reached the rails, and there, as good fortune would have it, I found a coil of rope. Just at that moment, however, I heard footsteps: ap- proaching, and sank to the deck behind a boat. If the man did not discover the opening T was fairly safe, but if he did, I wes prepared to act quickly, He passed the open hatch without even glancing that way, and came and leaned over the rail, so close that IT could have reached out my hand and touched him. He stood there for about ten minutes, while IT scarcely dared to breathe, but at last he turned and made his way amidships, . Slowly [let the line down tillit reached the water; then, securcly fastening the end toa stanchion, I climbed over the railing and let myself down, hand under hand, until 1 slipped into the water withont a sound, Keeping just enough of my face above water to enable me to breathe, | allowed myself to drift until I was a safe distance from the ship. Then I struck out for the lights of the city, half a mile or more away. I had never been in the water with my clothes on before, and I soon found that I

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was getting exhausted, though the lights on the shore were still far away. At last I realized that unless I was speedily rescued I was doomed to drown, and, with the chance of the watchman on the ship hearing me, I raised my voice in a shout for help. Three times I shouted, with all the breath left in me, and then, away to the left, I heard a faint ‘‘ Halloa!”’ Again 1 shouted, and again I heard the answer. I strained my ears, and soon heard the sound of oars creaking. The boat came on, and just as I was about to sink, a strong pair of arms seized me and I was dragged out of the water. In a few minutes I had recovered sufficiently to talk, and told my rescuers my story. They told me they were members of the water patrol, and would soon put me ashore. In ten minutes they left me shivering on the wharf. Here, for the first and last time in my life, I appealed to the police for aid. The officer took me to the station on Market Street and placed me in awarm cell. The next morning, before the judge, I told my tale, and was almost paralyzed when he gave me fifteen days in the workhouse for vagrancy ! I could say nothing ; this was the law. I served my time and was discharged. They gave me a hat and a pair of shoes, and told A COWBOY ADRIFT. 157 me to get out of town, and stay out, if I didn’t want ten years. I was so ignorant at that time of the ways of city people that I did not know what to do. I started north, and had gone but a few blocks when I met an old Catholic priest, who spoke very pleasantly to me. I asked him if | might have a word with him, and he said “ Certainly.” 1 told him my troubles and that I had plenty of money in the bank at Independence, Oregon, but I did not know how to get at it. When I had finished he said, ‘‘ Come with me, my son, and we will see what we can do.” We went to the telegraph office, where he paid for a message to the bank. The answer was satisfactory, and on my promise that I would return the money as svon as I got home, the priest—Father Strawn was _ his name—furnished me with enough to pay my p ge to Independence. he first thing I did when I arrived home was to send the priest the money he had advanced to me, and an additional twenty- five dollars as a gift to his church. I paid my bills, saddled my horse, and hit the trail for Portland, where I collected the money for my last car-load of cattle, and then turned my face toward the free and open range. I had had quite enough of cities to last me for some time ! “ WELL-DRESSING ” IN DERBYSHIRE. Our picture depicts the annual summer “ well-dressing village of Wyaston, Derbvshire. The design seen to the left is made entirely. with the petals of various flowers, and is the result of much painstaking labour. The “ well-dressing ” is celebrated by the villagers with various festivities. ” that takes place at the picturesque

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DAH UFEALO}'IGHT By JAMES » UGUSTIN of? Alor Star. ese Kedah and Kelantan, two of the non-federated Malay States, are the only places in the world where you can see a buffalo-fight—trained animals fighting duels in the presence of vast concourses of people, with Jarge sums of money wagered upon the outcome of the battle. Here is an interesting description of this litile-known Malay sport, written by an eye-witness. HE Malay is a great sportsman, and devotes a large part of his time to games. He delights in buffalo-fights, cock-fights, fish- fights—any sport that will afford him excite- ment—and he is a born gambler. Above all things, he is conservative to a degree; this conservatism accounts for the continued existence of buffalo-fights, which take place nowhere else but in the states of Kedah and Kelantan. Although they have been under British protection since 1909, they still retain the right to provide animal duels as a pastime for the people. Buffalo-fighting, as a matter of fact, is the most popular sport in Kedah, largely because the buffalo is the harness animal of the ricefields It is encouraged and A typical Kedah buffalo. supported by the Sultan and nobility, whose chief club, run on European lines, appoint. an officia’ committee to organize the sports This committee arranges the matches, which are fought out at the tournaments held at Anak Bukit, just outside the capital, Alor Star. The committee also fixes up an arena of poles, planks, and “‘attap’’ leaves in the shape of a square about two thousand yards in area, with wide exits at the extremities for the convenience of the vanquished animals. The fights take place on Sunday afternoons, and tickets of admission to witness the con- test cost a dollar, fifty cents, and ten cents, according to the class of gallery you view the battle from. The gross takings are very profitable to the management, and though the contests are not timed to begin until five o'clock, crowds of people gather long before the appcinted hour, They are decked out in holiday attire, and the con- finuous stream) of motor - cars, rick- and carriages disgorging passengers suggests a Derby Day scene. Viewed from the arena, the many tiers of seats, crowded with gaily-dressed Malay ladies and their attendant swains, look like a bed of gorgeous - coloured flowers. The women wear their smartest garments and their cost- liest jewels. It is a veritable blaze of brilliant silks, painted shaws,

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eee RS KEDAH BUFFALO-FIGHT. 159 The beginning of the fight. sarongs, cloth-of-gold scarves, and embroidered gauze veils. The men appear in jackets, trousers, and sarongs of hardly less striking hues, and when the sun shines down bril- liantly on the gaily-clad figures, with their background of golden’ Tice-stalks, a charming picture is presented. The conduct of a_buffalo-fight is surrounded with considerable etiquette. The animals which are to do battle are paraded outside the arena, surrounded by their trainers and the retainers of their owners, who are generally members of the tuling house. These buffaloes are perfect specimens of their kind. A glance will show you that they are “ fit’ in every sense of the term, and their trainers take infinite pains in supervising their food and the careful massag- ing that keeps their muscles in condition. Gambling is an invariable accompaniment of these fights, and each owner has to pay an entrance fee of one hundred and fifty dollars, which goes to the proprietor of the winning animal. Other sportsmen stake heavily on their particular fancies, the odds never being greater than ten to seven, for the animals are remarkably well matched. All bets are of the “ ready money ” order. A nearer view of the contest seen above. The: animals push and butt with determination, each trying to get under the other's guard. When the Sultan arrives and takes his place in the Royal box the buffalo belonging to the challenger is led into the arena by his trainers and the followers of his owner — quite a procession, in fact. These men wave small green branches, dance, beat tomtoms, wave their party flag (generally a square of some gaudy colour), and shout defiance at the opposition faction with as much zest as if they, and not the animals, were going to do battle. After this parade the buffalo 1s

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160 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Some of the spectators. In their brilliantly-coloured costumes they resemble a bed of flowers. placed in a reserved part of the arena which has been made invulnerable to charms that might prove detrimental to his chances of success. The Malay is very superstitious, and attributes marvellous powers to spirits. While the challenger waits he is surrounded by six sturdy men with poles, who squat on their haunches and maintain a close watch to see that no enemy encroaches on theit preserve to make jampi (incantations) in Digitized by Google c

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" order to enlist the strength of the powers of darkness against their charge. The challenged buffalo next makes his entrance with as much ceremony as _ his opponent. He is at once led up to the other animal, and the excitement of the vast audience becomes intense. Will the animals fight, or will one run away as soon as he sees “‘ the writing on the wall,” as signified by the look in his rival’s eye ? This all-important question the next few minutes decide. If one buffalo bolts, then time and much money have been lost, for only one fight takes place each afternoon, and everyone will have to go home dis- appointed. On the other hand, if the animals are keen to engage, they advance upon one another and push determinedly, head to head, occa- sionally butting suddenly so as to get inside each other’s guard with the sharp points of their horns. It is for all the world like a wrestling match, and some of the buffaloes display considerable skill. Not a single movement is missed by the vastly interested spectators, who shout with delight or groan with dismay according to the success or failure of the animal that carries their stakes. A very common feature of these odd com- bats is for one animal to get his sharp-pointed A KEDAH BUFFALO-FIGHT. 161 horn into the neck of his opponent, lift him on to his hind legs, suddenly let him drop, and then butt at him when he is prostrate. After a throw of this kind a plucky animal will frequently continue the fight, though it is a handicap that generally proves the beginning of the end. After much pushing, butting, clashing of horns, stamping, and snorting, one animal, feeling himself no match for the other, begins to realize that discretion is the better part of valour. Suddenly, therefore, he turns tail and lumbers out of the arena, closely pursued by the victor. This is the signal for an out- burst of wild enthusiasm from the onlookers whose buffalo is the winner, and their pent- up feelings find vent in cheering, shouting, leaping, and much fantastic dancing. 3 Meanwhile the defeated animal dashes away over the bendangs (rice-fields), and, as fright generally lends flectness to his limbs, he usually escapes his pursuer—only to be slaughtered when recaptured. The winning trainers, according to the etiquette of the fights, kill the beaten animal, share his meat between them, and send his owner the hoofs, tail, and: sundry other odds and ends in token of derision, and as an incentive to him to get a better animal to meet the victor later on, and so wipe out the stain of defeat. A HUGE GORILLA SHOT IN THE CAMEROONS. Tue huge gorilla shown in the accompanying photo- graph is not—as might, perhaps, be imagined—a performing member of the Simiade family, but is as dead as the proverbial door-nail. It will be noticed that the head of this hideous old male gorilla is decorated with a German native soldier’s cap. Unfortunately, before cither the dimensions or weight of this giant of the Cameroons Forest were taken every particle of its flesh had been “ chopped " (eaten) by the black German troops, who—being in full retreat after the taking of Jaunde by the British on January rst, 1916—were living on “ the food of the country” (mainly plantain-flour bread and yams), and eagerly devoured anything in the shape of fresh meat: elephant, bush-cow, antelope, or anthropoid ape were all equally welcome to the camp- it. The gorilla was shot by the black German sol-ier who is seen in the picture, with the very carbine which the brute is carrying at the “slope.” The photograph was taken by a German captain of Colonial Infantry, and at the finish of the Cameroon Campaign the negative fell into the hands of a British officer attached to the West African Frontier Force, to whom we are indebted for both the picture and the particulars.

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ANTHROPOP—APOLOGY. SOUTH AMERICA. Another of Mr. Monsell’s amusing nonsense rhymes, dealing this time with South American Revolutions. In minor States they’ve—so to speak— A Revolution once a week. And each: out-going President Goes out much quicker than he meant | For every Generalissimo Fancies he, too. could run the show. The disaffected Army Il lend a ‘ Hand to a promising Pretender. (The pleasure never seems to pall OF shooting men against a wall !) So if he can’t reach France. his Mecca. With what remains in the Exchequer — The Revolution comes. and, later, The Nation’s got a new Dictator. ox (Not that the Nation. knows or cares, It’s busy with its own affairs.)

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Lens oh 7 eC oy C.O'MAHONY ILLUSTRATED BY RB-M-PAXTON A very interesting article, dealing with some extraordinary cases of murderers who detected have been years after they committed their crimes. It is remarkable to note how, in many instances, the merest chance caused the criminal to be discovered when he deemed himself quite safe. HE story of Eugene Aram has been told so often that to many it must appear to be fiction rather than fact. ‘Novelists and drama- tists have found copious material in the career of the schoolmaster with a passion for philology who was arrested and executed in 1758 for a murder committed in 1745, and they have not hesitated to take liberties with history. Lord Lytton’s novel, Wills’s play, and Tom Hood’s poem are remembered, and Aram, who thirsted for fame, is more famous than he would ever have become had he not murdered Daniel Clark and had he lived to carry out his great plan of an original dictionary. He is the classic illus- tration of the profound truth contained in the trite text, ‘‘ Be sure your sin will find you out,’”’ but the age which gave him the hangman's rope was succeeded by one which presented him with a halo. There have been, however, many other instances where murderers have escaped punishment for several years before a guilty conscience, mere chance, or the long arm of the law has led to their undoing. Eugene Arams abound in all ages and in all countries, and in almost every case detection has been brought about in the most dramatic because unexpected manner. Alcohol played an important The Mystery part in the dramatic unravel- of Ann ling of the mystery of Ann Sheward. Sheward, who disappeared from Norwich in June, 1851. She. was a hard-featured woman with a mind of her own, and no surprise was expressed when she married William Sheward, an indifferent tailor who was fond of beer and sentiment, and who was just the man to surrender to the influence of a woman years older than himself. When he married her he discovered that he had a task-mistress as well asa wife, and one whose chief object was the attainment of a laborious respecta- bility allied with a reputation for solvency rare in their particular neighbourhood. Mrs. Sheward dominated her weak-minded husband until one night her gibes at his laziness and drunken habits so exasperated him that he stabbed her with one of the implements of his trade. It was a crime committed semi-consciously, and for hours afterwards Sheward sat in a chair staring helplessly at the corpse. Towards dawn, however, he roused himself, dismembered the body, and carried it in instalments to a lane leading from Norwich to Lakenham, where he buried it in various places. He could hardly have expected to succeed in escaping punishment for his crime, but it was to his advantage that everybody who had known his wife would be more likely to believe that she was capable of murdering him than he was of taking her life. When, therefore, he explained to a few intimates that Mrs. Sheward had left him, no surprise was expressed. She had been heard to repent her marriage and to wish that she could get rid of her husband, and, accordingly, when Norwich saw her no more, it did seem plausible that she should have gone to London to start a fresh career for herself there.

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164 But within a few months of the murder Sheward was horrified to be told that human remains had been found in the Lakenham Road. A dog had dragged a human hand out of a ditch ; then it had unearthed a foot, and many other pieces of a female corpse were discovered and handed to a local surgeon for a special report. He was able to “ build up ” enough of a corpse to justify him in forming a very definite opinion of the case, and those neighbours of Sheward who now suspected that he had slain his wife and had cut up her body made no secret of their hostility towards the man they expected would be arrested soon. The medical opinion, however, saved him, for the doctor pronounced the remains to be those of a female of not more than twenty-six, adding that ‘‘the well-filled understructures of the skin, its delicacy, the neatness of the foot—that of a person not accustomed to toil or to wear coarse, heavy shoes—the clean, well-trimmed nails of both hands and feet’? had convinced him that she had been quite young at the time of her death. As Mrs. Sheward was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, fifty-six when she disappeared the report caused a reaction in Sheward’s favour, and those who had done him an_ injustice hastened to make friendly advances. But the murderer was never happy or at peace with himself. Knowing that if he became intoxicated he would confess, he avoided the public-houses, and the en- forced sobriety was torture to a weak mind prone to sentiment and -addicted to self-reviling. In his anxiety to banish memories of the past, he worked hard, and to his surprise became prosperous. Cured of his fondness for alcohol, he had little use for money, and asa result his account at the savings bank increased rapidly. Mrs, Sheward ceased to be a topic of conver- sation, but he could not forget. At any moment he expected to see an officer of the law enter his house with a warrant for his arrest, and when a policeman actually did accost him in his own doorway one afternoon a sensation of sickly terror para- lyzed his tongue. “J want Mrs. Sheward’s address,” said the constable, brusquely. ‘‘ She ran away “*T want Mrs. Sheward’s address,’ said the constable, brusquely.”

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THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW. 165 “He ran to him and blurted out a confession of the crime.” to Londor, didn’t she, about four years ago?” The murderer gained time for recovery by beckoning him into a room at the back. “ What’s the matter ? ” he asked, hoarsely, trying not to see the official-looking docu- ment which the man held in his hand. “Good news,” replied the constable, smiling ; “‘ an aunt of hers has died and left her three hundred pounds. If Mrs. Sheward wants the cash she must appear in person before the magistrate and be identified.” *“T don’t know her address,” said Sheward, as soon as relief had restored his courage, “but I'll try and find her.” Three times did the constable caJl in the ensuing twelve months, but on each occasion Sheward had to confess that he was unable to produce his wife. The murdercr wished that he could have obtained what would have been a small fortune to him. but he dare not attempt to claim it, and when the court no longer troubled him he was grateful. Ten vears after the murder of his wife he married again, for his position was now apparently impregnable, and he was regarded as well-to-do and a model of sobriety. The second Mrs, Sheward, however, did not care for his fondness for dwelling on the rare qualities of her predecessor, and his lachry- mose lamentations irritated her. There were constant quarrels on account of this weakness of his, but for nearly eight years they kept their differences a secret from their neighbours. However, in the last week of December, 1868, Mrs. Sheward suggested that her husband should pay a visit to London in the hope that the change would do him good, and he ac- cepted her advice, Norwich having lately become unbearable and its Christmas gaiety a mockery. On January rst, 1869, Wil- lam = Sheward, his _ brain fuddled by the beer he had drunk that day after a long abstinence, came toa standstill ina Walworth strect and gazed about him. He had been walking for hours with no settled plan, and until he glanced up at the name of the street he was ignorant of his whereabouts. Then, to his amazement, he realized that he was actually on the very spot where thirty years earlier he had made the acquaintance of the wife he had murdered. The coincidence was too much for him, and, seeing a policeman A Fatal Coincidence.

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166 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at the corner, he ran to him and blurted out a confession of his crime ! Twenty-four hours later he wished to retract it, but already the authorities had been at work and had obtained sufficient confirmation of his statement to decide them to prosecute him for the murder of Ann Sheward. Sheward was transferred to Nor- wich, and the remains which had been pro- nounced those of a girl were exhumed and submitted to eminent London doctors, who declared them to belong to a woman in the fifties. At his trial witnesses cor- roborated his confession, in due course he was convicted, and on April 2oth, 1869, he was executed for the murder of his wife in June, 1851.0 | An even longer interval elapsed between the crime and the punishment of Jonathan Gaydon, who murdered Miss Mary White at Chingford on June 21st, 1857, and who was convicted and sentenced to death on October 24th, 1879. Gaydon’s motive was robbery, and he was hiding in the house of his father’s friend, Mr. Small, when the latter’s sister, an elderly woman, discovered him and was murdered because dead women tell no tales. It does not say much for the detective skill of the Essex police sixty- three years ago that they should have allowed the young ruffian to escape, for the instant Mary White’s body was found Gay- don was named as her slayer. A reward was offered for his arrest, but it was never claimed, and the cnminal tramped up and down England until hunger induced him to enlist in the Army, and for six years he was known as Private Charles Wilson. Then he deserted and went on the tramp again, and it was a miserable caricature of humanity who in the autumn of 1879 startled a Horsham policeman by surrendering to him as the murderer of Mary White twenty-two years earlier. Gaydon was prosecuted by Sir Harry Poland, K.C.—then of course minus his knighthood and a silk gown—and defended by the present Mr. Justice Avory. More fortunate than Sheward, he was reprieved after being sentenced to death. Amongst the old Scotland Yard detectives whom Charles kens delighted to honour s Inspector Whicher—the “ Witchem ” who in Household Words told the story of the taking of Tally-ho Thomp- son, the horse-stealer—a detective whose greatest triumph earned the public anger and the ridicule of his colleagues. I am referring, of course, to his solution of the Road Murder Mystery of 1860, when a boy of four, Francis Saville Kent, was found with his throat cut in an outhouse in the grounds of his father’s residence on the borders of Wilts and Somerset. Mr. Kent was a Government inspector of factories and a man in a good position in life. At the time of the murder his household consisted of himself and his second wife, three daugh- ters and one son by his first wife, and three young children by the second Mrs. Kent, who, with three female servants, slept in the house. On June 2gth the family retired to rest, and, as usual, the nurse, Elizabeth Gough, took Francis to his cot in the room where her own bed was. On the morning of the 30th, Elizabeth awakened and saw that the cot was empty, but knowing that her mistress was in the habit of carrying the child off to her own room, she was not perturbed, and when she was dressed she knocked on Mrs. Kent’s door and casually’ inquired if the boy was with her. She was promptly informed that Francis had not been seen by his mother since the previous night, and she was ordered by Mrs. Kent to bring her favourite to her at once. The nurse explained the reason for her call, a brief preliminary search was made, and then the household was aroused. Information was sent to the police and a second and more extensive search begun, and it had not been in progress more than half an hour when two men came upon the child’s body. Who had murdered him? Francis had been the pet of the household ; the darling of his mother; the object of his step- sisters’ worship; the one person who could soften the somewhat haughty disposition of his father. The county police, feeling that they must do something, promptly arrested the nurse, and she was brought before the magistrates, who discharged her. Stupefied by their failure they appealed to Scotland Yard, and Inspector Whicher was commis- sioned to investigate. He came to Road Hill House, examined and cross-examined the family and the servants, was particularly attentive to Constance Kent, a pretty girl of sixteen who had been noted for her attachment to the murdered child, leamt that by a trick she had abstracted one of her nightdresses from the washing-basket shortly after the murder, and decided that she was the criminal. It was not easy to obtain a warrant for her arrest, but he succeeded eventually, and she was taken into custody. Ever since the announcement of the murder the whole country had gone crazy with excitement over the affair, and the arrest of Constance Kent created a sensation. Public opinion, however, was against the man from Scotland Yard, because there was an idea abroad that he had accused the girl in order to justify his existence and to prevent that loss of prestige which failure would have involved. Whicher’s theory of the crime was that

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THE Constance had gone to Francis’s nursery in her nightdress, had lifted the sleeping infant out of his cot, agd had carried him into the garden at the back, where she had cut his throat with a knife previously obtained from the dining-room sideboard on her way out of the house. Shé had re- entered through the dining-room window —left open for the purpose—and, having replaced the knife, had gone to her own room. There she had discovered bloodstains on her nightdress and had washed it, but in the moming, fearing that some of the stains still remained, she had ordered the maid in charge of the washing-basket to fetch her a cup of water and in her temporary absence had purloined the garment which, subsequently, she had burnt. He had a shrewd idea that her motive was jealousy. Little Francis was the favourite child of the woman who had supplanted her own mother, and Constance had never approved of her father’s second marriage. It should be mentioned that the first Mrs. Kent had died of a mental disease and that her successor had appeared originally’ in the Kent family as governess and housekeeper. Constance was discharged by the magis- trates, and Whicher returned to London The sixteen- discomfited and discredited. year-old girl was the recipient of hun- dreds of letters of sympathy, and her enthusiastic cham- pions considered that she had reason- able grounds for an action against the inspector. Yet five years later she con- fessed her guilt toa Brighton clergyman, and repeated it in the presence of Sir Thomas Henry, the Chief Magistrat: at Bow Street, and in the course of her description of her acts on that night in June, 1860, she confirmed all the theories and deduc- tions of Inspector Whicher. Constance had loved Francis, but an ungencrous temark by the step- mother to the effect that she—Constance —was nearly as mad as her mother had toused the devil in LONG ARM OF THE LAW. 167 the girl and she had murdered the child in order to break his mother’s heart and thus avenge herself. At her trial she had Sir John Coleridge, Q.C., subsequently a peer and Lord Chief Justice of England, to speak for her, but he could not save her from conviction. No one was surprised, however, when the death sentence was altered to onc of penal servitude for life. The murderess served twenty years in prison, and when she was Teleased on July 18th, 1885, she was not ungrateful to find that she had been for- gotten by the world. Her confession was a triumph for Whicher, but it came too late to be of practical utility to him in his career. Samuel Herbert Dougal, the murderer of Miss Camille Holland, was never troubled with a conscience, and had he not been so confident he might never have been unmasked for the slaying of thé woman whose vanity was too much for her discretion, and who sought for a husband through a newspaper advertisement and found an executioner. In the month of May, 1899, Dougal shot her from behind and buried her in the moat of the farm which he had rented with a view to making it ner cemetery. Clavering, in Essex, was lonely and remote enough in all conscience, and he believed that his crime would never be brought home to him. jf A “When she entered the garden she was lassoed from behind.”

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168 It is very likely that his confidence would have been: justified if he had not turned forger. Miss Holland had owned a_ small fortune in stocks and shares, and Dougal could secure possession of it only by forging her signature. Four years subsequent to the tragedy one of his forgeries was detected and the bank-notes in respect of it stopped at the Bank of England. When the murderer entered with a note for fifty pounds and it was recognized by the cashier as the proceeds of the forgery, Dougal was given into custody. He made a bolt for freedom in the heart of the City, was recaptured, and, some fifty months after the murder, was executed. But Dougal’s story is commonplace com- pared with that of another murder which was caused by greed—the killing of Mme. Houet by her son-in-law, Robert, aided by a confederate. Canler, the famous Paris Chief of Police, gives the details in his * Memoirs,” a book which was suppressed in France on its first appearance. Mme. Houet was a typical The Wine = I'rench miser save in one Merchant’s = respect—she was no recluse. Crime. She lived in a small house in the Rue St. Jacques with her son, whose brain s none too strong Her daughter was married to M. Robert, a wine-merchant, who captured the heiress to half of the widow’s fortune by convincing her that he was rich. But once Robert ascertained the amount of his mother-in- law's savings he decided to retire from work and wait for her death; and when the period of waiting became protracted he resolved to lend a hand to Nature. Mme. Houet clung to life with an obstinacy that threatened to send her son-in-law back to the counter—a contingency which greatly exasperated him, It then occurred to him that he had an acquaintance in one, Bastien, whose ideas on the indignity of ftabour coincided with his own—who would be willing to assist in luring madame to the garden of an empty house and strangling her, and who would also help to bury her. Robert hurried forward his plans when he recollected that if his mother-in-law did not expire within a fortnight she would repudiate the signature purporting to be hers on the back of a certain promissory note for ten thousand francs which he had given as security to a merchant who had advanced him that sum. Bastien's services were secured for a few francs down and a guarantee of ten thousand more when his confederate’s wife received her share of her mother's estate, and, the house and garden in the Rue Vaugirard having been rented, Mme. Houet was invited to a meal there by her son-in-law. When THE. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. she entered the garden she-was.lassoed from behind and strangled. Robert, asked later what he had done with his mother-in-law, blandly denied all knowledge of her move- ments on the day of her disappearance, and he still remained bland and polite when he and Bastien were arrested, along with the widow’s son. All three were released when the police admitted their failure to find madame, dead of alive, and Robert on his departure from the prison was gener- ous enough to assure the officials that he bore them no_ ill-will. Any feeling of irritation was removed by contemplation of the fortune that was coming to him, and his docile wife—who had been on a visit to an aunt at Marseilles at the time of her mother’s death—was only too willing to claim formally half of the quarter of a million francs left by the old lady. It was here that the first hitch occurred. M. Robert had a fair knowledge of the wines of France, but he knew nothing of his country’s laws, and it was a staggering blow to him when his wife was informed by the State that,in the absence of the corpse, ten years must pass before Mme. Houet could be considered officially to be dead. Ten years! Robert shivered and cursed his bad luck. It was no relief when he learnt that if he produced madame’s body her fortune would be released, for he had the best of reasons for not desiring to solve the problem in that way. Presently Bastien appeared to claim his reward, and when he heard of the obstacle to the complete success of their scheme he accused his confederate of trying to swindle him, and only an instal- ment on account silenced the ruffian, who went off vowing vengeance if he found he had been tricked. Robert beggared himself to redeem the forged promissory note, and the demands of his partner often meant that he had to go without food. Two years later Robert and Bastien were again charged with the murder of Mme. Houet, Bastien being brought from jail, where he was serving a sentence for robbery with violence. The magistrate pressed the villains hard with questions, and they con- tradicted themselves a score of times, but without the corpus delicti there could be no conviction, and, for the second time, the murderers were set at liberty. Their deten- tion, however, had one important effect. It wiped out the two years that had passed since Mme. Houet’s disappearance, and the decade of waiting began again, in accordance with the law. As may be guessed, Bastien now took to blackmailing Robert, who had. to silence the fellow with money which he begged, borrowed, or stole, and he was Bastien Confesses.

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ween THE becoming desperate when—luckily for him —his persecutor was sentenced to a long term of imprisonment. Robert was so Telieved when his former partner in crime was under lock and key that the task of waiting for his mother-in-law’s money be- came endurable. Bastien, however, was of a garrulous nature, and one night in the prison he told an old convict the truth about Mme. Houet. The recipient of his confidence was “in” for life, a fact which Bastien deemed a guarantee of his secrecy, but, during the very week the disclosure was made, the elderly “ lag” saved a warder’s life and was granted a free pardon. He came back to a world which declined to recognize heroism by overlooking habitual dishonesty, and, when starving, the ex-con- vict went to the Chief of the Paris police and disclosed Bastien’s narrative of the last day on earth of Mme. Houet. Now the Chief had not fcrgetten the mystery of the Rue St. Jacques, although it was eleven years and eight months since Mme. Houet had disappeared, and he promptly had Robert arrested for the third time. while Bastien was once more conveyed from jail to be confronted by his confederate. This time the detective had something really tangible to go upon—the name of the place Vol. xlvi.--12. LONG ARM OF THE LAW. ae iad 169 where the victim had been buried—and when Robert and Bastien were taken to the garden in the Rue Vaugirard and com- pelled to look on whilst half-a-dozen detec- tives performed mightily with spades, they knew that the third time would pay for all. But Robert affected a sneering, con- temptuous demeanour, and when hours of hard work brought his captors no reward he favoured the inspector in charge with a sarcastic glare. It was a fatal act, because it drew the detective’s attention to the fact that for at least two hours Robert had not moved an inch, = z wa “*Get out of the way, man,’ he cried, angrily.” “Get out of the way, man,” he cried, angrily. ‘‘ One would think that the widow Houet had gripped you by the feet !”” The murderer started and turned pale, and the officer, who had quickly interpreted his fright, watched with confidence as his subordinates dug up the ground, and was not at all surprised when the corpse was finally disclosed to view. For some queer reason the Paris jury added “ extenuating circumstances " to their verdict, and the two murderers were saved the guillotine, but they did not survive many years in the terrible penal scttle- ment to which they were consigned by the State.

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170 There is a wealth of material The Tragedy for the novelist and dramatist of Netherwood in the tragedy of Netherwood Farm. Farm, almost the strangest story in the annals of crime. It was at a time when the first Napoleon was conquering Europe that the Rev. Mr. Parker was rector of Oddingley, in Worcester- shire, an agricultural parish which felt acutely the successes of the great French- man on the Continent. Mr. Parker was the principal Jandowner in the neigh- bourhood and, despite his sacred calling, was fond of laying up treasure for himself on earth. He was a pitiless creditor and a merciless enemy, and his parishioners hated him, nicknaming him ‘ Bonaparte” Parker because to them he was the embodi- ment of tyranny and oppression. It is not surprising, therefore, that a feud existed between parson and people, or that there should have been wild mutterings on one side and contemptuous retorts on the other. The situation became so critical that, in the year 1806, half-a-dozen of the most prominent inhabitants met one night to discuss the advisability of assassinating the clergyman. There was talk of choosing the murderer by lot, but none of the conspirators would promise to abide by it, and a way out of the impasse was propounded by the leader, a well-to-do miller, who suggested that they should subscribe sufficient money between them to hire an assassin. The plan was adopted, and that night Hemmings, an avowed enemy of ‘‘ Bonaparte ’’ Parker, was offered fifty pounds to murder the rector. Forty-eight hours later the village tyrant was dead, and the police were looking for Hemmings, who had vanished. The parish was rid of its tyrant, and the six conspirators went to their daily tasks con- tented if not happy. That was in 1806, and the succeeding years made history and the fortunes of five of the six plotters. Incidentally, the real Bonaparte met his Waterloo and sojourned in St. Helena; three kings of England died; and kingdoms rose and fell. The police believed that Hemmings, the murderer of Mr. Parker, had escaped to America, and took no further interest in him, and the men who had bribed him to slay the parson had good cause to feel they were lucky. By the time that 1830 came two of them were wealthy men who had raised themselves to positions in the county, while three others were passing rich, and only one had failed to prosper, ‘Twenty-four years after the shooting of “ Bonaparte” Parker, Netherwood Farm was bought by a gentleman who ordered his agent to have it thoroughly done up. Amongst other improvements decreed was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the removal of an ancient and unsightly barn, and the workmen were demolishing it when they came upon the complete skeleton of a man whose skull had been battered in. At its feet were a pair of shoes of a peculiar shape, and a carpenter’s measure with a certain mark on it. The news of the discovery spread far and wide, and, when the police were most bewildered, a mellowed specimen of the ‘ oldest inhabi- tant” class suddenly recalled the disap- pearance of Hemmings, and suggested that Mrs. Hemmings should be shown the skeleton. This was done, and the widow at once iden- tified it by the peculiar formation of the feet and the mark on, the measure. ‘‘ That is my husband’s skeleton,”’ she said, confi- dently. ‘‘ He must have been murdered the same day as Parson Parker.” The crime was nearly a quarter of a century old, but when the police went in search of the culprits they found three of them residing within a few miles of Netherwood Farm. Two were rich; the third was a pauper; and it was the wastrel who, in the panic caused by the arrests, confessed. He related how the six would-be murderers had, at a conference hurriedly summoned, when the clergyman’s death was reported, decided that it would be sheer folly to permit Hemmings to live. They had arranged with Hemmings to meet them all in the barn that night to receive payment, but when the sextette of sinners assembled it was not to pay their agent his wages but to murder the murderer. Half-a-dozen de- termined men can achieve anything, and when Hemmings was dead they brought in sufficient earth to raise the floor of the barn to the level of his grave. They did their work well, and but for the whim of the new owner of Netherwood their crime would never have come to light. The three men were tried at the Assizes and acquitted, for neither judge nor jury wished to see two men of position in the county sent to a shameful death because of the uncorroborated confession of the third prisoner. His lordship summed up strongly in their favour, and the jury, human enough to decline to hang men for a crime committed in a previous generation, gladly took the hint to bring in a verdict of “ not guilty.” There was, however, no doubt that they had executed Hemmings the night of the day on which he had shot “ Bona- parte’ Parker, the militant parson of Oddingley. It will be of interest to the superstitious to hear that none of the pri- soners had any luck after the trial and that they all died in misery. Twenty-four Years.

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ODDS AND ENDS. “ Moses’ Well ””—Game in the Grand Canyon— A “Four-Footed Ferry,” etc. Suez, is situated the picturesque pool seen in the first photograph, and known as “ Moses’ Well.” This is believed to be the well mentioned in the Bible, where Moses, at the bidding of the Lord, cast a branch into the bitter waters and they were sweetened. Set in a deep grove of date-palms and pomegranate trees, the well is a dark, calm, mysterious-looking pool, faithfully reflecting the palms which fringe its edges. The scene at sunrise, when the first rays strike the still water, is exquisite beyond description. A Californian correspondent sends us a_ really interesting story in connection with the young deer seen in the following photograph. He writes: “ The recent creation of the Grand Canyon National Park, after a delay of many years, during which this wonder- L: the Egyptian desert, about ten miles east of land was merely a national monument, will result in the preservation of much wild life in that region. Especially is this true regarding deer, which have in the past been ruthlessly slain by the Indians—whole herds of them at a time. Along the more remote walls of the mighty chasm the Indians, privileged to hunt where and when the white man may not, and to employ methods which a sportsman would scorn, have been relentless destroyers of game, in season or out. Too lazy to seek the deer individually and shoot them, giving them a fair chance for life, the Indians have been in the habit of making concerted “ drives,” round- ing up hundreds of the timid creatures at advantageous places on the canyon’s rim and stampeding them over the brink to meet death in the gorge far below, where the “pot hunters ” readily recover such carcasses as they require. Meat sufficient to keep a large band for many weeks was thus obtained with little effort, anl this scandal went on for many years. The solitary fawn seen in the accompanying picture, taken after one of these terrible “ drives,” tells its own story. The poor little animal, unable to keep up with the wildly- scurrying herd and its mother on the way to destruc- tion, was evidently overlooked by the Redskins. Now. on the brink of the stupendous chasm, it is vainly seeking its lost mother.

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172 Above is a picture of a unique ‘home-made water- works ” constructed by an Indian farmer in British Columbia. The correspondent who sends the photo- praph writes as follows concerning it: ‘“ An Indian farmer has constructed for himself a primitive but very satisfactory waterworks system which gives him all the comforts a man ina big city has from the same source. By means of his device he has not only a refrigerator which keeps butter, milk. and other edibles sweet and fresh, but he can water his stock without effort. Behind the house runs a small stream. At a point on the hillside above the house he tapped the creck with a lit le aqueduct, running this down to a corner of his garden where stood a huge cedar stump which, though hollow, was watertight. This served as a reservoir. Krom this, one pipe led to a trough where the edibles were kept in various utensils. Another pipe carried water to the house, serving to meet all sinitary and culinary. purposes. The lowest pipe. receiving the greatest. amount of pressure, carried water to the garden, making possible the growing of a Inrge number of vegetables that could not be raised under ordinary conditions in this dry region. For THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ingenuity the whole scheme reflects great credit on its inventor, who is shown in the picture, with the pipes of his * waterworks" behind We here reproduce what is probably one of the mest primitive “ ferries” in the world. This is to be seen at the entrance to Dovedale, Peak of Derby- shire, and the “ferry” consists, not of a beat, as usual, but a dozen donkeys, who continually ford the stream with “ passengers.” The persons “ferried” are always accompanied by one of the attendants, and in this case the “ skipper” can be seen on the rear donkey. Some of the men emploved in this novel form of transport have been doing the work for many years, and one of them recently celebrated his fiftieth anniversary as a supervisor of the “ four-footed ferry.” Herewith we give a view of a curious “ step- street” in Naples. These quaint Italian thorough- fares are of considerable interest to tourists, and afford many intimate glimpses of humble Italian life. Note the washing hanging on the line suspended across the street trom one house to another, and the little groups scattered about the © steps.”

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The Battle of Ludlow. By K. HARWOOD. ILLUSTRATED BY ALBBRT MORROW. An exciting story of the bad old days in the coalfields of Colorado, describing a pitched battle between hundreds of alien strikers and a handful of State militiamen. HE coal-mining regions of the State of Colorado were aflame. The miners were out on strike and, urged on by alien agitators and “ direct action ’’ hotheads, had been creating no end of trouble. When the men refused to work, the mining companies, who owned practically all the houses in the mine towns, turned the miners out of their homes, declar- ing their policy to be ** No work, no home.” The workmen and their families organized themselves into tent communities, and were living in this manner near some of the larger towns. The tents had been fur- nished by their national organization, and it was generally believed that either this body, which is known as the United Mine Workers of America, or the Colorado locals, had purchased huge quantities of arms and ammunition. All this occurred in 1913, and the situation became so acute that the Governor of Colorado called out the State National Guard. It was just at this juncture that Sergeant Howard E. Baker, of the Fourth Infantry, Regular Army, took a sudden and unex- pected part in the Colorado strike. Like his comrades of the Fourth, Sergeant Baker had up to this time no more than a casual interest in the affairs of the State of Colorado. A second enlistment man, his interests were in the Regular Army, and as he was stationed at Camp Crockett, just outside Galveston, Texas, some hundreds of miles from the scene of the trouble, the miners’ strike in far-off Colorado did not worry him. One morning in the early part of November, 1913, however, he was ordered to report to Colonel Van Vleet, the regimental commander, at headquarters. 2 Baker is a slight chap of about thirty years, perhaps: five feet cight inches tall, clean shaven, with small even features and mild blue eyes. He weighs about one hundred and fifty pounds and looks like anything but a soldier. With this preface 1 will let him tell his own tale. Colonel Van Vleet instructed me to draw transportation and rations, ‘proceed to Denver, Colorado, and there report to the adjutant-general of the Colorado National Guard as an instructor to the Militiamen.’ I left camp that night and arrived in Denver on a Thursday afternoon, reporting imme- diately to the office of Adjutant-General Barry, only to find he had left for Trinidad, where the troops were being mobilized. General Barry, who was expecting me, had left orders that I be given transportation and proceed to join the troops in Trinidad. Arrived here, [ was escorted in a motor-car to camp, located about two miles outside of town, but within the city limits of Trinidad. A council of war was in progress, but General Barry came out to greet me for a minute, and turned me over to Colonel Murry, of the First Infantry of the National Guard. This officer assigned me to duty visiting various companies of his regiment to instruct the non-coms, and later the privates. I was given a white band to wear just above the elbow on my left sleeve, which designated me to the strikers as a non-combatant. The men of the medical corps also wore these bands, and they were respected by the strikers, There had been all kinds of trouble before the troops were called out, but up to the time T arrived at the camp there had been but one “bad” incident. That was in the town of Sophis, where the strikers had gone to the house of one of the men still working in a nearby mine and started to drive him away. The marshal who was entrusted with the maintenance of order heard of the affair, and set off to the rescue with several of his deputies. A mélée followed, in which one of the leaders of the strikers, known as “Louie the Greek,’’ killed the marshal,

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174 while one of the deputies was wounded. The other deputy bolted. A whole regiment was sent to the town to preserve order, On arriving there they found the main street in possession of a batch of deputies, who were holding the thorough- fare with a machine-gun belonging to the Colorado Fuel and Iron Company. General Barry had already demanded of both the mine companies and the strikers that they turn in all weapons, except those necessary for the mine guards who had been sworn in as deputies, and he immediately seized this machine-gun. The deputics were disarmed, and the troops searched the town for “ Louie the Greek.” Sophis had a population of about seven or eight hundred at the time, and every house was combed. Louie was not found, but the most wonderful assort- ment of weapons ever seen outside of a museum was discovered. Three days after the troops returned to camp “ Louie the Greek ’’ was located in a tent colony the miners had established at Ludlow. A squad of soldiers went to Ludlow and brought Louie back. He came without resistance, laughing and joking. He was taken to Trinidad and given a hearing in a civil court. His defence was that he was merely a witness to the killing and had done nothing. His own followers supported his story, and others who had witnessed the killing were afraid to testify against him. The case was accordingly dismissed and Louie turned loose. About this time Company A was ordered to Starkville, as there was a big tent colony of strikers just outside of the town who were creating a lot of trouble. I went with this company, which was the first to actually take the field. Our duty was to guard the mine—the strikers had once set the tipple on fire—to patrol the streets of the town, and generally preserve order. Orders came presently to make a search for arms, and we caught the miners napping, finding thirty-six Tifies in our first search. A week later we found two hundred and fifty more in an old disused coai-mine, Duty dragged on until early in) April, when the troops were withdrawn from the field, as things had quieted down. One mounted squad of thirty-two picked men, all former Regulars, was left to patrol the mining region as a sort of State constabulary. One captain and two lieutenants—three brothers—were Icft in) cemmand of the patrol, I was still attached to them, no orders having come relieving me from duty as long as troops were still in the field. Our headquarters were at Cedar Ridge, about a mile up a narrow valley from the settlement ot Ludlow, One Monday morning a woman came THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, rushing into camp, crying that the strikers were holding her husband a prisoner in their tent colony because he wanted to go back to work, *‘ Boots and saddles” was sounded, and we started to the rescue. Approaching within about eight hundred yards of the tent colony, the main body stopped at a slight rise along which the tracks of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad ran, and known as Water Tank Hill. Between this hill, on which a railroad water tank was located, and the tent colony was the settlement of Ludlow, located down in a hollow. Ludlow consisted of five buildings—the railroad station, in which the station agent and his family also lived, a store and residence combined for the storekeeper, a saloon and residence combined for the saloon-keeper, a post-office, and the house of the postmistress. The settlement was about five hundred yards from Water Tank Hill, and between it and the tent colony was the pumping station which furnished the water for the tank. This place had been deserted by the pumper some time before, but fortunately the tank was full. On the far side of the tent colony was an arroyo or gully, spanned by a concrete railroad bridge. That was the general topographical lay-out when three of the troopers, under a flag of truce, rode out to the tent colony to demand the release of the man. ‘' Louie the Greek "’ came forth and after a brief parley said :— “To blazes with you ! come and get him!” While he was parleying with the troopers he suddenly called out to the miners in the tents, “ Come out! They’re going to fight.” Bullets began to pop from the tents and the troopers, putting spurs to their horses, galloped back to our lines under a_ hail of fire. The miners began spreading to outflank our position, and since there were some four hundred and fifty of them, and we were only thirty-six, we knew we were in for a hot time. In the meantime we had been withholding our fire, and it was not until their main body opened up on_us, shooting as rapidly as they could, that Captain Lindenfeldt, realizing the seriousness of the situation, gave orders to return the fire, In order to prevent the miners securing the houses in Ludlow and using them as a base from which to attack us, and also that we might keep communications open with Denver through the use of the wires along the railroad, the captain ordered me to take a squad of eight men and hold the settlement. Both sides had been firing over the houses, which contained a number of women and children. Up to this time I had taken no part in the fighting, but as the miners were If you want him,

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THE BATTLE OF LUDLOW. U5 “He threw himself at the sergeant’s feet.” doing their best to “ get '’ me I thought it time to pitch in. This was about seven o'clock in the morn- ing, and my men and [ mace a rush for the settlement, barricading ourselves in the buildings and sending the non-combatants far to the rear behind Water Tank Hill. The country was practically flat — for for miles around, and the railroa:] embank- ment was the only thing that aftorded protection to either side except for the hill and the buildings of Ludlow. The miners were therefore anxious to use the embankment in reaching the hill, since it led right up to . and past the position. The railroad tracks ran in a wide semi-circle from the hill, and at Ludlow the embankment was on a level with the settlement, so the miners could not come our way, but had to make a wide detour and attempt to reach the hill from the other side, along the embankment. The strikers attempted to make this flanking movement all day, but without success. They were sharply silhouetted against the skyline of the prairie when they attempted to come up along the embank- ment, and the men on the hill simply swept them off. About four o’clock in the after- noon the commander sent ten troopers, under cover of the embankment, to make a surprise attack on the flanking party, but they were discovered, and soon the shooting became so accurate that the soldiers were forced to retreat. As they fell back the miners, with exulting yells, started forward, and the reserve force on the hill was unable to aid their comrades with their fire, because both parties were so close together that they could not shoot at the strikers without endangering their own men. One soldier was shot through the throat and dropped in his tracks, and the others were in a bad way when the remaining men on the hill charged down to their rescue. The miners fell back and the troops reached the spot where the wounded man had fallen, only to find that the strikers had finished the job by smashing the poor fellow’s head with the butts of their guns. This barbarity stirred the troops to a high pitch, and they determined to even things up. Another soldier was shot through the shoulder in this fighting, but was carried back to the hill. In the meantime we in Ludlow were having a hot time. The station agent—who was also the telegrapher—had manfully stuck to his post and was sending repeated calls for help far and wide. Corporal George Goren- man and I were barricaded in the station, behind a lot of packing-cases, protecting the

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176 agent. The postmistress, too, had refused to leave her mail, although we were under a heavy fire all day. Others of my men were busy shooting from the windows of the buildings. The miners could have carried the settlement easily, but they lacked the courage to rush us. Later in the evening the troops on the lull carried out a strategic attack that cleaned out the flankers. Leaving the machine- gunner entirely alone, with all his am- munition belts filled, and with orders to fire at the tent colony slowly, fanning his fire so that it would appear as though it was rifle fire, the others, including the wounded man, got down on all fours and wriggled Indian-fashion along the railroad embank- ment on the side opposite to that occupied by the strikers, until there was just the width of the track between the two parties. Then they launched their attack, taking the miners completely by surprise, and, when the Militiamen opened a heavy fire, the strikers fled in a panic to a grove of trees a long distance back from the railroad. In this one encounter the troops counted twenty-two dead bodies. Others who had been killed earlier in the fighting had been removed to the tent colony. At dusk we attacked the tent colony in full strength, my men and I joining in. The miners again fled. We did not lose a man, but we found some thirty or forty dead strikers. They retreated to the trees far behind their tent colony, leaving their women and children in our hands. This was a particularly dangerous time for their kinsfolk, forin their rage at being forced to retreat by a mere handful of men the stikers began firing indiscriminately into the tents. We searched the tents, and as fast as we found the women and children ordered them to the rear. Most of these people were foreigners who could not speak English, and they were very frightened. When we believed we had everybody out the troops set fire to the tents. All the tents had wooden floors, which we believed to have been placed directly on the ground, and hence did not attempt to search under them. Now, as the fire began to burn, there were constant explosions as large quantities of ammunition stored in pits dug under these floors exploded. The tent of the seeretary of the Union furnished the biggest detonation, with a display like a gala fireworks celebration, While this was going on the miners attempted to take the concrete bridge over the arroyo behind their colony, and in the fight that ensued we killed six and captured THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, three of them. One of these was the treasurer of the organization, who was attempting to make a ‘ get-away ”’ with the organiza- tion’s tunds—some one thousand eight hundred dollars in currency—-and another was the notorious “ Louie the Greek.’’ The three prisoners were turned over to the sergeant who had earlier in the day borne the flag of truce to Louie. The sergeant strode up to the Greek and said: ‘ You started all this, you treacherous hound! If it hadn’t been for you this fight wouid never have begun and all these people would not have lost their hves. Why didnt you give that man up?" Louie was a big coward at heart, and now he began to cry and whimper and threw himself at the sergeant’s feet, trying to grasp him around the legs and kiss his boots. Just what happened was never cleared up, but the report said that the three captives attempted to escape and were killed in the attempt. At any rate, their bodies were found next morning a short distance from the camp, fairly riddled with bullets. In the meantime mine guards began arriving to reinforce us. They would take no part in the attack on the tent colony, however, but simply guarded the hill so that the miners could not attack us from the rear. The late evening train brought another hundred and fifty mine guards to our assistance, and we now felt able to cope with any situation that might arise. There was no more fight lett in the miners, but we hung on there for three or four days until troops which had been te-mobilized arrived. The most unfortunate part of the whole battle of Ludlow was that the morning after the tents were burned we found the bodies of two women and eleven children smothered to death by smoke in a pit dug under one of the tents. These ignorant foreigners had been put there to be out of harm's way when their men opened fire on the troops, and had remained in their hiding- place all day. When we captured the colony they had refrained from making their presence known, and we—unaware of the existence of these pits until the ammunition: began exploding—fired the tents in the belief that we were simply destroving the stores of the enemy. One of the women had a nasty-looking dagger clutched in her hand, even in death. From the ruins of the tent colony we recovered some six hundred rifle barrels, the stocks having been burned, which in- dicated that the strikers had long planned open rebellion and were well equipped to carry out their purpose.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a ' They Hated Him Because He Cried “Prove It” Is there a God? 1s there a Hell? Is there a Heaven? Are we better than the Satage who worships an Idol?. ‘‘Pro:e it and I'll believe you," cried Col. Robert G. Ingersoll. But they coul!n’t—or wouldn't. But for fifty years he fought back. Never could they batter down his logic. Never could they answer with reason. They hated him. They fought lim. We sympathize with *¥ie savage whose (0d is a monacrous' Idol. We pt eet han hey pee nein Bose. But are we better than In it true that much of our goodness is mothered by cowardly fear? Ie it true that our God is Seated by a a ind too tary to da ite there 2, Goz y don't you Why don't fuown thinking? If you bel Are you af aid to say enon Tet ene a a Hien? nd wear.a Dose ring? He felt that the Sort was being exalewed ob: ." He challenged What fe Religion) Abeut the Hely Bibic My, Reviewesa Re The Limttntions.. of» Toleratton A Christian Seemen le Suleide a Sin? fe Averice Tri-| umphane? Prelt jom—' natever Zou" eligi you mut justify it to yourself. ‘You cannot go on and on, living a lazy mental lie—if it h Orthedexy Ww |. Myth and Miracle Petteat "Datetitver connote The Christian Religion shake you from it. And # it Is Diverce Wrong? be, to yeur ¢ think: what freedom a (Vindication, of rust £9 you when ¢ Skchesnec sare Chains are broken. enpeare: Ingersoll, even the Clergy Robert Burne Abrahem-Lincoln Hrs Great Infidele erty in Literature pee Reecsne Why edmit, was a great thinker. Henry | Ward Beecher id that no man ever lived who could talk like him, The Press quoted him. Tens of pamphicts Sn. thousands of tainidg his oratidns were Si ae Se ee ae a re as Se Sa ade Lo ea 0s Se om THE INGERSOLL SE UBLISHERS. DEPT. 151 E. 25th 8t., New York, N. Y. in the country. say his words were translated! couldn't be bought. couldn't be shaken one iota f te BRE ere Stine Demetce and Lettering, which will never tar- with a spark of courage will want to read Ingersoll. bes been di whit of argument to the case So they cast him out, Col. Robert G. Ingersoll Ingersoll toppled over a brittle Belief and it broke into thousands of pieces. le said. in-eflect, that the Bible was a fake. Of courne that was a bad thing to pny especially if you really believed it and could make thousands of others believe it. Ingersoll was a power. _In olden daya he would have been tarred and feathered, imprisoned, “done gway with." He could have been governor of {Ilinois—some say he could have had the presi- Hency. But he wouldn't stop tulking against o blind acceptance of @ man-made God. No one could for his belief, nave the true motive he had—to shake people from the mental prison into which they had been throan by “blindly following the pind He wanted to break the shackles of fear. He wanted to bring people into the light. And for filty years Ingersoll spoke to packed houscs up and down and ac-oss the continent. Even after his death he was fought—fo: they tried to ve that he recanted. But under cath hig family have sworn that Ingerapll died as be hag lived—an agnostic—an unbelicver. The ae Works of the Greatest Religious Thinker of the Age COL. ROBERT 6. INGERSOLL In 12 Handsome Volumes Shipped Free He was the subject of attack from nearly every pulpit, in every city, town aod hamlet It is safe to cign lan He nish, Crimson and Gold Silk head ant footbands, more than 6400 pages minted from, New, Scotch Reman pe, especially cast for this cdit on Hi i Grade pepfectly opaque Every ‘man and woman He lead for twenty years, but no one has yet brary k Paper. appeared who could answer This pew edition bf Ingersoll in- and no one has yet ap- cludes all the important writings of peared who could add one bis life. A typical few are mentioned : twelve volumes will be he presented. wrThe entire (sive tr payment ‘of any money in advance, at you may u Baition vf 1 Vie erent med ath the eek, return Sehd me, all cha $d. the 12-70 ume New Dveed tion esoll's Wo.ks. Rerce to fpriire therm plihin dee daye aftr deers ori Velo to weep thea, Will | featoureapense.. Tf you are sure you Day for thesn Upon the terms indica eto can bay for Kon easy monthly E Bt lave. $5 monthly theteafter for 7 ronths ! ‘terms as shown on oa the coupon. ters ye, $1U monthly thereafter for 3 mouths 1 a STORE 2 SY Siad = Alara wine's Gms doves cnacedattosecens yankees ee Jeakeudeene The INGERSOLL : } PUBLISHERS ROC ree 55:55 Mo Sas Os seins ie Less Raat eon te ieee et hcsivea'ecgeie Vanistea eps aene: Dept. 151 N 130 E. 25th St, > Se we ee ene ee gee ee SME reece eee ert er eer ea artes estes a) New York, N. Y. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers. Sem

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a NES ee Eta cl a Se) “WE ROLLED OVER AND OVER FOR A MOMENT OR TWO.” (SEE PAGE 180.)

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MAN FROM The amazing Life Story of Albert Juge, of Paris, told by himself, and set down 4, HEROGErs ILLUSTRATED BY WwW C NICOLSON “He sacrificed himself for us, the little one!” These are the words of the poor old mother of Albert Juge, a French convict who escaped in a coffin from the dreaded penal settlements of French Guiana. After twelve years’ wanderings in the interior of Brazil, Bolivia, and the Argentine, he returned to Paris again—a prematurely-aged, grey-haired man—to see his parents once more, only to be recaptured by the police! His daring escape, his adventures in the virgin fore:ts of Dutch Guiana, and his experiences in search of a livelihood and a safe way back to France make up one of the most remarkable real-life narratives ever published. The story is told in Juge’s own words, as related to a Parisian journalist who saw the unfortunate man before he was taken to the prison of Fresnes, whence, in all probability, he will be sent back to the living death of the convict settlements. of the policeman—the crime which got me my long sentence—was my first offence As a matter of fact, 1 had always done anything that occurred to me without thinking further about it, and asa result I had undergone short periods of imprisonment on thirteen pre- vious occasions. I got in with a band of Apaches, the terror of the northern quarters of Paris, through getting acquainted with two or three men who belonged to it. At first I merely gambled and drank with them, but one day detectives got on their track for a bad assault committed a few nights pre- viously, and it was a question of fighting their way out of the wine-shop where they were. As I was with them, and should there- fore have been taken to the police-station and questioned—a thing I did not desire at all, for reasons you can readily understand—I could not remain a mere spectator. After a terrific fight, in which we knocked most of the sense out of two detectives with short iron bars and knives, we got away, but one detective escaped, Vol. xlvi.--13. I AM not going to pretend that the shooting and without doubt took a good description of us back with him. After that it wasn’t safe for me to be about alone, so I became one of the band. None of us lived in the quarter we operated in, and we studied the streets and alleys round about so that when we had carricd out an assault and robbery we could separate and walk quictly home. We used to meet the next day in our own district, which was in the centre of the city, and divide up the money or arrange for the disposal of the jewellery obtained. We liked moncy best, of course, because it was easier to portion out. For a whole year we carried on an almost nightly campaign without one of us being caught. There were usually ten or twelve of us, so even the police hadn't much chance against us. At last the time came when I fell due for military service, and, secing no way of avoiding it unless I left the country, I duly presented myself before the doctors. Being strong and healthy, I was, of course, found fit, but much to my disgust my record of petty crimes was

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180 hunted up, and I was drafted into a colonial battalion. After undergoing the usual training, I found myself some months later with my regiment on the borders of Morocco. Most of my comrades were men of my own type, and none of us liked the discipline of army hfe. As for myself, I several times received punishment for some trifling misdemeanour or other, and you may be sure I was extremely glad when the end of my term of service arrived, and I was able to return to France. Naturally, I went back to Paris, and while duly celebrating my liberation in the bars and cafés of my quarter, I fell in with some of my old associates, and rejoined them in their nocturnal adventures, Some months had elapsed since my demobili- zation when, one summer night, we had a severe battle with a patrolling party of half-a-dozen policemen. They had rushed to the rescue of two men we had attacked, and there ensucd a regular battle with knives and revolvers. The two men, both strong and muscular, did not act as spectators, but joined the police, so they were eight against our nine. We retreated up the street as we fought, since our object was to get away. Suddenly I tripped and fell, and before I could rise a policeman and one of the civilians threw themselves upon me. We rolled over and over for a moment or two, and I managed to get my revolver under the police- man’s back and pull the trigger. He cried out, and I knew I had hit him, but I had forgotter the civilian for the moment. Keeping his head, he gave me such a volley of blows on the eyes and nose that I was momentarily blinded. Jumping to his feet, he kicked me three or four times, and then I felt myself seized and dragged - along the ground for some yards. Two more policemen arrived, and by throwing themselves upon me managed to bind my hands together with a piece of rope. I had lost my revolver, and could do nothing more, for I was utterly exhausted. They marched me to the nearest police- station and pushed me into a cell, and there J spent the night. I was in an awful rage, and should have killed anybody who came near me had I been able. However, I calmed down and finally went to sleep. Next morning I was brought before the magistrate and charged with shooting the policeman, who was dangerously wounded. I was committed to trial at the assizes, and duly sentenced to twenty years’ hard labour, my previous sentences making the judges regard me as a very dangerous character. I was kept for about a month in one of the big Paris prisons and was twice visited by my father and mother. Being an only child, you may be sure it was hard for them to think that they would not see me again for many years, for they told me I should be deported to serve my sentence in Cayenne, 1 rather welcomed this, because I had heard that the convicts THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. were kept mostly in the open air out there, and I liked the idea. I was, needless to say, en- tirely ignorant of the realities of convict life; I was even under the impression that ‘ hard labour ” meant making things in my cell! When at last the day came for The Last me to go I was almost light- Sight of — hearted—indeed, I believe we France. all were, for, of course, I was one of a number of other ‘ dangerous characters ” to be transported. We were taken handcufied to the train at night in the panier @ salade (prison van) and put into a cattle-truck —strongly barred and guarded by half-a-dozen armed soldiers. We could just see over the top of the opening in the truck if we stood up, and almost all of us spent the first half hour or so of our journey gazing out on the passing view. My last remembrance of France as a young man is of twinkling lights, the lit-up windows of cosy cottages, and the tall dark shadows of trees. When we were tired of standing we threw ourselves down in the straw which covered the floor and, before falling off into une: sleep, ruminated on what the future held in store for us. Had I known anything of Cayenne and what my life there would be like I should certainly have been filled with such horror that I should have lain awake planning how I could escape from the train even at the risk of my life. Luckily, ignorance saved me the torture of foreseeing my future in the terrible penal settlement for which I was bound, and though I turned over the possibilities of escape once or twice I finally decided to wait and see how things panned out. The port from which we were to be dispatched for South America was Bordeaux, and after twenty-four hours’ travelling—we were in a goods train—we finally drew into the port tailw station of that city. Here we were handcuffed, tied to each other like a string of horses, and marched under guard to the boat. Our few belongings and equipment were carried in bags such as soldiers use. We could see very little of the ship herself in the darkness, except that she was a good-sized steamer, but from one of our guards we learnt that she was a cargo- boat and had a consignment of machinery for various ports along the northern coast of South America. Our quarters were right aft, where a sort of wooden hut, which was to serve us for living and sleeping accommodation, had been erected. A large hole in the roof, covered with glass, served to let in light, the only other opening being the door, which was constructed like that of a stable, so that the lower half could be shut independently of the top half. Straw mat- tresses were dotted about the floor, but there was no furniture of any sort. Pillows and blankets were given us, and we were shut in for the night. We found out later that two soldiers were always on guard, sitting on chairs outside, and from time to time they opened the top

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THE MAN portion:of, the door to look in and see what we were doing. There were fifteen of us altogether in the hut, but we had quite sufficient room to be comfortable. The worst thing was that ventilation was rather lacking, there being only a few holes drilled at the sides to let air in. Our vessel remained in the dock for several days after our arrival, and during this time we were con fined to ourhut, except to take a few steps outside to another small shed where we could wash our- selves. We only went there one at a time, and alw: under guard. Nothing could be seen but the sky and the masts of a few neighbouring ships. Time dragged very slowly, as you can imagine, for apart from cleaning out our hut every morning we had nothing to do. Cigar- ettes and a few cld newspapers and books were thrown in to us, but we did not appreciate them much. We lay about and talked or slept most of the time. I, for one, was heartily glad when we heard the hurry and bustle of depar- ture and felt the engines throbbing. The guards now. became less taciturn and told us what was going on The . morning following our departure from The Rue de la Reynie, one of the narrowest streets in Paris. The Juge family live at No. 5, a house on the right hand side. FROM THE COFFIN. 181 Albert Juge, who here tells his remarkable life-story. Bordeaux we were again attached together and taken up on deck to show us that we were out at sea. No land was visible anywhere. It was beautiful weather, a pleasant breeze blew from the west, the sun shone brightly, and there was just enough movement of the sea to make it interesting. It was delightful to us after our close confinement in the stuffy hut. We were marched round and round the ship for exercise by the lieutenant in command of the guard while the ship’s officers gazed down at us with curiosity from the bridge, passing remarks about us_ which, however, we could not hear. I think we all enjoyed that walk round the vessel She was a big ship, and looked very comfortable for a mer- chantman. She was a great novelty to us, for none of us, as it happened, had ever been at sea before. Our life for some time was very uneventful, for, perceiving that none of us were inclined to be recalcitrant, the lieutenant allowed us to take our exercise on deck without being roped together, and he also used to give us a run from time to time. We were never, however, permitted to lie about on deck and watch the sea—a

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182 thing we had asked to be allowed to do— and this rather galled us. The food was also a source of dissatisfaction, for though it was tasty enough, there Was not overmuch of it. When we had been at sea about ten days the weather changed and we encountered a storm. The ship rolled horribly, and we were sick to a man. We were shut 1n our hut almost all the time, for the soldiers were mostly sea-sick as well, and those that weren't had to do double duty. We lost strength through our inability to cat and the close confinement, and we became peevish and discontented, and sometimes fought amongst ourselves, whereupon the soldiers came and separated us with kicks and blows with rifle-butts. Strict discipline made its appearance again, and our privileges were withdrawn. Finally, one day, while exercising on the deck, we saw land right ahead, and knew we were nearing South America. That night we heard the noises of a port and learned that the ship had entered Cayenne harbour. The heat had been growing greater for some days, and our hut was at times almost unbearable. In the early dawn we at last said good-bye to our ship and were marched down a quay and out into Cayenne town. I remained for four years in Cayenne, part of the time as a confined prisoner and part as one working outside. I do not care to dwell upon my life at that time; it was one long horrible nightmare. Only those who have been in that part of South America can realize what confinement means in such a climate. I was engaged in carpenter’s work, but the dreadful heat made it impossible to do anything which required physical effort during most of the morning and early afternoon, During those hours we lay abeut in our cells, tortured bv the oppressive air. Our nights were little better—long-drawn-out periods of physical and mental misery—for we could only get an hour’s sleep or so at a time. Looking back at those first six months, IT wonder now how I survived it all. for my health was badly affected by the climate. Every white man’s is, until he becomes used to the conditions, and it is, of course, far worse for a convict. As a matter of fact, some of my fellow- prisoners died. At that time it was said that their bodies were thrown to the sharks, but in view of my experiences afterwards J believe this was untrue. After some months I began to get used to the weather conditions, and my life became a little easier, but the nights were still interminable, and T only slept fitfully. In these circumstances, it will not surprise you to hear that I very often turned over in my mind the possibility of escape from this dreadful place, but as I knew little or nothing of the people and the country outside the enclosures, I found no means of getting away My conduct having been found good, 1 was One Long Nightmare. prison THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZID at last brought before the prison commandant and informed that I was to be sent to joma party of convict workers at a place called St. Laurent, where the commandant said I should live in the open air, under decent conditions, so long as I behaved myself. If, after a certain period, the authorities were satisfied with me, I should get practically complete freedom so long as 1 did not attempt to leave the district. This prospect greatly cheered me, but I did not then realize what it really meant. That I will explain later on in my story. I travelled with four other men who had earned the right to open-air work and more freedom. We were guarded by two soldiers and a corporal. We journeyed mostly by night, and by day lay camped out under the thick foliage by the stde of the roads. It took us about ten d to reach St. Laurent, which is a village on the river Maroni, about a hundred and twenty miles from Cayenne. Here I dis- covered we were to live in huts which were not guarded in any way, and our work consisted in mending roads, repairing bridges, chopping wood, and, indeed, anything that required doing. Every working day the soldiers made a round of the village, and, having collected us, took us out to our tasks, which were generally at some place in the surrounding country. After my miserable life in Cayenne you can judge how glad I was to see the trees and plants and sky, and to be free to talk and smoke and amuse myself as I wished, once the work was over. It happened, however, that I had gone to St. Laurent during the best season, and before very long I found out that this supposed free life was very little better than the indoor work in Cayenne. Drenching rains made their appear- ance, and I often had to work standing knee- deep in the water, while the rain poured down ‘on my bare body, for if one worked in clothes one would be fever-stricken in a day. As it happened, it was seven or eight months before T got my first attack I had had fever in Cayenne, but somehow the fever prevalent in St. Laurent seemed to be of a worse kind. Pessibly this is because Cayenne stands on high ground, whereas in the rainy scason St. Laurent is a sort of tropical Venice. Water often entirely sur- rounded the houses, and temporary streams linked up the pools and ran hither and thither in and about the village. When the sun came out the pools dried up quickly enough, leaving evil-smelling mud, and then there would come four or five days’ rain again, and the floods would recommence. I had been at St. Laurent Appointed nearly two years when the job Grave-digger. of grave-digger fell vacant, the convict who had fulfilled the duties of the office having hanged himself. Probably the abominable climate and_ the hopelessness of life in Guiana were responsible,

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THE for even free men become pessimistic and neurasthenic if they remain long enough in this terrible region. I applied for the job to the officer—a captain—who commanded us, and much to my surprise was appointed the suicide’s successor. My duties were to look after the rough cemetery, make the coffins, and dig the graves, and of course I went to work no more with a party. I MAN FROM THE COFFIN. 183 the broad Maroni river, across which I could discern the shore of Dutch Guiana. In that direction alone, so far as I could make out, lay the path to freedom. Having settled the direction, aria of 1 set about finding a means of crossing the river, but here I met with another difficulty. It was quite impossible to get had a little house of my own near the cemetery, and as the deaths, in- cluding natives, convicts, and guards, only aver- aged about one a month, I was not overworked. The life of in- action and stag- nation which I now embarked upon was far from being agree- able; it gave me too much time to think, and thinking meant Suffering. No Sooner was I fairly installed in my new job, therefore, than thoughtsaf escape sprang up afresh in my brain, and this time I felt I really had a chance of success, i to manage it was the great question. The Coast, with the vast expanse of lonely ocean be- yond, offered a very Poor pros- Pect, nor was it any use attempt- ing to recross the Colony into Brazil. hold of a boat, and swimming or floating was out of the question, because of the distance, the swift and uncertain currents, and— last, but certainly not least—the lurking alligators. I had no inten- tion of ending my life that way! Never theless, I did not despair ; I bided my time and carefully turned over the possibilities. Once or twice I nearly gave up the idea of escape, so im- possible did it ap- pear, but always the awful climate and surroundings, the wretched food, and my deep yearning to get back to civi- lization made me return to my project. And at last I hit on a plan which, al- though daring, Teally appeared to be feasible. I made up my mind that, failing anything better, I would use a coffin should have This map shows Juge’s wanderings during the years as a boat where- been pursued di- ' after his escape from Cayenne. with to cross the rectly my absence river! I could Was noted ; every hand would have been against not make one, however, without an official patie the way, and apart from this I had heard wie about the methods of the border Brazilians ake dane Prisoners—whom they shot at sight at oe me from entering that country. inkin, ‘own, night after night, smoking and ana Bay Tevolving the problem in my mind, open ee soon I perceived that the only road me was over the treacherous waters of order but what I did work at, on the sly, was a paddle, so that once I got the coffin I could propel my odd craft through the water. When this paddle was ready I buried it, in case by chance it should be found. Then I sat down to wait for someone to die. I had discovered a nice sandy track, free from obstacles, which led down to the river, and an

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184 equally convenient little bay from which to set out. In preparation for my dash for liberty I put aside what I could spare from my wretched rations—a difficult feat in a climate where nothing keeps for long. I decided that the next coftin I made should be finished the night before the burial, which usually took place in the early evening, and that same night should sce me go off in it on my voyage across the Maroni. I had had the details of my flight all worked out for about five weeks, when one day I heard that a working convict had died, and dulv re- ceived the order to make his coffin. You may be sure J set about the work in a way I had never done before! I made sure the coftin should be watertight and stoutly constructed. My heart » was dancing, and I was going over all the details again in case I had forgotten something, when, just as I finished my work, a courier from Cayenne came in with a note, authorizing him to be accommodated in my house for the night ! I could have cried with disappointment, for this man’s inopportune arrival would prevent my getting away that night. I seriously thought of hitting him over the head, or disposing of him otherwise, in order to carry out my plan. How- ever, I reflected that this might mean Cayenne again, and perhaps something worse, and I decided to alter my arrangements to suit the circumstances. Evidently the dead convict would have to be buried in the coffin, but I made up my mind that I would dig him up again the first night I was alone and use the coffin just the same. « The burial duly took place, and the messenger having left my house and gone back to Cayenne I was free to get to work. As soon as the coffin had been lowered into the grave, and the religious service was finishing, I began, as usual, to fill in the hole. On this occasion, however, I worked more slowly, and when the last of the mourners had left the cemetery there was only a thin layer of earth over the coffin, and I left it like that for the night. I did not eat any supper that evening, for my stock of provisions was very small and I was afraid of dying of hunger once I had made my escape. The hours dragged slowly by, the sun sank out of sight, and night fell. At eleven o'clock there was not a light to be seen anywhere. I lay on my bed for a full half-hour without hearing the least sound ; then, taking my packet of clothes and provisions, I went out, dug up my paddle, and made for the cemetery. Dropping into the open grave, I sct to work to uncover the coftin, which took me about a quarter of an hour. Once I felt sure I heard a noise, and I had a few anxious moments. It did not take me long to unserew the coffin lid, for I had purposely fixed the screws somewhat loosely. Then IT pushed it over on its side and gently rolled the corpse out. It was an unpleasant ordeal, but I felt sure the dead man would not grudge a former companion in ill-fortune his coftin if he knew for what THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, purpose I was going to use it. I covered him over as well as ] could with earth ; then, hoisting the coffin up and pushing it over the side of the grave, I clambered after it. Once on my legs and above ground, I put the cottin on my shoulder and hurried down to the river, There I laid it down near the water’s edge and ran back for my bundle of clothes. Not a sound was to be heard, and I laughed to myself at the easiness of the whole affair. Little did I realize what was before me! Once back at the riverside, 1 threw my bundle and paddle into the cottin and then pushed it out until it floated on the water. I was overjoyed to find that it rode well, for I had had no chance of testing its behaviour as a boat. Very carefully I climbed into it, and, giving a final push with my foot, glided out into deep water. Imagine my excitement. 1 was out of the penal settlement and on my way to freedom ! I did not mean to waste any time, so I started paddling for all 1 was worth. My curious craft swayed horribly as I did so, and for a moment I thought she would capsize altogether. Happily for me, however, she righted herself, and after a little while I got used to this sudden dipping when I paddled too hard, and regulated my stroke accordingly. Crossing the swift current diagonally, I set to work to gradually approach the Dutch shore I calcu- lated that I ought to land before daylight, about eight miles up-river, because I knew there was another French village about fifteen miles higher up than St. Laurent, and I meant to keep clear of that. whatever happened. T had been paddling for about three-quarters of an hour when I heard a sudden splash. 1 stopped and listened anxiously, and whilst straining my cycs, peering through the darkness, I nearly capsized my awkward craft again. Indeed, shipped a good deal of water, and my trousers and my precious bundle got wet. After a while I could just make out some human forms on what seemed like a raft, and I heard muffled curses and the splashing of water. At first I thought they must be soldiers pursuing me, but presently I lost sight of them, and I now believe they were escaped convicts, like myself. They appeared to be drifting down-stream, and I expect they were either caught or drowned. I prided myself on having thought of the coffin idea, for it was much easier to propel than a clumsy raft. With short intervals for rest I paddled on for what I reckoned must have been fully two hours. It was nearly the most trying time I had during all the years I was away from France. My heart was in my mouth at every unfamiliar sound, and the darkness was so intense that I presently Jost all sense of direction. 1 had escaped for the time being, but now 1 was lost on the broad bosom of the river. [could not tell for certain if I had kept the right direction ; indeed, 1 could Afloat in a Coffin.

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THE MAN FROM THE COFFIN. 185 Sy ae “My aim was good, and the log hit him full in the face.”

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186 not see more than a few yards through the velvety blackness that hung about me. I believe 1 got very nervy, and after a time it seemed to me that my craft was moving less easily. Very soon I realized that it was leaking —leaking badly—and it appeared certain that I should be drowned or fall a victim to the alligators THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 1 waited for the sun to rise, for until it did I could not tell whether I was on the Dutch or French banks of the river. At last it showed itself from behind the clouds, and the sky quickly turned to that terrible blue shade which in this part of the world means a scorching day. To my joy I saw that I was on the Dutch side ry esd | = | vam) oa Mees >on “As soon as he saw me he stopped sawing and picked up a rifle lying near. if I did not soon reach the river bank. But where was the bank ? 1 shall never forget that last half-hour of paddling; it was a veritable nightmare. My coffin-boat would do nothing right; I was swaying and splashing about continually in my efforts to keep a straight course. My strength, too, was giving out, and momentarily the water deepened about my legs. Just when Thad given up all hope, a black wall loomed up in front, and I crashed into something hard. The coffin immediately turned over, throwing me into the water. Luckily it was only a few fect deep, and I hurriedly mbled out and threw myself down on the solid ground. The black wall, it appeared, was the dense forest of trees and climbing plants on the river bank, and when daylight dawned I was able to see the opposite bank. In the greatest agitation I pointed of the river, and, resolved not to run any further risk, I shouldered my bundle of clothing, which I had rescued from the river, and, fixing it on a stick, turned my back on the stream and plunged into the forest. Nobody who has not been in the dense maze of trees, bushes, plants, and creepers that makes up a tropical forest can imagine what the difficulties of locomotion are. I felt that a thousand unfriendly eyes were watching me, that a thousand mysterious creatures were dogging my footsteps. This way and that I zigzagged through the under- growth, endeavouring to strike a path leading away from the river, where I feared I might be seen and recaptured. Parrots and other strange birds nearly froze my blood with their startling cries, sometimes close over my head. More than once the strange hairy faces of monkeys leered at me, and only an absolute determination

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THE not to be frightened kept me from losing my nerve altogether. At last, absolutely worn out, I threw myself down, untied my bundle, and making a pillow of my clothes, spread out the blanket in which I carried everything. Immedi- ately T fell asleep. Thus ended my first day of liberty. MAN FROM THE COFFIN. 187 1 only recall two other incidents of my second day's march. One was finding a glass bottle, which made me fear that men were somewhere gt hand—and men were likely to be enemies ; the other was the discovery of a beautiful crystal-clear stream. You may be sure [ carefully washed my glass bottle and filled it to my white face and held out my empty hands, showing him I had no weapon.” I must have slept many hours, for when I woke the sun was round in the east again, having risen an hour or so previously. I had been careful to note where the north lay before going to sleep, for I did not wish to lose my direction. Suddenly, I noticed that the ground underneath me seemed to be moving ; then 1 saw that my clothes were swarming with large black ants. It took me about an hour to rid myself of the pests and shake them out of my bundle. Then I ate some of my meagre stock of provisions, all sodden with river-water. I had nothing at all to drink, so it was a good thing they contained some moisture. Just as I was finishing something black dropped on my legs and made a dash to snatch a piece of food out of my hand. It was a monkey. It missed its grab, and I managed to hit it on the ear with my fist. whereupon it retreated up a tree. and its possession made me feel a lot happier and easier in my mind about the future. On the third day I had an unpleasant adventure. I encoun- tered an Indian. He was sitting on a low tree-branch when I first espied him, and had evidently been watching me for some time. We met in a sort of clearing, and for some seconds stood face to face, each watching the other across the empty space. Then he moved abruptly and pointed a long stick at me. I believe it was a blow-pipe, shooting poisoned thorns. Seeing this ] jumped aside, and picked up a handy log of wood, which I threw at him. My aim was good, and it hit him full in the face. At this he ran into the brushwood and disappeared. Fearing an attack from another direction, I also ran away from the A_ Hostile Indian.

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188 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. spot as fast as I could, but fortunately } saw no more Indians. As well as I can remember, I spent about a week more tramping in the forest. Often -I encountered stretches that were completely impassable and had to make long detours to keep my direction. Wild pigs frequently crossed my path, and once I am almost sure J was dogged by a jaguar. All my food had now gone, and J had to subsist on berries and a kind of plant very much like celery, which I had tried eating without harmful results, and which was to be found in great quantities. I could feel that I was growing weak, however, and I realized that, in spite of the risk, I should have to return to the river in search of some small patch of civili- zation. The weather changed about this time, and heavy rain fell, so that I was compelled to spend many hours under the comparative shelter of big trees. At last 1 turned my steps towards the south- east again, and eventually emerged on the river bank. I had been careful to keep more or less parallel with it in my wanderings. The travelling was easier here, and I actually saw some boats on the river, but always hid when they came too near. One evening I perceived a little hut, outside which a white man was Sawing wood. I determined to approach him, whatever hap- pened, for I had decided that it was impossible for me to continue wandering aimlessly in the forest. I had an almost overpowering longing for human companionship; I felt that I could not stand the dreadful solitude much longer. I therefore stepped out boldly towards the hut. As soon as he saw me, the Dutchman—for such he proved to be—stopped sawing and picked up a rifle lying near. I pointed to my white face and held out my empty hands, showing him T had no weapon of any sort. When I drew near I found he could speak a little French, and J told him I was lost in the forest. He asked me where I was bound for, and I told him T wished to get into Brazil, I feel certain he suspected I had escaped from the penal settlement, for he carefully refrained from asking me where I had come from and how I had got lost—obvious questions in ordinary circumstances. T sat down and watched him sawing, and noticed that he was careful to face me all the time, and never to move far from his rifle. When he had finished his work he took me into his hut and offered me food, which I ate ravenously. Mean- while he watched me out of the tail of his eye, but his suspicions were soon overcome, and at last he showed a friendly spirit, offering me the comparative comfort of a hammock in a corner of the hut, which I was only too glad to accept after so many loncly nights spent in the forest. 1 stayed ten days with the I Make a friendly Dutchman, helping him Friend, to saw wood and do other things in return for his hospitality. We went both fishing and shooting together; he did the shooting and I carried and plucked the game he killed. Soon we became the best of friends. Finally, we went to the source of the river in his boat, and there, I found, he had another hut. Not far away was the Brazilian border, and I was impatient to cross it and feel really safe. My Dutch friend, when talking over my plans, said he had a friend who was going to the upper regions of the Amazon to trade and gather rubber. Would I like to go with him? Naturally I jumped at the idea, and we duly boated by small streams to the Brazilian’s house, which lay at the foot of the mountains. He was a big, heavy-jawed man, rough in manner and speech, His wife—a half-caste—two grown-up sons, and a daughter lived with him. He told me I could accompany him if I chose to help him and work hard, otherwise I needn’t come. Having agrecd to this, I left my kind old Dutch friend and stayed two days in the Brazilians house. I couldn't understand a word that was said, and we had to manage by signs. I both ate and slept well—a big consideration to me at that time in my enfeebled state—but I got plenty of work to do; indeed, I did all the dirty jobs of the place. I was so anxious, however, to put a great distance between myself and French Guiana that I did not for a moment dream of refusing any of them. Eventually we started on our trip—the Brazilian, one of his friends, and myself. We travelled, of course, by boat, because almost the only highways in that wild part of the world are waterway For days we wound in and out of the dense forest land, stopping at settlements here and there to procure fresh meat, mixed water and wine, and fruit. It was a monotonous life, but I was happy, because I was daily getting farther away from St. Laurent and Cayenne, and their memory was rapidly fading into the past like some evil dream. I did not like my travelling companions, who were brutal bullies and treated me as a mere slave, but they were serving a useful purpose. Suddenly, one day, we parted company—!n so dramatic a fashion that the incident nearly put a finish to my career. We must have struck a mudbank or some obstruction under water, for without warning the boat all but capsized. The Brazilian swore at me in a fearful rage, for I was steering the boat at the time, and she was under sail, He stood over me and threatened me, and, losing my temper, I hit him across the face. Immediately he picked up an var, and before I could avoid it, caught me a heav blow on the side of the head. Losing my balance. if fell into the river. The occupants of the boat didn’t stop to see if I drowned or not, but sailed at once. I should certainly not have scaped had [I nut come up, coughing and sre tering, right against the obstruction our boat ‘ grazed on. 1 found I could stand up in the water, which only reached my chest. I Pai loudly, but the boat went steadily on, and “008 disappeared out of sight round a bend.

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THE MAN FROM THE COFFIN. 189 “Losing my balance, I fell into the river.” now in a pretty plight indeed—marooned in the middle of a river! Shouting and waving my arms at intervals, I saw at last a rowing boat with two men in it. They came near me and I grasped hold of the boat and was about to try ‘to haul myself in when one of the men pushed me back. Placing my hands on the stern, which they had turned towards me, he signed to me to stay there. In this manner they towed me ashore and took me to a hut, where I undressed and put my clothes to dry in the sun. I had lost everything except what I stood up in, for all my belongings were on board the Brazilian boat. My new acquaintances turned With the out to be rubber-gatherers, and Rubber- very decent fellows. I stayed Gatherers. = with them for about two months, and saw how the trees are tapped and how rubber is cured. I was given a“ beat ” to collect the rubber from, and managed to pick up a few senterces in the language my hosts spoke. Eventually I got on a boat going to Manaos, which is a port of considerable size, the centre of the up-river rubber trade. Here I got a job in the docks, unloading ships, and received the first payment for my work. As you can imagine, I was greatly delighted to be in a town again, and I passed eighteen very agrecable months there. Having got so far, however, I decided I must go back down the Amazon towards the mouth or strike south to Bolivia. I was not disposed to return part of the way I had come—it seemed like going back to that hated St. Laurent—so I got in with a trader who was going down the Madeira river to a place called Villa Bella. He gave mea passage as extra hand, and, having made up my mind to change my calling, I bought with the money I had saved from my docker’s wages a lot of trinkets and clothes, as well as some knick- knacks, with a view to selling them in the Bolivian villages. That journey from Manaos to Villa Bella was the most uneventful part of all my travels. Once at my destination, I set off to start my career as a pedlar. I sold some of my stock, but not enough to make ends meet, and very soon I was on the rocks again, One day, worn out and practically starving, I

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190 crawled into an isolated hut-like farm. The occupants were so struck with my haggard appearance that, taking pity upon me, they let me Stay and gave me work asa herdsman. After a month or so I had the ill-luck to quarrel with another worker there, a general favourite, but a man of evil moods, and was literally beaten out of the place With boots worn out, my clothes in rags, my beard and hair unkempt and long, I became a beggar, and little by little dragged my way to the town of Trinidad. There I turned stable boy, and though the property was dirty and tumble-down and the wages small, I took the job with great alacrity. My master turned out to be a drunken brute who beat his wife and children whenever the humour took him. One night he beat them so badly that I had to inter- fere, the result being that I got the “sack,” a cut ear, and a sprained wrist. Having had enough of Trinidad, I started off again on my wanderings, and tramped as far as Santa Cruz, stopping here and there to do odd jobs on my way and then moving on. Santa Cruz smiled on me, for the second day I was there I saw a nice-looking lady doing some work in a garden. I went and offered myself asaservant. The lady could speak French (she had actually been in Paris), and she took me on as her gardener. I must admit she knew more about gardening than I did, and I worked under her direction. I was paid good wages, began to be clean again, and to enjoy life. When the lady’s husband came back from Buenos Aires I heard from them about that beautiful city, the Argentine capital, which--—according to them— THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, was only second to my beloved Paris. Their stories fired me with a desire to see this wonderful place, so one day, half regretfully, I bade farewell to my agreeable employers and journeyed by stage coach to Tarija. From here it was possible to go to Buenos Aires by train, but I had to look for employment of some sort first, as I had not sufficient money to pay the fare. I have evil memories of Tarija; 1 searched it high and low, but found nothing I could do. However, I did one piece of useful business—I made the ac- quaintance of an accommodating State func- tionary who, for a sum of money, supplied me with false papers, and I became a citizen of the Argentine, taking the name of Lareynie, the name of the street where my home is in Paris. Tarija proving unprofitable, I tramped to Tupiza, which lay due west, and there, when I had got down to my last pesefa, T secured a job at a brush factory. I was getting on very well here, everything seemed plain sailing, and I had made my plans to entrain for Buenos Aires in a couple of months’ time, when I contracted a chill. It went to my lungs, and finally I was removed to a hospital. There I all but died, and I was so weak when I recovered that I could only walk with difficulty. It was six months before I was strong enough to work again, and by that time I had spent all my hard-won savings, for the hospital people, finding that I possessed some money, made me pay before I left, though I must admit I got more attention than ordinary patients. K There remained but one thing for me: to go back to the brush factory and begin all over again. I think it The bedside that drew Albert Juge back to Paris and recapture. His aged mother in her room in the Rue de la Reynie. was some two years later when I finally boarded ‘ the train. My spirits were high; I was as ex- cited as a bride. I sat in that train and watched the rolling plains fly by with a delight I cannot find words to express. At last we reached the great city—for it seemed to me immense — with its beautiful big squares, splendid shops, theatres, trams, and brightly-lit cafés. I almost went crazy, and I spent quite a lot of mbdney playing the gentle- man of means. You cannot realize how I felt after my hardships in the wilderness.

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THE Avis Les déteuue ne peu- vent gerire qu’a leors provbes pareuts et tu- te te tours, et eculement lois par mois, A moins nin oy prénoms ‘e Ne aeerou 4] ¢ Alelier fone Conn MAN FROM THE COFFIN. T91 That was a great day for me! I went to an hotel and as soon as evening came slipped out and went round to my old home, What memories came back to me! How good it was to greet aul lel 198 Creberk 698 ) He ne doivent parler 40 WN: CRE * t. my father and que de leurs affaires * as tanilic ct de leurs mother, and how térets prises. Il lew araa : eet inverdi de deman- overjoyed they a ae de recevoir were to see me. Mesbega outa’ In oa C . Ci They had been in- peuvent envoyer ou : 4 he y formed of my es- Tecevour des ve Whe (a ues aur Taaiereanioe i £5 beet cape, but had exprease du Directeur : heard nothing of Convene \ Oe dit ou wee , ee : me nce I had jefe + sts a St. aurent, and Langue par be peek . gees, sou enn we On 2a way tote vata had practically pestis nom cus irs G. ef given me up as ‘ampramtes tea «sours Ie ac cette , Cy wae Gewe au cya ne qven menus . * . . peas aT ite pe + ‘ obgctade corps.commne Always Commer fe ac AQ fund, Oe T owas in Paris five weeks. I never A facsimile of the opening of Juge’s letter to his father and mother, went Stas sees ny? written from his cell at Fresnes Prison. parents in the day- time, lest any of When I had had enough of this life of amuse- ment, I searched for a situation, I meant to get a comfortable one this time, for 1 felt I had travelled enough, and might reasonably settle down in such a fine city. I laugh when I think of it now, At the but I actually got a position as a French man-servant at the French Con- Consulate. sulate! There I remained for two years and a half. I should probably still be there, had not a great yearning for news of my old parents taken possession of me. I dared not write to them, for I should have to send my real name, and that might have proved fatal. One day I determined, at all costs, to revisit them. 1 would go over to Paris, see them, and then come back. Perhaps I could get the dear old folks to return to the Argentine with me! By this time I had saved a good sum of money, so I asked for leave of absence, saying I wanted to visit an old uncle. The permission was duly granted, and I obtained the necessary passports from the Consul. Then I looked out for a boat sailing to Europe and eventually found one going to Genoa. I sailed from Buenos Aires in high glee, feeling sure that T should never be recog- nized. I had left France as a young man. Now I was forty, grey-haired, and much wrinkled by the hardships I had been through. I worked my passage to Genoa as a deck hand, and, reaching that port, was duly paid-off. As soon as I had obtained the necessary papers for entering France I got in the train, and two days later found myself back in the Paris streets. the neighbours sheuld remark upon it. T almost persuaded myself that I was quite safe, and that, the police had clean forgotten me. Having reformed, and having The Blow no intention whatever of re- Falls. turning to my former Apache associates, even if 1 could have found them, I began to look around for employment, as the old folks did not care, at their age, to begin life afresh in a new country. It was then that the blow fell! Somebody must have seen me coming and going from my parents’ house, and secretly informed the police. One night, as 1 was going away, I was suddenly seized from behind in the narrow Rue de la Reynie, and the next moment realized that I was in the grip of two plain-clothes detectives ! They took me to the police-station. Inquiries were made, and I was identified by means of my old portrait and thumb-prints, which had been unearthed at the anthropological — depart- ment of the Prefecture of Police. My Argentine papers were proved to be “faked.””. And here Iam, again in a cell! Albert Ju: personal narrative finishes here. There orlly remains to be reproduced the letter which he wrote to his Juge’s father.

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192 heart-broken parents after his capture. I give it in full, because it shows that the character of the man is not wholly bad Fresnes, July, 1920 Dear MotTHer, DEAR FATHER, As I told father when I saw him on Thursday, I have received a letter from Mme, Mauricette* which gives me some hope. As I don’t know if I can write to her direct, will you please tell her I have written to you, and thank her for me, as I cannot do it myself. Keep me informed about the steps she is taking, although I do not hope for a good result ; it would be tco fine; we are not used, my poor old mother, to having any such luck. The result anyway does not matter. I shall remember the good intention and the encourage- ment we have received in our bad luck. I have received your letter, Mother. Try to © A lady who interested herself in Juge's case with a view to obtaining a reprieve THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. console yourself. 1 know it is hard at your age to see me go away for good; I dare not think about it myself. What gives me most sorrow is to know that I leave you like this. I don't know how long I shall be kept here. I shall have the pleasure of seeing father some time, and I would have liked to have seen you also, Motuer. But we must not think of it. You can be sure that I think of you often. I ought to have gone to see you oftener than I did. Little by little the time is passing, and the worst is over now. So take courage, and remember that if I had not been unlucky I should have had to go away again and so been far from you. For my own part, I consider I have to begin all over again, but my health is good and my morale also. And I have courage. Au revoir, my good old parents. I shall wait to see father on Thursday. In the meanwhile I embrace you tenderly. Your loving son, JuGe, ALBERT P.S.—All my thanks to Mme. Mauricette. THE LARGEST MOTH IN THE WORLD. WE reproduce on this page a photograph of the largest moth in the world-the Altacus Edieardstt This particular speciinen was caught in the Khasi Hills of Assam, and measured no less than eleven inches across the wings. The four transparent eve- spots, easily discernible in the picture, are tinged with yellow, while the great furry body is of a light brown colour, with splashes of white. The correspondent who sends us the photograph informs us that Altacus Edwardsti_ is closely allied to the Bombyx, or silk- producing moths. produce silk which is so fine that each single thread measures from 1-1600th to 1-2400th part of an inch in diameter, while the silk produced by the species here shown is much coarser and therefore not quite so useful for manufacturing purposes, each thread The caterpillars of the latter measuring about 1-7ooth part of an inch. The ut of these moths was first recognized in China, the s making industry of that country dating back over two thousand years.

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' THE FIRE-WALKERS OF SINGAPORE LF Sto¢kwell ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN DE WALTON An account, by an eye-witness, of an extraordinary ceremony that takes place annually at a Tamil temple in Singapore. Men, women, and children in honour of their goddess walk through a white-hot charcoal fire four feet deep and over thirty feet long, emerging un- harmed and with their feet apparently quite uninjured by the ordeal ! Scientific investigators have entirely failed to discover the secret of this remarkable phenomenon. HE fire-walking of Indian ascetics holds some mystery that still puzzles European investigators. An interesting ceremony of this description takes place every year in a Tamil temple at Singapore in honour of Draupadi, a Hindu goddess, who is said to have proved her chastity by passing through the flames. Those anxious to propitiate her undergo the ordeal of fire-walking after having fasted for a week previously. I had the good fortune, a little while ago, to be an eye-witness of the proceedings at this extra- ordinary festival. It is a vivid and exciting scene, full of movement and colour. Throughout the day the gaily-decorated temple is thronged with crowds in holiday attire making offer- ings at the various shrines, breaking coco- nuts as a ceremonial act, and watching the self-imposed tortures of the ascetics. These last, after having paraded the strects, scourging themselves with whips, cutting themselves with knives, and passing silver skewers through the muscles of their bodies and their tongues, go to the temple to suffer further austerities. The scene in the dim twilight of the building, redolent of incense, ghi, and the heavy odour of the Champak blossom, was not easily forgotten. Save for its Eastern setting, it might have been a picture ot the Spanish Inquisition. One ascetic after another was led forward, his bare body garlanded with green limes and neem leaves, and took his place in a high wooden chair. Close by stood twenty to thirty Vol. xlvi.—14 priests, fierce and fanatical-looking, with unkempt locks and blazing eyes, They formed a circle round the devotee with joined hands, and into this we, the only Europeans, were admitted. The devotee, seated in the chair, with every muscle strained and head bowed with pain, would have made a striking subject for a sculptor. His body was encased in a metal frame which was gradually screwed tighter and tighter—‘‘ very troubling,” as a native standing near explained to us. At the same time heavy silver skewers, like those used for hanging meat in an old- fashioned “ Jack,’’ were passed through the muscles of the wretched man’s body. As the ordeal went on drops of sweat broke out on the victim’s brow and his body became tense with agony, yet never a murmur was heard from him. When at length the instrument of torture was with- drawn he was left in a half-fainting condition. One of the priests put a bottle of bhang to his mouth, and, revived by the powerful liquor, he was finally led away, and his body dusted with healing powder. The fire-walking took place in an open courtyard, where a charcoal fire four feet deep and over thirty feet long had been prepared in a trench two hours before, and was now a glowing mass giving out so fierce a heat that those employed to turn it overt with long rakes had to be constantly drenched with buckcts of water. The outer court- yard was filled with men and boys, some pressing close to the fire, others climbing into trees and on to houses in their efforts

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THE WIDE WORLD 14 MAGAZINE, “Some were fighting in their haste to enter the flames, others hung to see the ceremony. The inner veranda of the temple was crowded with women and children, whose gay, crude-coloured gar- ments gave them the appearance of a gor- reous bed of flowers. An air of suppressed excitement prevailed, and every now and «gain the men rose to their feet and pressed eagerly forward, only to be beaten back by the energetic little Malay policemen, who were here in strong force under the superin- tendence of a European officer to see that the excitement did not grow to a pitch of danger. In pre-British days a young girl was annually sacrificed to the goddess, but this is now forbidden, and Draupadi has to be content with a milk-white goat, which was led in by a priest. A tall brass lamp of Digitized by GOO@LE oO

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‘ ee THE FIRE-WALKERS OF SINGAPORE. 195 back and had to be urged forward by priests or relatives.” picturesque pattern, a long curved knife, and a scarlet flower were laid on the ground beside it. After a few preliminary ceremo- nies, saffron was sprinkled on the animal’s head, a chaplet of flowers placed over the horns, and the smoke from the lanip wafted into its face—perhaps to drug it into quietude, for ill-luck would follow should it move in the act of being sacrificed. Then the knife was held aloft, and before we could realize what had happened, one man was dragging the carcass away and another was running in the opposite direction with the head. The blood was allowed to run into a muddy pool at the other end of the fire into which gallons of good milk had already been poured, and through which the fire-walkers must step as they emerge from the flames. A

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106 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, One wondered what poignant story underlay this little scene —perhaps a dying child at home, or the desire for a son lest she be supplanted inher husband’s affections by another woman. Whatever her motive, courage and faith failed her at the last moment, and she was allowed to turn off by a side path. Very few, however, flinched from the ordeal, though one or two women fainted during their progress through the flames and were quickly rescued by the attendant priests, who stood all round to render assistance and to pull the fire-walkers through Outside the fire-walkers’ temple. Notice the man with the nails thrust through his flesh and the skewers through his lips. wild shout of exultation went up when the act of sacrifice was completed. And now a Joud tom-tomming announced the arrival of the fire-walkers. There were some two hundred of them, the men wearing saftron-coloured loin-cloths, the women clad entirely in robes of that colour, To the weird wailing music of pipes they pressed on, with blazing eves and loosened hair. Some were fighting in their haste to enter the flames, others hung back and had to be urged forward by priests or relatives. Some were professed ascetics, perhaps with a withered arm held aloft and a thousand silver nails passed through the skin; others were ordinary folk who had made a vow to thus propitiate the goddess, in order the pool at the end. One or two men, anxious to acquire extra merit, faced the trench a second time, and danced madly round in the fiery pit till pulled off. I should have liked to take some photographs of the actual fire-walking, but this was out of the question. Those who have passed through the fire declare that they feel no pain at the time. neither are their feet blistered nor burnt. They admit to drinking bhang to work them up to the necessary pitch of excitement, but declare that nothing is rubbed on their feet beforehand. The strong stimulant might possibly make them oblivious to pain at the time, but would certainly not account for their feet being completely uninjured by the fire, as, to all appearances, they are. It would be extremely interesting to have the mystery explained. to secure the birth of a son, or the recovery from sickness of some dear one. Most of them walked hurriedly through the fire, holding a bunch of sacred neem leaves over their heads; a few strolled along leisurely over the glowing charcoal, noticeable among these being an old grey-haired woman. Some carried small children in their arms, who cried lustily from the terrific heat, and one or two boys and girls about eight years old went through the ordeal alone. <A tragic figure was that of a young girl with unbound hair and _ staring, terrified eyes, who hung back, unable to face the fire, but was persistently pushed forward by an old woman at her back. The gateway of the temple.

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HOW WILLY SAVED Lhe A late frost in the orange groves of California means ruination to the crop and severe loss to the growers. This little story describes how a resourceful schoolboy circumvented Jack Frost and saved his father's precious crop. T was the coldest day the orange growers of San Lorenzo Valley, California, had ever known. Every- body was apprehensive. For three nights the growers had burned crude oil in sheet-iron orchard heaters, and thus, by Taising the temperature about the ripening fruit, had frustrated Jack Frost’s ruinous invasion. But now the mercury was already falling, long before sunset the fuel for the orchard heaters was exhausted, and a crisis in the orange industry had suddenly come to San Lorenzo Valley. A few hours of below- zero temperature during the oncoming night would leave the oranges frozen and worth- less. When Willy Evans came out of school that afternoon he saw groups of men along the main street talking gravely among them- selves. He had been in a warm schoolroom all day, and had not noticed the tempera- ture outside. Passing one group, he heard the postmaster saying: “It is certainly most serious. Here we are with a freeze coming on, and not a hundred gallons of oil left in the whole valley to raise the tempera- ture. It’s no use thinking of getting any oil out here before to-morrow at noon. We're all going broke to-night all right—we're all in the same boat.” “You bet it’s going to be cold,” said another man; “ but can’t we get oil into the valley before night? It will just about Tuin me if L get my six-thousand-dollar crop frozen up before morning.” “No; we can’t get a drop till to-morrow,” chimed in a third. ‘T've been trying all day to have oil hauled here from Los Angeles. We've just got to make the best of a hard run of luck, Joe.” : Still further along the street Willy heard more ominous remarks, He stopped at the bank corner; the thermometer registered forty-two. ORANGE CROP _4/11-G:TINSLEY Illustrated hy “It is going down to thirty before eleven o'clock to-night, sure enough,” said Willy to himself. “And that means we'll have the whole crop ruincd by daylight. Banker Lawrence will be having our home-place and grove on the loan father took to build the house ! "” Gripping his school-books tighter under his arm, Willy walked nervously on. He faced the greatest responsibility of his life. He was the eldest of three boys, and was in the graduating class at the San Lorenzo high school. When his parents and brothers had left for San Francisco the week before, the father had put Willy in charge of the grove. The product of that grove was the sole means of livelihood of the Evans family. Willy was thinking hard. The man who did ranch work for Mr. Evans, and who had been firing the orchard heaters, came along. ‘ Well, Willy,’ he said, sadly; “it’s all up now. You may as well wire your daddy that he’ll need his vacation money at home this year. We're goin’ to be froze up to-night; there’s no escapin’ it. Hain't got no oil, and can’t do nothin’. We're up agin it this time. I’m goin’ to find a new job to-morrow.” “ Hold on, Jackson, and let me think,” returned Willy, rubbing his forehead. “‘ Isn’t there any way to save something of the crop ? Can't we do something ? It is our all, you know.” ~ Nothing that nobody knows about,” replied Jackson. ‘I hate to make you feel bad, my boy, but there’s no way out. Sce how cold it is now, with the sun up. What'll it be when it gets dark 2? Nobody can fight against twenty-five degree weather, you know.”” “I've got a scheme that may save some- thing, anyhow,” retorted Willy, desperately. “Come around in half an_hour, and we'll

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198 talk it over. I can't sit by and see father lose his property.” “ All right,” said Jackson. ‘ Just as you say; but get it out of your head that you are goin’ to burn any smudge-pots in that grove till we can get oil out here from Los Angeles.” Willy walked on in a daze. As he neared home he broke into a run. He burst through the front door, tossed his books into a chair, snatched up the telephone, and began calling to his chum, Jack Harris. “Say, will you give me a lift to- night 2?" »“ ve got a great scheme to save father’s oranges from freezing. If he loses them it is ‘ good night ’ for us.’ “ Bet your life, Willy: anything you say,” came back the answer. “But I want more help, too; do you think the football team will come and do a bit in saving the crop ?”’ “ Of course; we all come,” replied Jack, “but I'm wondering what you're going to do.” “ Jack, Iam going to pick the oranges if you fellows will stay by me. Tam sure we can get most of them off the trees and under cover by the time the real freezing sets in.” “Going to pick the crop in one night ! Well, that surely is some idea, Anyhow, vou can't do more than make a try at it. Tl get the whole football bunch and come with them.” . When Jackson arrived Willy told him his plans for the night.“ And now,” continued Willy, talking fa: ‘will you get every box and barrel you can find in the cellar out into the barn and garage? Anything that will hold oranges will do till father gets back from 'Frisco.”’ “ Allright, my boy,” said Jackson ; ‘ only don't let folks in the town laugh at me all the rest of my life. You've got to take the blame. This is your own idea.” Willy turned away to run over the pages of the telephone book. He was looking up the numbers of half-a-dozen men in the town whom he knew would be glad for a chance to work on such a night of distress in the vallev. He did not quibble about expenses, and he took a lot of raillery over the telephone at his parting with good money on such an absurd campaign as he had mapped out for the next seven or eight hours. Then he called up several old-time friends of the family and asked if he might use their automobiles after dark. ‘] want the use of the headlights to light up the grove while the boys pick father’s orange crop before it begins to freeze,’’ he explained. From everyone he got sarcastic remarks, but they were all willing to help, and several men volunteered to help Willy in the orange- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. picking if he really meant to try to carry out his plans. The sun was now beginning to set and it was getting chillier every moment. From the telephone Willy darted into the yard. Jackson was hauling boxes from the cellar and stacking them under the encalyptus tree. Willy rushed over to neighbours to borrow step-ladders and more receptacles for the picked fruit. He also procured lamps and filled them. In the midst of the activity Jack Harris came driving into the vard with his family automobile loaded with members of the football team. ‘‘ Here we come; there's another machine after us,” cried Jack, as he leaped to the ground. “ Gee! but this is something startling! All the boys are per- fectly willing to lend a hand, and they'll stay till the very last orange is under cover. Tell us where to start in; we're hot for work.” Presently a second automobile came rush- ing into the vard, and another lot of football plavers jumped out, “ Bully for Willy!" called someone, ‘* Willy, we'll stick by you till the cows come home!” cried another. Hardly had they climbed out than a third car, likewise laden, came upon the scene. Ladders were brought out, picking sacks were put over heads and abont shoulders, and, clippers in hand, the laughing, merry party went forth into the grove to begin a record-breaking harvesting of oranges. “ Start in on that row,” called Willy, waving his hand towards the grove.‘ Dump your picking sacks into the boxes along the row.” It was 4.30 and the temperature was per- ceptibly chillier, A little later the men hired to as in getting the picked fruit under cover began to arrive, and by five o’clock the work was in full swing. Never was such ac ivity seen in any orchard in the valley. While the boys worked like beavers, clipping the golden-hued spheres from the twigs, the men gathered the fruit into boxes and barrels and carried them on wheelbarrows to the garage and barn. When darkness came on the borrowed automobiles were brought into use for illumination. They were run between the rows in the grove and their head-lights trained upon the trees in process of picking. As on most dangerously cold nights in the orange-growing sections, the moon came up full and fair, and the boys had no trouble in seeing the fruit. At cight o’clock the mercury stood at thirtv-eight. Three rows of trees had been picked clean, There were seven more rows to be done, but work was going ahead faster than ever. The boys had gained in enthu- siasm and had learned celerity. When the Testaurant man from down town arrived with the sandwiches and warm drinks which Willy

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HOW ‘WILLY SAVED THE ORANGE CROP. 199 “There were seven more rows to be done, but work was going ahead faster than ever.”

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200 had ordered by telephone the men carried the refreshment to the pickers, but they were sv zealous in competing for a record that would never be forgotten in the valley that they would scarcely stop to take occasional bites and gulps. Judge Conway heard the sounds in the grove and came over to see what was going on in the Evans orchard. ‘ What in the world are you boys doing this cold night ? he asked. ‘ Heavens and earth! if: you aren't picking your father’s oranges, Willy ! Are you crazy—picking the crop in the middle of the night and when it isn’t ready for marketing ?"” Willy stopped to explain the situation. “Whatever father can get for the fruit will be that much saved from the wreck how, Judge,” he said, clipping off orar the while like mad. “Well, well, that's certainly a great idea,” replied the Judge. ‘It's a bit early to pick the fruit, but, as von sav, vou will be getting something for the crop.” At ten o'clock the mercury was at thirty- four degrees, and there it stood for an hour. “We are all safe so far,” called one of the boys from the thermometer,‘ Almost. six rows cleaned of fruit.” The piles of boxes and barrels grew higher in the cellar; the barn had been filled for some time, and the men, carrving boxes from the pickers, moved rapidly to keep up with the picking crew. The town clock struck twelve while the boys were taking another bite at the light meal that had been brought to them, ‘ Only three more rows to do, and we shall have the crop safely under cover, Willy,” sang out one of the bo “Won't the folks in this town be sur- prised to-morrow to find how we have cheated old Jack Frost !"’ chuckled another. At 12.30 but one row remained unpicked. The mercury was at thirty-two. It takes several hours of temperature at thirty to damage oranges nearly ripe. Work went on without pause. At one o'clock someone sang out: “ Mercury's touched thirty, boys. Now let's get that half-row finished before it hits twenty-nine.” To this day Jackson tells how the San Lorenzo football team put in that final half-hour rescuing the last of . the orange crop. The town clock had just tolled two when THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Ben Williams sang out triumphantly from farther down the orchard, at the end of the last row: “ All done; every orange off the tr and under cover! Now let old Jack Frost sail in and do his worst !"" While the men were putting the last box of fruit in the cellar Willy invited the party into the house for a hot supper before they dispersed for the mght. News of a general freeze among the orange reached Mr, Evans in San Francisco. Telegraphic despatches said that the crop in his home locality was a complete loss, and when Mr. Evans came down the railroad car steps at San Lorenzo, two days later, he showed signs of anxiety. As he walked heavily across the station platform he said to his son, ‘' This freeze, Willy, is an awful blow. It has come at a critical time in our affairs, and I fear it will cripple us very much,”” Willy waited till he got his father home. Then he took bim round the grove, showed him the stfipped trees, the boxes and barrels filled with oranges, and the curling leaves on the trees where frost had touched after the fruit had been picked. Then he told how he and his school chums had saved the crop. It was searcely credible, but there was the proof of the salvage before Mr. Evans’ eves. A telegram was immediately sent to Mrs. Evans telling her of the saving of their crop—the only one in the region that escaped Jack Trost. Sitting alone with his father that evening, Willy casually remarked, “ Oh, father, I ought to tell you that a buyer for the Los Angeles Commission Company was here vesterday. He wants to buy the crop in the cellar and barn for eleven thousand dollars cash down. He will be here to see you to- morrow, but the Exchange manager tells me that our fruit will easily bring fifteen thousand dollars, now that the yield in the valley has been practically wiped out.” The great dinner that the San Lorenzo football team and the Evans family partici- pated in at the hotel a week later was the talk of the locality for its sumptuousness, The team's elaborate uniforms and equip- ment the following season have long been a matter of pride in the valley. The donor’s TOVE name was never published, but his identity is generally known.

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“MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” “G hoot ate I What was the a A CAPTAIN EN BENNETT Figure? ILLUSTRATED BY W. SMITHSON BROADHEAD The inexplicable happening that took place at a house in Gloucestershire one Christmas night. The Author vouches absolutely for the accuracy of the particulars, and as evidence of his standing it may be 4nentioned that he was formerly M.P. for the Woodstock division and Fellow of Hertford College, Oxford, and is a J.P. for Oxfordshire. URING the Christmas vacation of Igor, when I was a bachelor ‘‘ don” at Oxford, I received an invitation from my friends, the B—- H—’s, in Gloucestershire, to join their party for the county ball. On my arrival I found the house full of youths and maidens, including the three charming daughters of my hostess. After two or three days of merry-hearted enjoyment—walking, skating, dancing, and so forth—the conversation at dinner one evening turned to Spiritualism, and, as I was known to be a keen member of the Psychical Research Society, Mrs. B—— H ’s sudden demand, “ Oh, Mr. Bennett, do get us a good medium down here for some séances!’’ was supported by a veritable chorus of ‘‘ Oh! please do!” Now, I have never cared to treat psychical research in a frivolous spirit, and I was not drawn to the idea of using any medium, fraudulent or otherwise, as the centre of a semi-comic Christmas séance. In response to my assertion that nearly all paid mediums were fraudulent, Mrs. B—— H replied : “ But surely you know of at least one reliable medium ?”’ “Well, as a matter of fact,” said I, “I know one medium, Mrs. Corner, formerly Miss Florence Cook, who sat with the famous Sir William Crookes and convinced him of her genuineness. I hold no brief for this lady, and can guarantee no results, but i you are really in earnest about the matter I think I could get her down, but only on two conditions—that no fee shall be given her except her travelling expenses, and that she shall be regarded as a guest on the same footing as ourselves.” These conditions were gladly acceded to, and two days afterwards, in the evening, Mrs. Corner duly arrived with her young daughter, a girl about sixteen. After dinner a séance was arranged in the drawing-room, a large room almost divided into two parts by portions of an earlier partition wall and a curtain (vide plan). The sitters were some of the house-party, with one or two outside friends of the family, including an able and well-read young doctor who was frankly sceptical with regard to all spiritualistic claims. We sat in a semi- circle facing the curtains, myself on the extreme right, the doctor next but one, and Miss Corner in the middle. The small curtained-off portion of the room formed the “cabinet.” It contained a few chairs and a piano. The single window looking out upon the gardens some distance below the level of the room was securely fastened and sealed in such a way that any attempt to open it would have been detected. The door was locked and the key taken by myself; further, a footman whom I could

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202 thoroughly trust was—to his mingled curi- osity and amusement—placed on guard in the hall, immediately opposite the door in question. I may add that Mrs. Corner had arrived in the dark some two hours before, and, being a complete stranger, had no previous knowledge of the arrangement of the house. As Mrs. Corner had expressed a desire to be thoroughly searched just before she entered the cabinet, a committee of ladies undertook to do this, and reported that they had stripped the medium and found nothing on her person except the usual underclothing and dress, The medium wore a laced-up semi-evening frock of black material, with black stockings and black shoes. She was placed in a chair facing the curtains, and enclosed in a kind of huge spider-web of filosel silk strands which fastened her ankles, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, of psychical research in general or séances in particular. All the rest of the sitters were normal, level-headed people, most of them definitely inclined @ priori to disbelieve in Spiritualism. We indulged in’ ordinary conversation, and I reminded the rest of the party of a pledge given by us collectively to Mrs. Corner before the sitting that, in the event of a figure making its appearance, we would not touch it without its permission, though we were at liberty to use any precautions we could suggest against fraud. Suddenly, after we had waited about ten minutes, the curtains parted and a white figure appeared in the opening. It had the appearance of a tall and slightly-built woman. The features were visible, but partly con- cealed by a turban hanging down from the head. Its dress consisted of a kind of tunic wrists, neck, etc., to the chair. I used of white material and short, rather volu- filosel silk be- minous white cause in the light GAROEN trousers tied in (and still more so in the dark) it is practically im- possible to un- fasten knots made in this material. In ad- dition to the silk fastenings, I placed a_ steel chain round Mrs. Corner’s — waist and secured her by this means to the chair, keep- ing the key of the padlock in my pocket. Very soon after the medium had been placed in the chair her head fell forward on her breast and she appeared to be in a kind of trance or cataleptic condition. After testing once more the seals and fastenings of the window and door, we drew the curtains and took our seats in the semicircle. The cabinet behind the curtains was almost dark, but the space where we sat was dimly iluminated by a red lamp, which afforded enough light to see the features of the sitters and read the time by one’s watch. All was now ready for any experiences which might be vouchsafed us. Should we get any of those amazing * materializations ”* which had years ago converted the sceptical Professor Crookes and other Fellows of the Royal Society to an avowed acceptance of the genuineness of the phenomena? Or should we draw a blank? I was the only one of the circle who had had.any experience ENTRANCE Hate The diagram shows how the medium was placed in relation to the members of the party. just below the knees; the arms and the legs be- low the knee were bare. This strange appan- tion, after with- drawing behind the curtains, Teappeared and, having repeated this manceuvre_ several times, seemed to gather courage and finally advanced into the open space, leaving the closed curtains behind it. The lips moved and it spoke to us in French, alleging itself to be “ Marie,” a former Algerian dancer, and carrying on a desultory conversation about its early life. Every now and then Marie would dart behind the curtains, only to reappear in a few seconds for fresh conversation and a few elementary dancing steps. She spoke French throughout the evening, but understood remarks made to her in English, and sometimes used rather coarse bits of French ergot (slang). The effect of this amazing apparition on the sitters was very interesting to notice. Most of us regarded Marie with sheer astonishment, and in one instance, when she actually stepped up to a gentleman on my left and shook hands with him, the recipient of the favour was obviously frightened, but told me afterwards that the hand felt ‘' like ordinary flesh and blood.” To myself a e ry iS = =. a ra

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“MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” 203 4 J ¥ te fe e e F e eg & e & tb w b 4 e e ie ¥ | z 2 2 as LE a 3 SS “She bounced forward and with a cry plumped her foot down on a small stool.”

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204 THE WIDE WORLD Marie was consistently disagreeable through- out, and on one occasion when I asked her to let ussee her feet more clearly, she bounced forward and with a cry of ‘‘ Voyez, puce que vous étes,” she plumped her foot down on a small stool beside me. I leant close down and stared at it—a woman's foot, small and shapely. After some ten minutes of these jerky appearances and equally jerky conversation, I said to the figure: ‘* Look here, Marie, the next time you go behind the curtain I am going with you.” This announcement was met by a fresh round of abuse, to which, how- ever, I paid no attention, and as Marie darted again into the cabinet, I jumped up, prepared. to follow her. I shall always regret that I did not carry out my intention of following the disappearing figure instantly. As it was, my hostess, having forgotten for the moment the terms of our pledge to the medium, ex- claimed: ‘‘ But, Mr. Bennett, didn't we promise not to follow the figure ?’’ I was able to satisfy her that we had given no such pledge, and the delay occasioned by Mrs. H ‘s hesitation did not exceed half a minute. I pulled the curtains aside, struck a match to improve the light, and looked around. No sign of the vivacious Marie was visible, the furniture was undis- turbed, the seals to the window intact, and in the chair sat Mrs. Corner, tied and fastened just as we had left her, still in a sleep-like condition, her head fallen forward on her breast. The footman had remained con- tinuously at his post in the hall opposite the door. Such are the facts of this amazing, and to me unique, experience. Any of those present —all but two are still alive—would corro- borate the details given above. What was the figure ? It is as well to exhaust the natural before turning to the supernatural. The first ex- planation which would ordinarily suggest itself is that Mrs. Corner had managed to get out of her chair, dress herself up in some white material, and masquerade as a “‘ mate- Tialized form.” Look, however, at the overwhelming diffi- culties of such an explanation. Quite apart from the previous search of the medium— it is possible that she might have been able to conceal some muslin about her person unnoticed by the ‘search committee ’— you will note that the figure was of a totally different build from that of the medium. Marie was tall—fully a ‘oot taller than Mrs. Corner—and exceedingly slim, whereas the medium was inclined to stoutness. But the staggering objection arises from the fact of Marie’s sudden and inexplicable disappear- ance. If Marie and Mrs. Corner were MAGAZINE, identical, think what this means. It means that the medium, having managed in the dark to extricate herself from her bonds of silk and steel, divest herself of most of her clothing and dress herself up in white, had then, well within a minute, been able, again in the dark, to put on all her clothing, in- cluding her laced-up dress, and return to her position in the chair with all the fastenings, etc., im statu quo ante! I think that most of my readers will agree that the feat was a physical impossibility. If Marie was not Mrs. Corner, what was she? A confederate brought down from London to an unknown house in Gloucester- shire and able to enter and leave the cabinet within a few feet of the sitters through the firmly-closed window or door? Again a practical impossibility. The only other normal explanation is that Marie may have been a huge india-rubber doll concealed, despite the vigilant eves of the committee, on Mrs. Corner’s person and subsequently inflated and thrust forward through the curtains. Were this feasible, the voice might conceivably have been due to ventriloquism from the medium ; but apart from the fact that Marie’s lips seemed to move and that no connection between her- self and the medium behind the curtain was visible, how could an india-rubber doll shake hands with my neighbour in the circle and put its pretty foot on a stool beside me—a foot which had no similarity whatever to any rubber counterfeit of a limb ? There remains an explanation sometimes offered glibly enough by those who depend on phrases more than facts. ‘‘ Oh,” say these wiseacres, ‘‘ it is quite obvious that if the facts are as stated you were all mesmerized by Mrs. Corner into the belief that you saw Marie and heard her voice.”” As a matter of fact, how- ever, no such thing as collective hypnosis of a number of persons is known to science ; nor is there any recorded case of hypnotic suggestion being effective in the case of even an individual—at any rate when exercised for the first time—in default of his or her acquiescence or co-operation. No; a dozen normal and reasonable people could not be collectively hypnotized by a practical stranger who was not even within sight. What, then, was this figure ? Marie, of what was she composed ? Whence came she, and whither did she go? I have no adequate answers to these questions. The mystery is unsolved, and by the ordinary data of science insolvable; and among the many and varied vicissitudes of my life— spent toa large extent in travel and adventure all over the world—that Christmas meeting with the mysterious ‘‘ Marie” stands out, I think, as my strangest experience. Who was

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“MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” 205 THE HIDDEN TREASURE OF SANTA FE. Told by S. F. LOUGHBOROUGH, and set down by HUGH THOMASON. The story of a hunt for the buried loot of a band of outlaws, the location of the treasure having been revealed on his death-bed by the last survivor of the gang. and one day received a letter froma friend in Utah, Dr. T. E. Gibbons, asking me to come to Salt Lake City, if at all possible, as he had some information to impart which he thought would make us both wealthy. He could not leave Salt Lake City at that time on account of his practice, he said, but, knowing that I was more or less of an adven- turous spirit, he thought I might come up and confer with him. 1 was living then at the mining camp of Los Cerrillos, New Mexico, about a hundred miles from Santa Fé, and I de- clined to make the long and expensive journey without know- ing what the scheme was. I gave him to understand, however, that I was open to almost any kind of adventure, especially if there was an element of either risk or gain about it. Dr. Gibbons then sent me, by Tegistered post, some rough pencil drawings and a great amount of data that he had jotted down at the bedside of a dying patient. The man died a few days after he had given the information, of which he wanted the doctor to reap the benefit, as he realized that he could never do so T 1881 I was living in New Mexico, himself. The doctor, it appeared, had told the patient, who was known at the hospital as Juan Costello, that he could not live long, and if he wished to see any relatives he had better hurry up and summon them. Costello Mr. S, F. Loughborough as he appeared at the time of this story. The old stage station at Santa Fé. protested for several days that he had no relatives and had lost all his friends, but gradually he began to realize that his end was approaching, and so he finally sent for the doctor and told him that he had a great secret to im- part to him. He suggested that the doctor should get a pencil and lots of paper, and he would then give him informa- tion that would lead to him becoming wealthy. The first thing he did was to tell Dr. Gibbons his right name, which was Manuel Maria Rios. He said he was the sole survivor of a band of five robbers who made a business of robbing stage and bullion coaches along the old Santa Fé trail. The accumulated proceeds of their hold-ups had been finally con- centrated in the city of Santa Fé, New Mexico, and hidden in an old adobe building at the south- east corner of Water and Sandoval Streets, which for many years had been used as a ‘‘ stage station.”’ In this place, he stated, there would be found, buried about six feet underground, in the centre of aroom that had an entrance on Water Street, an old sheet-iron safe, containing a num- ber of gold bars and a quantity of bullion, some of the bars bearing the imprint of the Banco de Santa Eulalia. There were also bars of silver bul- lion, Spanish doubloons, dia- monds, _ rubies, and an_assort- _ment of miscel- laneous valuables such as would be amassed in

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206 THE hold-ups of stage-coaches. After making a careful drawing of the building and rooms, Rios drew a line to the centre of the room in which he claimed this treasure was buried. Six inches below the surface of the earthen floor, he said, would be found a diamond- shaped flat stone about ten inches by eight and about an inch thick. This stone marked the spot under which was buried the safe, the contents of which he and his partners had estimated to be worth a million and a half dollars. He also stated that he had visited Santa Fé in disguise about three years previously, and the building was then intact as they had known it when used as bandit headquarters. Rios described his partners, giving the names they were known under, and narrated how and where each had died. One met his end in Leadville, Colorado, dying ‘‘ with his boots on”’ in a gambling hall; another was hanged in Texas for stealing cattle; the third was killed somewhere on the Pacific Coast ; and the fourth and last died of fever down near the town of Parral, Chihuahua, Mexico—the only one of his companions in crime to die a natural death. Rios had explained why he and his accom- plices had never been able to go back and dig up their treasure. They were such a notorious gang that men-hunters all over the West were searching for them, and finally they had to scatter and pass under various names to elude the officers of the law. With the drawings and the data sent me it was quite easy to locate the building in Santa Fé, but I found that it was rented to a Russian Jew who had sub-let it to a tenant, but used part of it for storing the second- hand goods in which he dealt. There seemed no way of getting hold of the property but by buying it, as there was a long lease and the tenant was not inclined to vacate. Seeing that I had at best quite a long wait ahead of me before I could get possession, I quietly set to work to investigate the ante- cedents of the bunch of highwaymen. In those days the Far West was a rendezvous for ‘‘ tough” characters from every quarter of the globe, and it was an expensive and troublesome business to trace these ‘‘ bad men's’ movements. In every instance, however, I succeeded in verifying the death of Rios’ four comrades, and found that their demise had occurred just as stated to the doctor. After two years’ diligent searching and checking of the dying man’s statements, I found so much that absolutely corroborated the story that I was morally certain of its truth. Finally, in 1883, I went to Santa Fé with the avowed intention of ‘‘ doing something.”” After spending two weeks in Santa Fé I con- WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cluded to give out that I was going to rent a building and buy -up curios and Navajo blankets for an Eastern concern, storing my purchases until I had sufficient to make ship- ments. I tried to rent.the old stage station from the Russian Jew, Sol Lowitzki, who had a son just then coming to the inquisitive age. They questioned me very closely as to what use I could have for such a dilapi- dated building in such an out-of-the-way location. But I was ready with plausible replies, and finally, by paying an exorbitant rent, arranged to get early possession of it. The cautious Sol went to get the advice of his lawyer in the matter. This lawyer was Napoleon B. Laughlin, afterwards a Federal Judge. Laughlin was a very intimate friend of a friend of mine, George L. Wyllys. By this time I had found out that the treasure- hunt was going to be a difficult proposition for me to handle alone. I therefore conferred with Wyllys—who afterwards became my brother-in-law—and he, of course, expected a share of the treasure in return for his assistance. Then there was my doctor friend, who had gathered all the information, and he naturally claimed an equal division with me. I explained this to Wyllys, and he suggested that I should write to the doctor and tell him how necessary it was to have help in order to make a success of the scheme. The doctor wrote in answer that if we had to divide with many people there would be nothing left for ourselves. I had done all the work and borne all the ex- pense, yet the doctor was my first thought, and I intended to secure half of the treasure for him at all hazards. Wyllys was very essential to the ultimate success of the affair, as he was an assayer and retorter and a warm friend of old Sol Lowitzki's lawyer. I knew that Sol and his inquisitive son would be watching me, and would get their lawyer to dig into my motives. By having Wyllys “in” with me, he could handle Laughlin and put things straight. After days of waiting and secret planning it seemed we were doomed to disaster or exposure unless we took in Mr. Laughlin, so I came to an agreement with Wyllys on the basis that 1 would divide my half with him and the lawyer. This was agreed to, and everything seemed plain sailing. I purchased a portable forge, coal, and crucibles. My plan was to take them to the mountains, with the bullion, and there melt it, and then defy anyone who might question where the gold and silver came from. 1 also made arrangements for the hire of a pair of big mules and a wagon, bought a pick, shovel, and other implements, and was ready to dig for the treasure when possession of the building was given—in a week's time.

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“MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” “Wyllys and Chaves agreed with me that we were on the verge of becoming rich.” In the meantime, Wyllys, Laughlin, and As the time drew near for me to begin mayselt hele frequent ions, checking up operations it was quite evident that the our a cee on and figuring out how we Mexicans living near the old building were were to get safely away from Santa Fé with watching me with suspicion. Mexicans are our mule team a; and wagon. always suspicious, even of one another, and

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208 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. more so when a among them. At our final meeting—the day before I was to enter the premises—it was agreed that someone would have to keep guard outside while I went inside and tore up the wooden floor that had in recent years been put down, for otherwise the Mexicans would certainly creep up to the house and watch every action through the windows and the cracks in the shaky old door. We therefore reluctantly decided that another man would have to be called in to take another part of my half of the treasure. I sent for Francisco Chaves, then Sheriff of Santa Fé County, who had many friends among the Americans. He was also the idol of the Mexican populace ; whatever he told them was gospel. The time arrived for me to take possession, and late one night I went to the building with candles, a pick and shovel, overalls, and a bucket of water, to begin the hunt that had cost me three years of planning and waiting. Wyllys was appointed a deputy sheriff by Francisco Chaves, and told to take station within one block on Water Street, while Francisco Chaves took up his station on Sandoval Street. Their plan was to tell any Mexicans who wanted to know what was going on that they were expecting several “bad men” in town that or the following night, and that all Mexicans in that neigh- bourhood must keep indoors, or else they might get hit when the firing started. I stripped for action, tore up the wooden floor, piled it in a corner of the room, and began digging, certain that my reward was close at hand. I soon found the flat, diamond- shaped stone, but it was over a foot under the ground instead of six inches, as the dying robber had indicated ; moreover, it was not lying flat, but sideways. I went on, in great excitement, excavating a hole about four feet square. When I had reached a depth of over five feet my pick suddenly struck something and went through it. Without pulling the pick out, I dropped to my knees and with my hands cleaned the dirt from around the implement. I found I had punctured an old rusty sheet of iron ! Just previous to striking this iron I had ‘gringo’ happens to be encountered several human skulls. The dying man had said that we should find these very things near the safe containing the treasure. I climbed out of the hole and went to get my companions in order to tell them to have the wagon ready, as I had struck the safe. Wyllys and Chaves promptly rushed in and examined it, and agreed with me that we were on the verge of becoming rich. We made the excavation larger, so as to handle what appeared to be a very heavy safe. After getting some timbers in, we levered it over until the door-side was visible. Then, to our horror, we saw that the door of the safe had been chiselled open, the safe being then tumbled back into the excavation. The treasure was gone ! The matter was later privately discussed with some of the old-timers of Santa Fé, and it was recalled that an old Mexican named Francisco Padillo had occupied the house some years previously. He had probably put in the board floor, which was not there when the treasure was buried. If Padillo had put in the floor, it was possible that in levelling the earth for the boards he had stumbled upon the diamond-shaped stone and so been led to the safe. We looked up Francisco’s record, and found that he had always been a poor, hand-to-mouth, easy- going sort of fellow, without any visible means of support, but at the present time he was the possessor of one of the best cattle and sheep ranches in New Mexico, and was believed to be very wealthy. Francisco Chaves and I decided we would go out and visit the old man and try to find out something. We spent days with him, admired his stock and ranch, and continually pumped him, but he was decidedly evasive in his replies. One day we got him out ten miles from home and put the matter cold-bloodedly to him in a last attempt to gain information, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and replied, “‘ Yo no quensabe nader” (‘‘I do not know anything ”’). Francisco Padillo died some years later. And so efds the story of my hunt for the Santa Fé treasure.

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So popular were the Author’s previous articles, “In Quest of Cannibals,” that we commissioned him to write an account of his adventures on another most hazardous expedition —the hunting down of the mysterious nomads of the Mount Victoria region of Ut. NIGHT alarm in New Guinea is one of the most unpleasant incidents imaginable. When on patrol in mountain regions, where camps are often pitched in tiny clearings on the summit of precipitous crags or plateaux, even the smallest movement at night-time is fraught with extreme danger—either from slipping on the wet, sloping ground and being hurled into the depths below, or from trip- ping over the many stumps and obstacles and breaking one’s limbs. It will be readily understood that the rifle- shot which disturbed our slumbers and hurried us pell-mell into the police tent filled me with apprehension. Had any of my men fallen over the edge in that mad scramble in the darkness ? I dare not speak, for fear of indicating our position. Huddled together inside the tent were the carriers, while out- side, chilled with the cold, drizzling rain, were the police and I, peering into the black- ness of the night. Five interminable minutes passed, but no sound came from the night but the persistent Ptap of the rain on the leaves. Taking S interpreter, I crawled back towards my aa and there, some yards away from the =, a of carriers, called out to the supposed he 'y, “Come on; we are waiting!" But Te Was no response. Vol. xlvi.~1g, LIEUT-E-W-P CHINNERY ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY: L-WooD CHASING MOUNTAIN OUTLAWS IN NEW GUINEA Papua, who, descending from their hill-top villages, killed the native labourers of the Yodda goldfield and then disappeared into the unexplored fastnesses of the mountains. In_ this article Mr. Chinnery de- gcribes the dramatic cap- ture of the murderers, Crawling back to the others, I whispered, ‘* Who fired the shot?" ' Who fired ?’’ was repeated from one toanother. But no one had fired. And then, in the dead of night, an inquiry began as to the cause of the alarm. Several of the carriers began moaning and complaining of wounds about the body, and after nearly an hour’s exhaustive investigation the mystery was unravelled. Genda, one of the Koko war- rior chiefs, had been put on “ sentry-go.” Finding it too cold on his post, the cunning old chief had stolen inside the carriers’ tent _ to warm himself over the fire until the next “visiting rounds” approached. In_ this position sleep came to him, and as his body telaxed a cartridge dropped from his fingers into the fire. Bits of metal and hot ash flying in all directions lodged on the naked bodies of some of his fellows—hence the wounds of which they complained. Genda’s short- comings were the subject of much harsh criticism, in which the ‘‘ wounded ” carriers took a leading part. In fact, poor old Genda was “ dressed down ” so sharply by the others that I hadn’t the heart to con- tribute my share. New sentries were posted, and the camp re-entered the land of Nod. In the morning I found more than half the party coughing badly and suffering from A Mystery Explained.

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210 exposure. Keloia could not move, owing to the state of his cuts and scars, and I was scarcely better. The fall over the precipice had resulted in a mass of angry- looking wounds. Scouts went out in the morning and examined the country, return- ing at night with the information that fresh tracks had been discovered leading in the direction of home. This indicated that the Biagi murderers had returned, so the party gathered its energies together for the return journey, those who were unfit for tiavelling being carried by the others. Pro- gtess was necessarily very slow, but after three short stages we reached a mountain stream near the Yodda gold-field known as Beremu. At this point the tracks we had been following branched from the main return route and headed for the very heart of Mount Victoria; evidently the fugitives knew of a short passage over the mountain. It was too late in the evening to cut a clearing in the bush, so we pitched the camp on a spacious beach in the river-bed. It was such a tiny stream that we felt ourselves well above its normal high-water mark should a storm come on. But the unex- pected always happens in New Guinea, and towards midnight our slumbers were rudely broken by the cry, ‘“‘ The flood is coming ! The flood is coming!” I jumped quickly out of my camp stretcher—and my feet touched water. The very mountains seemed to be falling on us as peal after peal of thunder reverberated through the gorges. Vicious flashes of lightning showed a surging mass of water tumbling down the course of what had so recently been a tiny stream. The whole party, cripples and all, dashed pell- mell into the scrub, and clam- bered up the jungle - covered slopes beyond reach of the ris- ing “ fresh.”” And there, shorn of all our possess- ions, we sat throughthenight in the pouring rain. The river rushed madly below, the light- ning flashed con- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the others, whose belongings had been swept away, let loose such a torrent of abuse that in very shame he cast his sole possession into the night, to be on even ground with them. Dawn came at last, and we descended to the river-bed. Our camping-place had been swept clear, but here and there, as we fol- lowed the course of the stream, were found bits of our property. My medicine-chest, for instance, was located at the bottom of a deep pool, but much was lost, and there was no alternative but to get back to Kokoda as soon as possible. That night we slept at the Yodda, and the following morning found us once more in comfort. It was a fortnight before we were fit to venture forth, and then plans for renewed activity were discussed. Gavana came down and advised that he and Keloia should proceed to the Biagi country, and examine it for clues as to the movements of Kikivi and his fellows. They returned after three or four days and reported that the Biagi had left their district and were hiding in the caves and rocks near the summit of Mount Victoria, but that tracks had been found heading for the Mount Scratchley region—the scene of our late operations. “ Master,” said Keloia, ‘“‘ Gavana is a big chief. The people of the whole district respect him. The tribes of Mount Scratchley will always welcome him. Therefore let Gavana go alone to Mount Scratchley to per- suade the Bede people to hand over the Biagi refugees to justice. Let me go with Gavana to protect him if his mission fails. Thus we shall have every chance of success. But the progress of an expedition is slow, and since the Bedes will now be watching there will be no chance of sur- prising them again. So, while you might spend months in the district without catching Kikivi, there is every hope of the men being caught by anuous)y; coe Rough going in a boulder-strewn river-bed. ara diplo- U: Ss s the very ground under us. Horrid insects What he said was the truth. The crawled over our bare feet and necks, and prickly vines fastened themselves into my sodden pyjamas and tore them as I wrenched myself free. One carrier, who had clung to his little netted bag of valuables, chewed betel-nut and laughed, but only chance of catching Kikivi by way of an expedition lay in surprising the people, and that hope was now eliminated. Both Gavana and Keloia were tried men and I had every confidence in their sincerity. But the risk was terrible, not-

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withstanding Keloia’s assurance to the con- trary. ““Give us a fortnight, and then, if we do not return, you will know that we have failed,” he pleaded. His earnestness finally won me over, though not without some misgivings, and he and Gavana set out one morning loaded with presents for the Bede people, as signs of my willingness to make peace with them, and several pairs of handcuffs for Kikivi and his fellows. Day after day I waited, tortured by most awful doubts as to the wisdom of what I had done. Several times I was tempted to get ready and follow, but always some slight ray of confidence prevented me. The last day of the fortnight passed. I felt like a man who has sacrificed his best friend, for Keloia and Gavana had not re- turned. By midnight the Kokos were ready in the carriers’ house on the station, the gear and loads were in place outside the office, and the police were armed and equipped ready for a start at daybreak. Kikivi and his friends had a heavy bill to pay. I shall never forget that night. Hour after hour I lay tossing from side to side. The most realistic mental pictures of the fate of Keloia and Gavana were ever before me in changing shapes, each one more dread- ful than the other. Right into the early hours these visions tormented me; then suddenly a rifle-shot broke into my dream, followed by four others in quick succession. A Dangerous Mission. INTO THE UNKNOWN. 2a I sprang out of bed; my police were crowd- ing round the office. ** What is it?’ I asked. “ Keloia ! ” they joyfully proclaimed. “‘ He said he would let us know of his arrival in Near the source of the Yodda River, showing the Author’s travelling canoe. this way—one shot for each prisoner: he has five.” The excitement was tremendous. The Kokos—~over seventy of them, all jabbering excitedly—covered the couch-grass lawn outside the office. Myriads of hurricane lamps shot gleams of light through the dark- ness. I sat in the office in painful ex- pectancy. A deafening yell from over a hundred men announced the appearance of Keloia and Gavana. I rushed to the door of the office and looked out. The Kokos had opencd into a lane-like formation, and Keloia and Gavana, with a number of others, waving torches to light the way, were just coming into view over the edge of the plateau. I returned to my chair and tried hard to pre- vent myself from yelling. The Kokos sang a song of homage to the victors as they passed through their ranks, and then Keloia and Gavana entered the office door with five men in handcuffs and arranged them in a line before me. What men they were! Proudly they stood—-backs arched, heads erect, and eyes flashing. “I have come, Master,’”’ said “Kikivi” is Keloia, as he saluted. There!” I simply couldn’t speak. He followed my gaze and, pointing to them one by one, identified his prisoners, each of whom stood forward as

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212 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. his name was called—Ilumi, Obibi, Namai, Boboil, Gawga. He had named all except the ringleader, the man I wanted niore than all the others. “ Kikivi ?”’ I questioned. He took a bundle of green leaves from his netted bag and opened it on my table. Portions of a human head, some plumes of cassowary feathers, and a homicidal emblem lay before my eyes. I looked up at him. He pointed to the ghastly relics. ‘‘ Kikivi is there,” he said, solemnly. That was all. Now, your New Guinea native is a great believer in ghosts, and as the name of the notorious ‘‘ slayer of men ’’ was pronounced, all present swung their arms vigorously to and fro and stamped their feet, lest the evil influence of Kikivi'’s ghost, which hovered restlessly over the relics, should permeate their blood and bring stiffness to their joints. The prisoners were placed in the station jail, and then-I was ready to hear the story of the great work. No one thought of sleep. There we sat in front of the office, ] on a deck- chair, the others squatting round on the grass. The coco-nut palms waved gently in the breeze and the glow of the lamps lit up the eager faces of the gathering. Eyes opened wide and breathing became hushed as Keloia began his story—the tale of a wonderful feat. “‘ Master,”’ he said, “‘ many days we wan- dered on the heads of the rivers that fall down Mount Scratchley, and many nights we slept in the caves of the mountains before we found traces of the Bede. But one day we came upon a snare which had been sect for bush rats on a hillside. Covering our tracks after us, we ascended the hill and lay in wait. We waited there for a long time, but at last a man of Bede came and examined the snare. He did not suspect our presence, and when he left we followed his tracks. Right up to the mountain-top he led us, and there we saw a long house. We waited in the bush till the sun had fallen, and then crept closer. Gavana went to the door of the house and said: ‘It is I, Gavana.’ There was great excitement, but his voice reassured the people. After waiting some time in the cold, I, too, approached the house. I could hear Gavana talking very loudly, and the noise I made when I trod on broken sticks in the darkness did not reach the people. I went up to the door, keeping close to the wall. A hand was hanging loosely outside the door. It was Gavana’s. I put mine in it and he squeezed it twice. I knew then that two of our men were inside and that it was time to go in. Gavana would have them sitting alongside him. I jumped suddenly into the house, and Gavana had the wrists of Numi and Namai ready for the handcuffs, which I slipped on before they recovered from their surprise. Gavana mcan- time urged them to remain seated, and he would explain. It was some time before the people became quiet. They got all round us, and I thought I should have to fire, but Tumi and Namai joined in with Gavana and persuaded them that it was better so. Once they agreed to this they told me where Obibi, Gawga, and Boboil were hiding. We slept a while and, before daylight, I ascended another mountain near by and handcuffed Boboil while he was asleep by the fire beneath a shelter of branches on the summit. Gawga, he said, was out examining a snare he had set the night before to try and trap a rat for breakfast, so I waited until Gawga came along. ‘ We have all been captured, Gawga,’ called Boboil, as Gawga hailed him from below. ‘ All right,’ said Gawga, ‘ I'll come too.’ He came up and surrendered. ‘Let me go, and I'll find Obibi and bring him in,’ said Boboil. I did so, and he re- turned at midday with Obibi, who had been hiding by himself on another mountain-top7 ““*Now where is Kikivi?’ I asked the Bede people. “** He is some distance fron: here. Sleep, and we will go to-morrow,’ they said. Next morning they took me to one of their old villages and said, ‘Climb up there and you will find Kikivi.’ I looked in the direction they indicated. A body lay on a platform. It was Kikivi—cut in pieces—but Gavana recognized him. I collected portions of him and put them in leaves to prove the matter.” “‘ But how did he die ? ’’ I asked. “While we were camped that time on the dancing plateau, Kikivi and some of the Bede people were in one of the old gardens getting some food. Kikivi was sitting over a fire cooking it, and one man was on a ridge watching our camp. Suddenly a number of men from the other side of the valley (Wharton Range) rushed upon them, un- observed by the guard, who was watching us, and before Kikivi could grab his weapons they had killed him and five women as well, but the other men escaped. “‘ These same men saw us coming towards our village on the day following, and, think- ing we were coming after them, waited for us on the precipice. It was their spear that faced us on the track—the one we ignored. It is lucky that we did not share the fate of Kikivi.” I congratulated Keloia and Gavana, and thanked them. ‘‘ We have done our work and pleased you, therefore we are happy,” they said. Needless to say, neither Keloia nor Gavana wanted for much that I could give them after that, but they never asked a favour all the time I knew them, and what- ever prcsents they got from me were given without any solicitation on their part.

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UNKNOWN. INTO THE “©} have come, Master,’ said Keloia.”

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214 THE WIDE WORLD Now that the prisoners were On the in custody, another diffi- Murder culty presented itself. How Trail. . was the death of the Yodda boys to be proved? The prisoners themselves, however, solved this problem, so eager were they to know what One day we was to be their punishment. MAGAZINE, influence the whole district settled down to a new order of things. The Bede natives were visited by me, and peace was also established in their district. A village constable was appointed there, and two of the best boys taken on the strength of the police. There- after frequent visits were paid to Kokoda, both from the Bede and Biagi districts, and >. él The great chief Gavana is seen on the left, with Boboil next to him. At the other end of the group are Keloia and Obibi. went to the Yodda and descended to the place where the murders had been com- mitted. Here they explained in detail how they had crept down on the boys while they were removing the blocks to let the stream into the water-race, and, under direction of Kikivi, had speared them and then cut up their bodies. Then we descended into the river itself and followed its course down- wards. Here they pointed to an overhang- ing shelf of rock, under which the bodies had been hidden. But the cavity was bare— the floods in the river had removed all traces. Down-stream we trudged, slipping and fall- ing in the water, until at last, on a large mass of tangled driftwood and branches, we found two human heads with the skulls smashed in the manner they had described. These were later identified by friends of the murdered boys through peculiarities of the teeth, and one day, in the presence of the miners and their labourers, the Biagi were charged and committed for trial in the Court-house on the Yodda goldfield. Later they were brought before the Supreme Court and sentenced. But the ringleader, Kikivi, had so obviously influenced these boys that the sentences imposed were light. Order was restored in the district. Gavana was appointed a village constable to represent the Government, and through his skill and I began to feel that life was indeed quiet and peaceful. One day, however, a man from the Upper Kumusi River came in and told me that the “long-haired ” people of Wowonga Valley, some five days’ walk distant, had sent an invitation through him for the Government of Kokoda to call on them and be eaten. They had eaten all the bullets that former Government expeditions had left in the trees of their jungle, they said, and they were hungry for more. Now these people had been visited on two occasions in the past. They attacked the first expedition, with the result that many bullets were afterwards found in trees, but on the approach of the second party, which camped one night in a village on the out- skirts of their district, they retired to the bush and the expedition returned to Kokoda. Although I suspected that most of this defiant message had been imagined by the bearer, I was glad of the reminder that there were still a number of people in the district “ not under control.” It was a good oppor- tunity to test the loyalty of the converted Biagi and Bede. I therefore sent a message to them and invited them to come with me and see other parts of the land they lived in. They came in such numbers that I had to send a great many back.

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i Ss = ww HS STEHT ee One morning, with all Biagi Another and Bede carriers, the faith- Expedition, ful Gavana and Keloia, four other police, and Pue the cook, I set out to interview the tribesmen who were said to be ‘‘ hungry for lead.” The Biagi and Bede enjoyed themselves immensely as they passed through village after village of people of a race quite different from them—the “ Orokaivas ”’ (as the low- land people of this division are called). They, in turn, were just as interested in the Biagi and Bede, whom they had never seen, nor even heard of, before, though their districts were but a few miles apart. We made our way up and down hills covered with dense jungle growth without much difficulty, until it became necessary to cross the Kumusi for a camp on the other side, and here the first trouble occurred. A nasty “ fresh ’’ was running in the river, and the wading-place was extremely dan- gerous. The vine-bridge overhead did not attract the Biagi at all—they wouldn't face it, in fact—so each man had to be led across the rapid by Orokaivas, for the mountain people cannot swim. Keloia ana wa-ana would not submit to being led, so went across without assistance ; Keloia, in fact, went backwards and for- wards several times to help his Biagi and Bede friends. Four of them remained, and he was returning to help them when, tired by his repeated crossings, he did not press close enough up-stream, and so was swept into deep water and disappeared. I was resting on the opposite bank, talking : haat The expedition afloat. Pue, the cook, is seen with his umbrella. INTO THE UNKNOWN. 215 to Gavana, when I heard a terrible yell. Pue was in the centre of the stream, armpit-deep, struggling strongly against the stream. His arm was pointed in the direction of the four waiting carriers, and, as I looked, two waving feet came out of the water. All of them temporarily lost their heads. The four Biagi immediately jumped into the whirling water —many feet over their depth—in a mad endeavour to save Keloia, though they couldn’t swim a stroke themselves. Gavana flew off the bank like a meteor on the same errand, and nearly drowned me in his efforts to get out of my clutches. Before going under I had yelled to the Orokaivas, who were half-way across, to drop their loads, and ina few seconds Keloia and his friends were fished out on the very verge of death, for the Orokaivas had snatched them from the outer eddies of an awful whirlpool. They were very ill on the bank for a few minutes, but we managed to pull them round, and then they were successfully led across—all except Keloia, who, though terribly shaken by his Narrow escape, insisted on “seeing it through.” A couple of days after we entered the Wowonga district and approached, from above, their first village. it was situated on the summit of a small projecting arm of the ridge which we were descending. Ina clearing between the houses a number of men were dancing and brandishing spears, while others were calling up the fighting men from the gardens, for we had caught them by surprise. While the police and carriers Temained seated on the hillside, and the

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216 interpreter expressed pain at the aggressive messages they were hurling at us, and assured them of our peaceful intentions, Keloia, another constable, and I crept down- hill through the thick undergrowth in the hope of catching one of them by coming up behind them. It was evident that they were not in the humour to listen to our peaceful overtures, though if we caught one and then released him with presents for the others our mission would very likely end successfully. But our approach was discovered and, as we entered the village, they half-heartedly threw a few spears, which we dodged quite easily, and retired. In a trice we had our camp erected, and before the fighting men of the tribe were gathered together we were settled for the night. Then came the task of getting in friendly touch with them, and here again Keloia proved his worth. When a child, he had visited that very district with his father, a noted warrior, who had many friends in Wowonga. ‘‘ lam Keloia, the son of »” he called out. ‘ Tell and — (his father’s friends) that I am here with the Master, and that our mission is one of peace. Why do you remain silent ? Why do you ignore the son of —— ?”” “Va-ya-ya-ya-ya!" replied a deep- throated voice. ‘‘ 1 know your father. Why do you bring the Government of which we are afraid ?” Much of this went on, but at last the old man consented to come half-way if Keloia and I would go half-way. There, in the thick jungle The growth below the village, I Pig-tailed made the acquaintance of Chief. Wasambo, the chief of the Akisi tribe. Wasambo was a fine, sturdy man, short in stature but beauti- fully proportioned. He returned with us to the camp. His hair, falling to the waist in several long pigtails bound with bark, was the object of much interest. He was intro- duced to the Biagi and Bede, and a great friendship sprang up between the moun- taineers, people of the same race, though separated by innumerable peaks. On the summit of the slope which held the Wowonga villages was a huge towering mass of stone, surrounded by tall. upstanding pine trees. “ What is that ?” I asked Wasambo. “Tuagila, the hole by which the Wowonga people, our ancestors, entered the world,” I was told. This was of tremendous interest, for it was the legendary place of origin of all the Mount Victoria tribes on both sides of the range, as well as the Wowonga. I had often heard of it. The Koiari tribes, almost to the south coast, also claim to have originated from this very spot. “ Tell me of it,” I said. And so we passed the evening in the light THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of the camp fires, Wasambo telling the tale of creation, with Keloia as interpreter. Every now and then an anxious cry would come from the darkness: ‘‘ Wasambo, oh Wasambo, are you not dead ? ” ““Ho-ho, ho-ho,” he would reply. ‘‘ Be silent! The Government is good, and I am enjoying myself.” From a distant village on the hillside came the echo of a sad, weird mountain song. “ Do not heed it,” said Wasambo, when he noticed it had caught my ear. “ It is my people; they are foolish. My absence has alarmed them, and they are sobbing to the ghosts of our dead to protect me.” “Why are they alarmed ? ”’ I asked. “Well,” he said, ‘the first time the Government came I was foolish and fought them, and this was what I got.” He pointed to a scar through his thigh—an old bullet wound. ‘I was but a boy then,” he added, with a laugh. But to return to “ Tuagila,” the Garden of Eden of the Wowonga. “Long ago, at the very first,” explained the old chief, ‘‘ there were no people in this valley; it was all gardens of sugar-cane, swect potatoes, and yams. One day a spirit stood before the Tuagila and the ground opened. Out of the hole came the ancestors of my people. They lived in the valley for a long time, cultivated gardens, and hunted. Everyone was happy. One day the spirit came and commanded them to collect food and follow to the Tuagila. This was done, and at the command of the spirit huge fires were lighted, stones were placed on them, and when they were hot the food was cooked on them and afterwards laid on leaves. Thereupon the spirit spoke, and out of the hole came the Koiari people. The Koiari ate the food and settled in the valley. Each people learnt the language of the other and there was peace and happiness between them, as the spirit had commanded. But one day a woman of the Koiari quarrelled with a woman of my tribe, and the men jcined in the dispute. That was the origin of fighting. The Koiari left the valley and went away. The peace of the valley was disturbed, and we have been fighting ever since. But as some of the Koiari had intermarried with my people there is still a bond between us, and just as the father of Kelojia visits us on occasions, so we visit the Koiari people, for although we speak different languages we are from the same stock—children of the Tuagila. No man—not of our tribe—has seen the Tuagila,”’ he concluded. “T would like to visit it, for, as the repre- sentative of the Government which is your ‘father,’ it is proper that your interests should be mine also,” 1 suggested. “If you will come alone,” he said, “I will

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take you up when the birds call in the morn- img, and bring you back ere the sun sets ; but none of your men may sec it, for death would come to them if their eyes met its sacred depths.” ** You no go, Master,’’ said Pue, warn- ingly ; * s’pose you see dat fella place you die quick.” It was agreed that Wasambo should bring _ his friends to the camp in the morning, and together we should go up to the mysterious Tuagila. Keloia, on account of his relation- ship with the children of the Tuagila, was specially pri- vileged to ac- company us without — in- curring any risk of death. It was nearly mid- night when Wasambo left us, and he carried many pre- sents to his people. With many good nights he de- scended into the blackness of the jungle, and we heard the joyous greeting of his spouse, who had been anxiously ex- pecting him below. I lay awake for a_ time thinking of the morrow : it was rather like tempting Providence to go so far from our camp, but if Wasambo was a fair type of his tribe the risk of trouble was very slight, and the advantage of thus winning the confidence of the tribe was all in favour of the trip. With the first streaks of dawn came Wasambo and half a hundred of his fellows —sturdy, well-set little men with long pig- tails. They carried spears and stone clubs, but their faces were open and _ friendly. ‘They spoke apologetically of their behaviour of the day before. Leaving the whole camp under arms, with special instructions to keep a bright look-out and not to wander away, Keloia and I set out with the Wowonga, who danced merrily around us and even offered to carry our On the march to Wowonga. murderer, is shown in uniform. INTO THE UNKNOWN. 217 rifles so that our hands should be free for the climb. The last thing I saw on looking back at the camp was Pue’s long, mournful face. “You look out good alonga dat fella Wowonga, Master,” he entreated. Then the jungle swallowed us. There was something exhilarating in that “outing.”” My clothing and boots were objects of wonder to the natives ; every now and then during the climb I would find them deeply engrossed in some article of my clothing. “ What interests them ? ” 1 would ask Wasambo; he would then proceed to explain. About _half- way up the mountain we halted in a sugar-cane garden for a rest. I distri- buted some tobacco to smoke; when 1 produced my tin of tobacco and proceeded to roll ‘a cigar- ette they be- sieged me with — ques- tions. What leaf of what tree was the paper ? How was the tin made ? When I lighted a match their eyes almost came out of their heads. “Do all white men possess such magic?” they asked Keloia. “What shall I say in reply?” he asked, when he had translated the question. “‘ Tell them the British, whose subjects they are, have many such things to show and teach them,” I said. The moment was pro- pitious, so I presented Wasambo with a couple of matches, which no doubt he ex- hibited later on to his own circle of village friends, greatly enjoving their wonderment. I could sce that Keloia was seizing every lull in the conversation to expound the virtues of his Mama (Master), for he, as well as I, had not quite recovered from the shock earlier on our journey when we were invited to hand over our rifles. More than one good man has done that in New Guinea—to the sorrow of his relatives. Boboil, the converted

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218 But I now had every confidence in the Wowonga. They were enjoving themselves as much as we were. When nearing the top the mountain-side became very steep and we were forced to sling our rifles and climb very carefully. Presently the route met a descending water-course, and for several hundred feet we climbed its boulders. More than once I chanced to look down, but speedily cast my eyes upwards again. The drop was hundreds of feet, and the slope made one giddy. I was climbing first and Keloia next. Overhead was a large flat rock-shelf. I grasped the edge, drew myself up to its level —and almost let go, for a few feet away, on the edge of a small rock pool, was a wicked- looking snake. Scarcely a second passed before I managed to find a crevice for my foot, and thus enable me to release one hana. But it seemed like a lifetime before I was sufficiently steady to extend my revolver- hand and fire. A blinding flash and deafen- ing report, splinters of rock in all directions, yells of excitement and surprise from the Wowonga below—everyone shouted at once, and I could hear Keloia’s anxious voice steadying them. When I found courage to open my eyes the snake had gone—where I know not. Looking down, I saw that more than half the Wowonga had gone as well. It took a long time to induce them to return, but when the incident was explained their anger was let loose on the missing snake, the unconscious cause of our fright and probably the most scared of the lot, for Wowonga snakes are not used to firearms. “It is good,” said Wasambo; ‘‘ we do not like snakes, and now that they know the Govern- ment ‘ walks about ’ here they will probably take themselves somewhere else, and we will be pleased.” At last we reached “‘ Tuagila ’’—three immense boulders perched unsteadily on the mountain-top, with great yawning chasms beneath. Each man removed a small piece of green leaf from the spot to place in his garden to produce fruitfulness, while I left a stick of tobacco for the “ guardian spirit,” which pleased the Wowonga very much. From this spot we beheld a glorious pano- rama. The river below wound and stretched its shining folds like an immense silver ser- pent. Our camp stood out below like tiny white specks on the roof of the jungle. It made one giddy to look down, and I had to clench my teeth when I thought of the descent ; but it appeared that our climb had been by way of a short cut, for we descended by an easier route, down the spur in the direction of a large village, where we were told that cooked food was waiting for us. It was nearly sundown when we entered a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. village surrounded by stockades of saplings about eighteen feet in height. ‘‘ The Mana- gulesi people often come here to fight us,” explained Wasambo, when he noticed my interest in the stockade. He then took me round outside and showed me a number of cleverly concealed pits filled with sharp- pointed spears, into which intruders were expected to fall. ‘‘ I shall have to visit the Managulesi and persuade them to abandon their visits,”” I promised. A pile of cooked yams and bananas, nearly six feet high, stood in the centre of the village, and the women of the tribe handed choice morsels to Keloia and sticks of sugar-cane to me. Before we left for the camp I yielded to their request, and fired a number of rifle shots into a large tree which stood outside the village. Loud yells of excitement followed each shot, and when the people examined the tree and found that the bullet had entered one side and gone out of the other their wonderment was complete. The sun was now setting, and we made all haste towards camp, for I did not relish a night march in that snake-infested region. It was good to get into camp again. A bucket of warm water- poured over my head took all the tiredness from my limbs, and by the time I was comfortable in a sleeping-suit Pue had a steaming mess of sheep tongue, sweet potato, and pumpkin ready on the table. While I was enjoying the meal Boboil (one of the Yodda murderers, released on account of his youth), whom I was training for the police, took my boots to clean ready for the morning. With the intention of making a proper job of it, he washed them with soap and water and placed them against the fire to dry. Poor boots! They were curled up like walnuts when Pue found them a short time afterwards, and Boboil was ready to sink into the earth with shame. But he was reassured, and during the remainder of the trip devoted himself to wiping off the stain. There was much joy in camp that night. All the tribes of the Wowonga came in and danced, and the valley echoed with their stirring mountain songs far into the moming. It was a bright day in their history, for, just as they lavished food on my Biagi and Bede carriers, so I repaid them with tobacco, beads, cloth, axes, and salt. The Biagi and Bede were in their element, and sang song after song with the Wowonga. It was a good omen for the future relation- ship of these people with the Government. . For several days I remained in the valley, visiting all the villages and establishing a firm footing of friendship with the people, but at last the time came to leave. In response to my invitation to them to visit

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fa hat og ae Se ne pe INTO THE UNKNOWN. “It seemed a lifetime before I was sufficiently steady to extend my revolver-hand and fire.” 219

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220 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Kokoda and get coco-nuts and other plants for their gardens, my companions of the Tuagila stood out toa man. ~ The women of the villages formed up in line on our departure and waved a tearful farewell to their boys, some of whom repented after going a short distance and went back. We reached the Kumusi crossing, where Keloia and his mates had nearly lost their lives, and here a brilliant idea struck me. Why not take them to Isivita Hill and let them see the ocean in the distance? I did not tell them my object, but simply gave the route to the guides and away we went. The Orokaivas, who give a yell of greeting to any- one entering their villages, went mad with excitement when they saw the long string of mountain men—so different from their own race—and the mountaineers laughed de- lightedly. Everything was so different from their own country—the houses, the gardens, the men and women, everything. At last we reached the hill and sat down on the summit to rest. I had warned the Orokaivas not to say anything about the sea, but to let them—the Wowonga—find out for themselves. I sat by and watched. It was most comical. One of them glanced carelessly around the country in view. His eyes fell at last on the sea and became fixed. He looked hard, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. A look of hopeless perplexity dawned THE upon his face. Others noticed his intent gaze and joined him. They had not the faintest conception of what it was, and the Biagi and Bede were just the same. Their voices became excited and questioning. Keloia (who, of course, had seen the ocean before) was simply bursting with anxiety to tell tnem all about it ; so, when the excite- ment was at boiling point, I nodded to him and he proceeded to explain. He was still answering questions some hours afterwards, while we were pitching camp well on the way to Kokoda. The station was reached at last. Well satisfied with their presents, and heavily burdened with food plants and ornamental shrubs, the Biagi, Bede, and Wowonga, with escorts to pass them safely through the Orokaiva tribes, left next morning for their homes. Their expressions of goodwill were most gratifying, for the reward of a district officer in New Guinea is the confidence and loyalty of his people. In a few short months I had won from savagery the Biagi, Bede, and Wowonga, and sown the seed of advance- ment. Fora time I should be able to devote my energies to its cultivation, and then extend the influence of the Government to the remaining fighting tribes of the district. For the present my trips “ into the unknown ” were finished. END. ; A CURIOUS BRIDGE. Here is a photograph of a very curious bridge. It is the property of the North-Fastern Railway Company, and is situated about four miles south of Saltburn. It was built in 1871, and was originally a solid structure of one arch only, but a severe gale in October, 1882, actually split the brickwork of the bridge, with the result that the upper arch, seen in the photograph, was constructed to allow a free passage for the fierce winds which this particular locality experiences, thus saving the structure from further damage.

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Dirates of the Souirah BY THE WIDE WORLD SPE C/AL_COMMISS/ONER ILLUSTRATEO BY People will tell you that stone-dead, but the aston’ cidents here described, which hap- pened as recently as last May, go to prove the contrary. The French passenger steamer “ Souirah,” after leaving a Black Sea port, was seized by a band of brigands, who N May 6th, 1920, the’ French passenger and cargo steamer, Souirah, belonging to the Paquet Steamship Company of Marseilles and commanded by Captain Mattei, lay at a wharf in the Black Sea port of Batoum. She had hoisted the Blue Peter and was slowly getting up steam, for she was to leave that evening at seven o'clock for Trebizond, Constantinople, the Pireus, and Marseilles. A stream of passengers had been coming aboard all the afternoon, and the last cases were being slung into the ship by the cranes prior to the holds being bat- tened down for the voyage. The captain was ashore on business connected with the ship’s papers, and the first officer, M. Bugni, was off duty. The second officer was tempo- rarily in charge of the ship, and was altogether too busy to take much note of the crowd of passengers coming on board. Moreover, the examination of the passengers and_ their passports was not a matter that concerned the ship’s officers, but rather one for the local authorities and the Allied military police, who were at the time in charge of the town. It is right to add that for some weeks past the entire district had been in a state of seething Bolshevist agitation, and many, if not the majority, of the local officials were secretly in sympathy with Sovietist ideals. At all events, it will be seen from the narra- tive which follows that the usual strict official investigation into the passports of all embarking passengers must, at some given moment, have been relaxed. All embarking passengers, too, were by the regulations strictly forbidden to carry fire- arms on board. : By 7 p.m., when the hawsers were cast off trol of the vessel, robbing the pas- sengers, rifling their baggage, and finally going ashore with loot of the estimated value of £80,000. The affair is without a parallel in the annals of the French mercantile marine. and the gangways drawn up, the Souirah had a very full complement. All the saloon accommodation, as well as the second and third class berths, were fully occupied, and there was a large crowd of ‘“‘ deck ” or fourth- cle passengers—a_ motley collection of Kurds, Armenians, Russians, Turks, Bashi- Bazouks, and Persians. As soon as the ship cleared the harbour the first officer, M. Bugni, took control, and the captain sat down to dinner with the saloon passengers, The conversation became general and animated. The Bolshevist coup d'état at Baku was discussed, as well as the effects it was likely to have on the district of Batoum. By the time dessert was on the table all the passengers had struck up an acquaintance and an atmosphere of content- ment and good humour prevailed. As the soft, warm night of the East fell upon the decks folks moved to the smoking-room or to the saloon for coffee and cigarettes. Business men discussed trade matters ; officials talked of Governmental affairs, lovers flirted in quiet corners, and mothers prome- naded their children to and fro before putting them to bed. The sailors lit the ship's lamps, and the fierce-looking Kurds on the deck rolled themselves up in their blankets for the night. Down below the men settled to the silence of the card-tables, and soon nothing was to be heard but the steady throbbing of the engines. Shortly after 9 p.m. there rang out the sharp report of a firearm, followed by half-a- dozen others in quick succession—all, appa- rently, coming from difterent parts of the ship. The card-players dropped their hands, the folks in the saloon became suddenly panic-stricken, and people peered fearfully

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222 out from their cabin doors. As the shots continued, developing into a perfect fusillade, women began to scream, children to cry, and pandemonium reigned amidst the first and second class passengers. A fat Armenian lady came rushing into the smoking-room, all out of breath and crying in gasps: ‘The Bolshevists! The Bolshevis:s! They are murdering and rob- bing everybody!’’ Thus shouting, she col- lapsed on the floor. Some of the men went white, others turned a pale green, but all of them promptly cleared out of the smoking- room without a thought for the stout Armenian lady, who lay unconscious where she had fallen. M. Pierre Gentizon, a French newspaper correspondent who was returning from Georgia, thus describes what he saw. “T was,” he says, ‘ playing bridge when the shots rang out and the alarm was given. I rushed out on to the deck to try and dis- cover what had happened, and found myself in the midst of a crowd of passengers, some of them half-undressed, and all in a condition of feverish excitement, not to say fright. 1 was carried along by the rush of people into the first-class saloon, where the most intense agitation prevailed amidst the hundred odd passengers of both sexes and of all nations who were gathered there. Some of them, on hearing the shots, instinctively threw themselves flat on the floor between the swivel-armchairs and the long table in the middle, and lay there paralyzed by fear, and quite incapable of the slightest effort. The majority of the passengers, however, came from Russia, and, being well acquainted with the amiable habits of the ‘ Bocheveki,’ thought only of their money, which they knew to be in immediate danger. For the next few minutes a kind of mad steeplechase, of a most comical description, took place in the saloon. Everybody ran about, left and right, seeking for more or less safe hiding- places for their bank-notes. Bundles of francs, lire, and Turkish pounds, roubles of every imaginable colour and description, cheques, and letters of credit drawn by every European and American bank, disappeared in the twinkling of an eve—hidden under the carpet, on the tops of doorways, in the hollow bottoms of candlesticks, behind fixtures, or under the cotton coverings of the armchairs. Some of the ladies, young and old, lifted their dresses and concealed their worldly posses- sions in their stockings, their shoes, or other secret hiding-places. Meanwhile, on the sofas and benches ladies were fainting and sobbing, and children screamed and cried unheeded. “But what had actually happened to cause this sudden panic ? The ship’s passen- gers, it speedily transpired, were being attacked by a gang of brigands who had suc- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ceeded in embarking that afternoon at Batoum as fourth-class, or deck, passengers for Trebizond. In a few minutes they had succeeded in overpowering the crew and taking complete possession of the ship, a fact without a precedent in the annals of modern French passenger steamers. M. Bugni, the first officer, was in charge on the bridge when, in the darkness, two men wearing masks climbed up the ladders to the bridge and suddenly assailed M. Bugni by catching hold of the collar of his coat and holding the muzzles of revolvers against the back of his head. He had just time to shout out ‘ Help, Captain!’ when he was tripped up and thrown on the floor of the bridge.” At this point it will be well to give the captain’s own account of what happened. The following is an extract from the log- book, as set down by Captain Mattei himself. “ Tleft Batoum on May 6th at 19 o’clock* for Trebizond in tine weather, the sea being calm, At 21.15 o'clock (9.15 p.m.) I was on the gangway, when I heard the second captain (first officer), who was in charge of the ship, shout ‘ Help, Captain! Help!’ I rushed along to the ladder and climbed tapidly up to the bridge, where I was imme- diately confronted by four individuals— passengers on board—who threatened me with revolvers and held me in a corner of the bridge. At this moment a score of other men, all armed with knives and revolvers or magazine pistols, swarmed into the wireless- room, the ladders, the quarterdeck, and guarded all the doorways and openings. Several shots were fired into the wireless- room through the glass windows of the first- class saloon and at the electric lamps. The wireless operator was unable to send any signal. Most of the passengers, under the threat of loaded firearms held at their breasts or heads, were compelled to give up their money, jewels, and a large number of their smaller parcels and handbags. A part of the ship’s officers’ quarters on board were tummaged and robbed of all valuable con- tents. Meanwhile a number of shots, fired from time to time and at random, kept the passengers in a state of alarm. As for myself and my first and second officers, we were held at bay by six men, who kept us covered with their revolvers, completely isolated from the rest of the ship. Under threats I was compelled to obey the orders of the brigands, who instructed me to steer the ship to a certain point between Khopa and Arkava, close to the shore. I was com- pelled to ring down corresponding orders to the chéef engineer below. “At one in the morning we reached the spot indicated, and I was ordered to stop the All over Europe the zg-hour system of counting now prevails, so that 1g o'clock would be 7 p.m.

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THE PIRATES OF THE ‘“SOUIRAH.” ee eee “The Bolshevists! The Bolshevists! They are murdering and robbing everybody.”

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224 ship and cause two of the ship’s boats to be lowered, with members of the crew to row. The first boat was placed in charge of the second officer and the other boat in charge of a lieutenant. The brigands went down into these boats, carrying all the stolen property with them, whilst two of their number remained at the top of the ladder until everybody, including the boats’ crews, was on board. The boats returned at 2 a.m., having landed the thieves. I proceeded for Trebizond at 2.45 a.m. I had a roll-call of the passengers taken before arrival at Trebi- zond, and then found that twenty-one fourth-class or deck passengers, embarked at Batoum for Trebizond, were missing. The missing passengers are no doubt the authors of the robbery. They must have concealed their arms in various parcels and items of hand-luggage sent on board pre- viously.” So much for the captain’s version. Let us now return to the account given by M. Pierre Gentizon, the special correspondent in Georgia of the Paris Temps. “ The passengers in the saloon had scarcely time to hide some of their valuables when shots from the deck outside smashed through the windows or were aimed at the electric lamps, and then a number of men entered the saloon. Two or three, who appeared to be the leaders, wore masks and cloth travel- ling caps, and were dressed in long water- proofs. The others, their followers, wore the ordinary dress of the peasantry here- abouts, with ample-hooded mantles of brown wool. They wore daggers stuck in their waist-belts and carried revolvers. “*Dienghi! Dienghi!’ (‘ Your money ! ’) they shouted, and advanced in a threatening manner towards the passengers nearest the doorway, placing the muzzles of their pistols at their breasts. Their dirty hands grasped blue and green notes in handfuls, together with small piles of silver and gold, which they tossed hastily into the hoods of their mantles. Trembling hands hastened to pass over money and valuables without even waiting for the threatened shooting, and the thieves gleaned an abundant harvest, for, owing to the unsettled condition of political affairs in the East, many of the passengers were carrying away with them to safer places their entire fortunes. A wealthy Persian, for instance, handed over a heavy canvas bag full of gold. With a slash of his cutlass the thief who took it partially ripped open the bag and a whole handful of gold pieces tolled on to the floor, Near by was a Constantinople stockbroker, who was _ re- lieved of some four thousand pounds in notes in less than no time. A Russian, who had hidden everything away, declared he had nothing, whereupon a brigand fired a revolver THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, shot close to his head, singeing his hair. Mad with terror, the Russian screamed for mercy, saying that if the brigand would wait a minute he would give him every- thing. Hurrying to an armchair, closely followed by his assailant, he pulled up the cover and disclosed his well-filled pocket- book, together with a couple of leather cases belonging to other passengers and stuffed with notes, which were snatched up in a moment. “It must not be thought that the brigands acted with any feverish haste. They took their time and went through the crowd of frightened passengers in a most methodical manner. Whilst four of the brigands, armed with Mauser carbines, stood on guard —two at each door, one of the pair standing up on a settee the better to overlook the crowd—the others collected rings, watches, scarf-pins, furs—in fact, everything of value. The masked men, after taking the rings from the fingers of the ladies, proceeded to kiss the hands they had thus stripped of jewel- lery. Every passenger was compelled to pass between two of the men, who proceeded to feel their clothing, examine their pockets, and run a hand along their sides and backs to make sure nothing was being concealed from them. The women were compelled to raise theirs skirt to the knees, and in this way a number of bulging stockings and shoes were emptied of their contents. Nevertheless, in the scurry and alarm of the first onslaught, many of the passengers succeeded in getting off cheaply, handing the brigands a few bundles of notes, but having hidden the main portion of their money beforehand. “As the thieves showed such politeness to the ladies, expressing by gestures, or by speech in Russian or Turkish, their regret at being obliged to put them to inconvenience, the passengers became a little calmer, no longer fearing for their lives. The brigand chiefs—the men in masks—no doubt feeling good-humoured after the tremendous haul they had made, began to distribute a few gold coins to each passenger from the wealthy Persian’s leather bag of gold, others received a bundle of rouble, or franc, or lira notes. In the confusion and panic when the brigands first entered the saloon, many of the passen- gers succeeded in escaping with the loss of a few notes or by handing over cheque-books or letters of credit, which of course were of no real value to the brigands, so that some of the people actually came out of the scrape richer than when they entered it. Thus one lady, who had succeeded in hiding her reticule in the electric stove, received a gift of five hundred roubles from the thieves. The ladies were compelled to submit to another kiss on the back of their hands, moujik fashion, and one of the masked chiefs

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ee to his ith terror, the Rue saving that if th aunute he woul Hurmng to a Dy fas assailant, be 9 di disclosed bus well ether with a coup to other paseages 4, which were saathet “not be thought that de snz: anv feversh haste, Tei pd went through the 57.5 ase fuse four of the » the better to ers cullected mi in fact, ever’ | after talaag the ve ladies, precede ad thos stripped # senger Was if the men, #be tas being conceat jp THE PIRATES OF THE ‘“SOUIRAH.” 225 “ With a slash of his cutlass the thief partially ripped open the bag.” Vol. xlvi —16.

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226 ordered refreshments for them. As the trembling steward brought along a trayful of bottles of lemonade, the masked bandit royally threw down a hundred-franc note —belonging to someone else, of course—on the tray to pay for the drinks.” We also have the testimony of an American lady, Mrs, Haskell, wife of the United States Government Commissioner in Armenia, who was on board ‘with her children at the time of the occurrence. Mrs. Haskell fared very badly,’ and, in common with many other passengers, is inclined to consider that the company to which the Sourrah belongs is morally responsible for the heavy losses in- curred. Mrs. Haskell was putting her chil- dren to bed when the shots first gave the alarm. She did not immediately pay atten- tion to the noise, but on hearing a regular fusillade of shots she became alarmed, and, going out of her cabin, tried to find out what was the matter. A stewardess who passed rapidly by told her that there was trouble amidst the deck passengers, a number of Bolshevists being on board, and that it was safer for her to remain in her cabin. Mrs. Haskell did so, but very shortly afterwards four armed men, dressed in brown overalls, came rushing along the passage, rapping violently at the doors of the cabins of the first-class passengers. Some of these had hidden themselves away under the mattresses of their bunks, but they were dragged out by the feet, compelled to open their trunks, and stripped of all their valuables. Coming to the door of Mrs. Haskell’s cabin, the brigands presented an automatic pistol at her breast and repeated the usual formula—"' Dienghi! Dienghi!’’—in short, sharp tones. They took Mrs. Haskell’s pocket-case and reticule, and also a small leather satchel containing between six and seven hundred American dollar notes. They rummaged the bedding to see if anything was hidden there, and, as the frightened children cried a great deal, one of the brigands patted them on the cheeks and handed one of them a five-dollar note. They then made Mrs. Haskell hand over the keys of her cabin trunk, which they opened and ransacked for anything of value. As the greater number of the first-class passengers were in the saloon and the brigands could not find the keys of the lug- gage in the cabins, they forced open the locks with their daggers, or cut out the leather Letters, important business contracts, of importance—in sides. diplomatic documents THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fact, everything that did not represent an article of intrinsic value that could be imme- diately turned into cash—were ruthlessly torn up. Finally the robbers visited the third-class passengers, who were all made to turn out their money and trinkets, but only two of them were compelled to deliver up their cash, except about twenty dollars each which were returned to them. The others were left in undisturbed possession of their ions, but all were asked if they were evists or not. As this question was put ‘while a couple of revolvers were held a few feet from their breasts, it is perhaps needless to say that, with the utmost unani- mity, all the victims declared themselves to be fervent Bolshevists ! This work of robbing the passengers had taken about four hours. Meanwhile, on the bridge, a fellow in a mask, accompanied by five armed men, was directing the captain as to what he should do; but as the captain could not understand them they sent down two of their number to the saloon, where they forced a poor old Levantine Jew, who spoke Russian, French, and Turkish, to come up and act as interpreter. It appeared from the jerky sentences of this terrified passenger that the brigands were expecting a motor-boat to be on the look-out for the steamer between Khopa and Arkava, two villages on the Turkish coast, and they insisted upon’ the captain giving instructions for the Souivah to cruise about close to the shore in this direction. ‘‘ Faster, faster!" they ordered sometimes, and again, ‘‘ Go slow!” : As no motor-boat could be seen or heard, after cruising about for over an hour the brigands became anxious, and ordered two of the ship's boats to be lowered. After placing therein a large number of small satchels of all shapes and sizes, fur cloaks, photographic cameras, pairs of opera-glasses, and other loot, they all went down into the boats and made off in the dark, being rowed to shore by members of the crew. Thus ended one of the most extraordinary incidents that have everhappened in a modern steamship. No lives were lost and nobody was injured, but one cannot help thinking that, had half-a-dozen of the passengers been cool-headed men of resource possessed of firearms and determination, the thieves would not have had such an easy time of it. They took away money and valuables to the estimated value of eighty thousand pounds.

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Ca tie eae pee APOLOGY. eS By J. R. MONSELL. 4; ANTHROPOP- & Another of Mr. Monsell’s amusing nonsense rhymes, dealing this time with the Esquimo in his native wilds. aaa ~! Start at the bottom. The Esqui-moans with ear profound The Polar Bear-ly makes a sound Aware the Bear's in search of meat The Esqui exits tout de suite. SS ih v Ns iN INS} ! In regions of eternal snow Exists the lonely Esquimo ; Comparatively free from care Unless he meets a Polar Bear.

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An illustrated description of one of the most re- markable and impressive Pageants to be seen in the world—the ceremonies attaching to the crematior HAT with Bolshevist agitation in the unrestful republic of China, labour troubles in Japan, and a “half-baked” Home Rule agitation going on all the time in India, the ancient glamour is rapidly being knocked out of the Far East. There are spots, however, in which it occasionally crops up, places where the glories of the ancient East find occasional revivals, and one of these is progressive and go-ahead little Siam. Bangkok, its capital, a city which for years has adopted the electric light and trolley-car, which is daily coming into line with the other big cities of the world and can already give some of them points and a beating in many respects, has occasional lapses into the remote past, and public pageants astonishing in their mnificence and rivalling the transformation A WONDERFUL SIAMESE } CEREMONY WILLIAM W:-FEGEN To the average W1pDE WorRLD MAGAZINE of a member of the Royal House of Siam. The cus- tom dates back hundreds of years, and is a veritable feast of Eastern colour and magnificence. reader the words ‘‘ Royal Cremation ”’ will scarcely convey the idea of a combined military parade and circus procession, with a considerable amount of the religious element thrown in to give it ballast, yet this seems almost the only description that would give The procession pasting round the funeral pyrevan indescribably gorgeous rags covered with gold arabesques, and coloured light blue, silver, and wi

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THE PASSING OF THE QUEEN - MOTHER. the outside world any idea of the obsequies of Her late Majesty Queen Saovabha Phongsi, as carried out on May 24th, 1920. ‘The remains of the Queen, the mother of the pre- sent King ,had for some day slain in state in one of the large halls in the Royal palace. En- closed in a huge golden urn, en- crusted with dia- monds and other sparkling gems, they rested upona lofty seven-tiered pyramid, covered with gold brocade, which bore upon its steps trees and flowers of pure gold and various other brilliant ob- jects of almost priceless worth. Almost continuous religious services had been held by chapters of yellow- robed Buddhist priests for many days, and in the meanwhile the funeral pyre, an almost indescrib- ably ornate strnc- ture with three spires, the central one about a hun- dred feet high, had been erected in the grass-covered open space adjoining the palace. Covered almost entirely with gold arabesques, relieved here and there with touches of light blue, silver, and vivid scarlet, with every point and line reflecting the rays of the tropical sun, and guarded on all sides by resplendent figures of weird-looking mythological monsters, the whole afforded a most striking example of Buddhist ecclesias- tical art. To this, on the appointed day, after many striking religious rites, were borne the remains of the dead Queen for their final disposal by fire. The whole of the ground, which is known as the Royal Plaza, was ringed in with huge crowds of people, all garbed entirely in white, and through these, making a partial circuit of the whole area, 229 came the great funeral procession. Military bands, mounted and afoot, regiments and detachments of cavalry, infantry, artillery, aviators, engineers, in scarlet, blue, green, and khaki uniforms, swung slowly along to the strains of the “ Dead March in Saul,” or Chopin’s ‘‘ Marche Funtbre,” and took up positions in front of the pyre as though for a review, the ships in the river near by firing minute-guns the while. But flashing arms, tossing plumes, and all the panoply of military display, however brilliant and attractive, are not the East. This followed. Between two long ranks of two hundred and sixty military and naval officers came old Siam. The Drums of Victory, the antique gold, silver, and scarlet instruments which

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230 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, car,drawn by si scarlet-clad devo- tees, the Lord High Abbot—he is a Prince of the Blood Royal as well as a dignitary of the Church — pursued his way, sure rounded by a guard of honour of nobles, all clad in brilliantly kaleido- scopic uniforms. Representatives of the gods Indra and Brahma, _ bearing — lofty but mys- A part of the great procession, showing the ancient Drums of Victory. terious _ insignia, followed, and im- from time immemorial, beaten with strips of | mediately after them a huge umbrella rhinoceros hide, have urged on Siam’s and a great leaf-shaped fan indicated warriors to the fray, were beaten by their the advent of more Royalty—the scarlet-clad bearers with a peculiar cadence Prince of Nagara Raja- through which shrilled the curiously piercing sima, who as a sym- notes of the ancient war-trumpets. Then bolical act scat- came more drummers, followed by a band of — tered parched men with long brazen instruments sugges tive of trombones, and then another band with curved silver bugles. Next the blowers of the sacred conch shells drowned all other sounds with their penetrating blasts as they heralded the ad- vent of the Lord High Abbot. Seated upon the summit of a huge gilded The centre-piece of the procession—the Royal funeral chariot, carrying the golden urn containing the body of the Queen-Mother, In the car in front rides the Heir Presumptive to the Throne, holding one end of « long strip of cloth leading back to the chariot.

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THE PASSING OF THE QUEEN-MOTHER, 231 corn along the route. Then came more _ tiered State and ceremonial umbrellas—dis- sword-bearers, representatives of the old- tinctive emblems of Royalty. There were world gods; fans, and State umbrellas, with also sword and spear bearers, and guards guards of nobles, preceding the: Prince of of nobles in the richest Bhisnuloke, the Heir Presumptive of the of antique dress. Kingdom. Above them Clad in mourning white, he sat on a high gilded car and held the end of a long strip of cloth which extended behind him to the Royal urn, passing over the heads of repre- sentatives of the Brahmin gods, spear and sword-bearers, and a hun- dred scarlet-clad stalwarts drawing the Royal funeral chariot along the all, sur- mounted by a huge pure white um- brella, towered the golden urn, scintillating in the sun- light. Figures in white flowing robes were posted on the sides of the carefull y- levelled road. On each side of the £ pullers went the bearers of the seven-tiered and five- = pn egete eee The building in which the cremation took place. Solidly constructed of teak, it glowed with crimson, blue, and gold.

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232 antique boat-shaped vehicle, but all eyes were directed upon the glowing urn, the receptacle of the illustrious dead. It towered above, dominating everything. Its carvings were wonderful, its embellishments gorgeous bevond description. This chariot, for cen- turies past, has conveyed Siam’s rulers to their funeral pyres. It passed slowly on, and the eye followed it, oblivious to the antique pageantry with which it was surrounded. Suddenly one became mJ officers in re- modern — uni- m >unted splendent forms, and bearing pennon-like standards, were followed by a yellow landau drawn by eight superb bay horses, with tilions, running foot- men, and outriders. ‘This contained the chief mourner—His Majesty the King of Siam. Other smart carriages followed, carriages such as one might see emerge from Buckingham Palace or the main guard gate at Wind- sor. Each was full of members of the Royal House, and they were escorted pos- — aware that there was a change in 3 ye, : Q . the scene; the antique had KER Sy * suddenly vanished. Two well- Las (Above) The King of Siam, under the ceremonial umbrella, on his way to cet light to the pyre. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. by mounted equerries. Then, afoot, came hundreds of ladies, of all ages, all clad in white. These were members of the dead Queen’s household and teachers and pupils of the schools for her sex which it was one of the main objects of her life to establish throughout the land. Arrived at the appointed place, the precious urn was lowered by pious hands and borne upon a palanquin to the stately pyre, followed by the King and his entourage, all on foot. Three times round the building went the cortége, in accordance with immemorial custom. The ships ceased their firing of minute- guns, and slowly the great golden urn was raised into the place of incineration _ be- neath the central spire of the building. Golden brocade ¢ur- tains hid it from view while the final arrangements were made, and in the meanwhile a religious service was held in an adjacent building. Gifts of costly robes were made to the priests, and then the King, mounting the steps, took fire from an attendant priest and reverently placed it in the appointed (Below) Seven and fve-tiered umbrellas—the emblems of Siamese Royalty—borne in the processios.

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YHE PASSING OF THE QUEEN-MOTHER. = 233 receptacle beneath | the mortuary urn. and the massed bands played the National ‘As he did so there | was a thunder of ex- Anthem. All present, in proper order of ploding bombs, the § troops fired salutes, precedence then approached and, taking candles, incense, and sandalwood flowers from the priests, aided in feeding the flames. Night was now falling, and the troops were marching otf the ground, but elec- tric lamps lit up the scene, and still the people pressed up to the pyre to perform their last act of homage to the Queen they loved so well by feeding the ele- ment which did away with her mortal remains. Presently a trum- pet-call and a clatter of hoofs announced the de- parture of the King, but all night long the fires were tended. 'At dawn the ashes were gathered into goldenreceptacles, to be honourably bestowed in the innermost shrines of the temples. a eee os SS The King lifting the ashes from the pyre.

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(he e Qruise - the Here is a treat for you, gentle reader. Most of you are familiar with the delightful writings of Mr. Stock, who has contributed to our pages for many years. After the war he set to work to realize a long-cherished dream— to sail to the South Sea Islands in a little vessel of his own, obeying only the call of adventure and the open sea he loves so well. Mr. Stock told us about his great scheme, and we commissioned him to write a descrip- E all have our dreams. Without them we should be clods. It is in our dreams that we accomplish the impossible: the rich man dumps his load of responsibility and lives in a log shack on a mountain top, the poor man becomes rich, the stay-at-home travels, the wanderer finds an abiding-place. The difficulty is to turn one’s dreams into realities, and as I happen to be enjoying that rare privilege at the present moment, it is too good to keep. For more years than I like to recall, my dream has been to cruise through the South Sea Islands in my own ship. If you have ever been to the South Sea Islands, and love the sea, it would be yours also, They are the sole remaining spots on this earth that are not infested with big-game-shooting ex- peditions, globe-trotters or profiteers, where the inhabitants know how to live, and where the unfortunate from distant and turbulent lands can still find interest, enjoyment, and peace. My dream was as impracticable as most. There was a war to be attended to and lived through, if Providence so willed. There was tion of his experiences exclusively for“ The Wide World Magazine.” Here is the instalment, and we can promise you that as the narrative progresses you will find “The Cruise of the Dream-Ship,” with her crew of three, one of the most entertaining stories you have ever read. Many a stay-at-home will wish himself with Mr. Stock, tied to no time-table, and sailing through enchanted seas to the Isles of Adventure. a ship to be bought, fitted out, and provisioned on a bank balance that would fill the modern cats’-meat man with con- tempt. There were the little matters of cramming into a chronically-unmathematical head sufficient knowledge of navigation to steer such a ship across the world when she was bought, and of finding a crew that would work her without hope of monetary reward. The thing looked and sounded sufficiently like comic opera to deter me from mentioning it to any but a select few, and they laughed. Yet such is the driving power of a dream, if its fulfilment is really desired, that I write this on the deck of my Dream-Ship- anchored off the Isthmus of Panama, five thousand miles on the way to my goal. Exactly how it all came about I find difficult to recall. I have vague recollections of crouching in dug-outs in France, and while others had recourse during their leisure to letter-cases replete with photographs of fluffy girls, I pored with equal interest over sketches and plans of my Dream-Ship. In hospital it was the same, and when a medical board politely ushered me into the street a free man, it took me rather less than

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wean THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. 235 four hours to reach the nearest seaport and commence a search that covered the next six months. It is no easy matter to find the counterpart of a Dream-Ship, but in the end | found her— a Norwegian-built auxiliary cutter of twenty- three tons register, designed as a life-boat for the North Sea fishing fleet, forty-seven feet over all, fifteen feet beam, eight feet draught Such was my Dream-Ship in cold print. In reality, and scen through her owner’s eyes, she was, naturally, the most wonderful thing that ever happened. A mother on the subject of her child is almost derogatory compared with an owner con- cerning his ship, so the reader shall be spared further details. Having found her, there was the little matter of paving for her. I had no money. I have never had any money, but that is a detail that should never be allowed to stand in the way of a really desirable dream. It was necessary to make some. How? By conducting a stubborn offensive on the Army authorities for my war gratuity. By sitting up te all hours in a moth-eaten dressing-gown and a microscopic flat writing short storics. By assiduously cultivating maiden aunts. By coercion. By—but I refuse to say more. The Dream Ship became mine, but what about a crew? I have a sister, and a sister is an uncommonly handy thing to have, provided she is of the right variety. Mine happens to be, for she agreed to forgo all the delicacies of the season and float with me on my piece of wood to the South Sea Islands. So also did a recently-demobilized officer who, on hearing that these same islands were not less than three thousand miles from the Nearest early-morning parade, offered his services with almost unbecoming alacrity. Behold, then, the crew of the dream-ship— Peter, Steve, and myself, and try not to laugh when I tell you that we learnt what we could of navigation inside of three weeks, and on the first of July last sailed from Devonshire, England, with a combined capital of £100, and a clearance for Brisbane, Australia. We sailed, and have been sailing ever since, first across the dreaded Bay of Biscay, which treated us with the utmost kindness until off Finisterre, and then drove us before half a gale into Vigo, Spain. Here we duly admired the soft-eyed seiora and her charm- ing children at play on the palm-bordered alameda, commiserated with the unfortunate Spanish mule, laid in ten gallons of vino tinto, and shaped a course for Las Palmas, Canary Islands. The Dream-Ship ready for her long voyage.

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236 Four hours on and eight off was how we apportioned our watches, and thanks to fair winds and the easy handling of the Dream- Ship, it was never necessary for more than one of us to be on deck at a time. In fact, there were hours on end when the helmsman could lash the tiller and take a constitutional. Cooking we took week and week about at—a dreaded ordeal. It is one thing to concoct food in a porcelain-fitted kitchen on shore, and quite another to do it over a Primus stove in a leaping, gyrating fo’c’sle nine by five. Porridge has been found adhering to the ceiling after ‘“‘ Steve’s week ’’—but hush ! he may have something to say on the subject of Peter and myself! There is always plenty to say about the other fellow, but in nine cases out of ten it is best left unsaid. For- bearance is as much the keynote of good- fellowship on a Dream-Ship as elsewhere ; THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, perhaps more, and we are rather proud of the fact that we have covered half the world without battle, murder, or sudden death. At the end of ten days’ pleasant routine and fair winds we experienced the acute joy of finding land precisely where our frenzied calculations had placed it. As the island of Grand Canary loomed ahead Steve was seen to pace the deck with a quiet but new-born dignity—until hailed from below to help wash dishes ! At Las Palmas we suffered a siege of bumboat-men, lost a good deal more than we could afford at roulette, laid in a fresh supply of vino tinto, and set sail for the West Indies. The great adventure had now begun in earnest. Three thousand miles of Atlantic Ocean lay ahead of us, a waste of waters holding we knew not what of new experience. For the first time since setting sail our undertaking im- bued us with a certain amount of awe. At night, alone at the tiller, one began to think. Would the drink- ing water hold out ? What if the chronometer broke down? Suppos- ing. It was necessary to think of other things, but what ? Staring into the lighted bin- nacle, with its swaying compass card, or down at the phosphorescent water swirling and hissing past the ship’s stern, the helmsman became as one hypnotized. It seemed that he was not of this world, but an atom hurtling through space. Thetempta- tion was to sur- render himself to the sensuous joy of it, a temptation only resisted by an almost painful effort and a know- ledge that the lives of all aboard de- pended on his keeping his leaden eyelids from clos- ing down. The Dream-Ship being overhauled. A four hours’

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LSet ee ¥ THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. 237 sleeping twenty- four hours on end. From then onward life consisted of ““swizzles,"” car rides over a fairy island and more “ swizzles,”” pony races to the accompaniment of ““ swizzles,”’ surf bathing followed by “‘swizzles,”’ and evenings at the Savannah Club, where — conversa- tion was punctu- ated and some- times drowned by the concoction of yet more “ swiz- zles"” by a hard- worked army of coloured folk be- hind a_ gleaming The theory of navigation. mahogany bar. There is no escap- watch is too long. They do not allow it in ing the ‘' swizzle ’’ in Barbados — even if the mercantile marine-—but what were we one wished to, which personally I did not. to do? We kept a marlin-spike handy, They are a delightful, healthful drink, and when oblivion threatened we used it, that was all. It will be seen that a Dream-Ship is not all dream. If it were, such is the perversity of human nature, the dreamer would probably be tired of it inside of a month. “TI can promise you the North- East ‘ trades ’ the whole way across,” said the skipper of a fine six-masted schooner at Las Palmas, turning the pages of his log; and that may account for the fact that not for one day of the Atlantic passage did we encounter a north-east wind. We could have crossed in an open boat so far as the weather was concerned, and we occupied three becalmed days in mid-ocean in swimming round the ship or diving down to scrape the barnacles off her copper. Yet we made Barbados, West Indies, in thirty days, and gladly surrendered ourselves to the tender mercies of the most charming, hos- pitable people one could wish to meet. My recollections of our two weeks’ sojourn are a trifle vague, owing to the rapidity with which one pleasure succeeded another. I remember lying at anchor with awnings up in the most beautiful bay it is possible to conceive, and The practice of navigation—“ Where are we?”

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238 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. composed of the very best rum, Angostura bitters, syrup, fresh lime, nutmeg and ice, the whole ‘ swizzled’’ to the creamy con- sistency of—but I forget that I am addressing people to whom “ swizzles " are unobtainable, and whatever my faults I have never been accused of making a man’s mouth water without supplying the deficiency. Hot-foot from a ball at one of the hotels we literally fled aboard ship and sailed by stealth, otherwise I am convinced that we should be at Barbados still, imbibing sw: “ Look out for the Caribbean Sea towards December,” was another axiom of our six- masted schooner friend at Las Palmas, but he proved no less fallible over the passage from Barbados to Colon than he had con- cerning the Atlantic. In fact, I am thinking in the future of asking advice of weather prophets and expecting the reverse. A spanking, following wind, with mainsail and square-sail set, brought us within sight of land in seven days, a distance of twelve hundred miles. But what land? For a time we were at a loss. Comparing it with the chart and descriptions in ‘ sailing direc- tions "’ revealed nothing. It was a low- lying, mist-enshrouded, sinister-looking land, and we sailed along its coast for a day and a night before we could tell whether we had passed Colon or hit the coast to the eastward. Ultimately a lighthouse gave us the clue, and we found that owing to a current that has the unpleasant knack of running at anything from a half to three knots an hour we were still fifty miles from our objective, so we headed for sea and hove-to until daylight. All night, as we lay rolling in a heavy swell, steamers passed us by, floating palaces of light, and with the dawn we joined the proces- sion of giants making for the Panama Canal. “We wished to go through the Canal ? Very well, a measurer would be sent off to decide our tonnage, and we must be ready to take the pilot aboard at five o'clock the next morning.”” That, in effect, is what the Canal authorities said, and I trust my smile was sufficiently engaging to hide the fact that I was not at all sure we had enough money between us to pay the tolls. It must be an expensive busine this passing from Atlantic to Pacific. I had never thought of that ! There was quite a lot I had not thought about. What if the charges were altogether beyond us? It would mean Cape Horn! Cape Horn or the abandonment of the dream! Which was worse for one who, after sixty below zero on the Canadian prairie, four below zero in France and Belgium, and something far worse in coulless London, has taken a solemn oath never-again to leave the ‘forties of latitude ? These terrifying reflections were cut short by a voice. “T can’t make it more than twelve tons.” “ Twelve tons ? " The Canal official deigned to exhibit sur- prise by a slight elevation of the eyebrows ; then he smiled. ‘The measurer has been aboard,” he told me, ‘“‘and you are twelve tons net. The tolls will be fifteen dollars. Will you pay now or at the other end ? ” Such was my relief that I paid on the spot, reducing our united capital to twenty pounds or, at the present rate of exchange, seventy- eight dollars. This brief interview with officialdom is typical of Panama Canal methods. Speed, silence, efficiency ; nothing else ‘‘ goes’ in “the Zone.’’ Things are done in a few seconds and utter silence here that would take hours and pandemonium elsewhere. ‘The entire miracle of passing a ten-thousand- ton liner from Atlantic to Pacific through seven locks and forty miles of tortuous, ever- threatening channels has been performed in six and a half hours, and with a lack of fuss that is almost uncanny. But the Dream-Ship was twelve tons, and not ten thousand, and for that reason it is probable that she gave more trouble than any craft since the Canal was opened. Yet on every hand we received the utmost courtesy and kindness. Such treatment made us feel like a pestiferous mosquito being politely conducted to the door instead of squashed flat on the spot, as we deserved to be. But you shall see. Punctually at five a.m. the pilot came aboard in his immaculate white drill uniform and, without a smile at his surround- ings, including ourselves in variegated cos- tume, took up his position in the bows. I went below, and after a ten minutes’ wrestle with the auxiliary, contrived to make three out of the four cylinders “ go” sufficiently to propel us at the dignified speed of three knots in the direction of the Canal. “Is that the best she can do?” inquired the pilot. I lifted an apologetic, perspiring, and be- grimed face to his and admitted that it was. Moreover, that we were very lucky to be doing that. “Ah, well, the day is young,” he com- mented cheerfully.‘ What about an awning ? We shall be baked alive before we've done.” Did T tell him that the reason we had not rigged an awning was that I was more than half expecting the engine to break down, and that we should have to hoist sail? I did not. Whoever heard of sailing through the Panama Canal ? An awning was rigged, and we entered Gatun Lock in style, followed by two mere liners.

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THE CRUISE The giant gates closed. There was an eruption of water, seemingly under our stern, that caused the tiller to fly over andextract agroan of agony from Steve as it crushed him against the cock-pit wall, the aft warp snapped, and the Dream- Ship commenced to rise, tearing her covering-board to ribbons against the lock wall in the process. There was nothing to be done. Our ascent was as inevitable as the sun’s. We rose, and con- tinued to rise, more like an eleva- tor than a ship in a lock, until the blank, greasy wall ended, and above it appeared a row of grinning faces. “That’s that,” said the pilot ; and it was. By some miracle the engine carried us to the next lock, where the same performance was gone through, with such slight varia- tions as the loss of a hat, three fenders, and the remainder of the port covering-board. Then we passed out into Gatun Lake, a fairy place of verdure- clad islets and mist-enshrouded reaches where cranes flew low over the water, and strange, wild cries came out of the bush. It was also the place where our engine refused its office peremptorily, irrevocably. I am engineer of the Dream-Ship—probably the worst on earth, but still, the engineer— and for an agonized hour I wrestled with lifeless scrap-iron. How the profession of marine motor-engineering ever attracts adherents it is beyond me to imagine. I know one man it has sent to the asylum, and many others who bear the marks of having trifled with it to this day—finger- nails that nothing short of cutting to the quick and gouging with a shovel will render clean, hands, clothes, and (for some unknown OF THE DREAM-SHIP, 239 Under the awning at Las Palmas. reason) face ingrained with ineradicable grime, a permanently furrowed brow, and a wistful expression that goes to the heart of the beholder. In order to avoid such a fate I have made it a practice to try hard for one solid hour and, failing to gain a response from the atrocity, leave the matter in other, and perhaps more capable, hands. I communicated this in- formation to the pilot, and then and there the man’s more human side came to the surface. It was raining as it knows how to rain on the Isthmus, he was soaked to the skin, his natty uniform resembled nothing more closely than a dish-rag, yet he smiled, and proceeded to remove his jacket. “‘ Guess we’d better sail,’’ he said. Behold once more the Dream-Ship, sailing through the Panama Canal; alternately scudding before rain squalls, lying becalmed,

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240 and making tacks of fifty yards and less—a~™ passage surely unique in the annals of “‘ the Zone.” The pilot said he enjoyed it, and by the way he swigged on halyards and gave us an old-time THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, at the rate of six dollars an hour until we reached the approaches to Pedro Miguel lock, where the apparition tied us up and steamed off, still at six dollars an hour. Something chanty to work by, I am inclined to believe him. We were lucky in our pilot. Towards even- ing, during a stark calm, Steve dived overboard and made us fast to a light buoy, his jaw dropping perhaps half an inch and a thoughtful ex- pression coming into his eyes when a_ little later a “‘log’”’ on the muddy shore was suddenly im- bued with life and slipped into the water witha whisk of a horny tail. So it was that we had afternoon tea in comfort, some alleged music on piano and clarionet, happened to us > that night at Pedro Miguel. Looking back on : itail I can hardly ‘ persuade myself : that it is nota dream. We met -some Canal ! officials, tall, |: sun-burned ‘|: youths with the : markof efficiency : upon them, yet witha merry twinkle in the eye. We asked them aboard, and they came and - marvelled at . What they saw. - Their verdict . was, as far as - I remember: . “Some novelty!” Then they asked us ashore, and -it was our tum * to marvel. One : of our hosts was the chief oper- atosw of a_ lock, and a_ pleasant chat with the pilot concerning the older and better days of the wind-jammer, while dainty egrets watched us from a tree- fern, ungainly pelicans swooped and dived, and somewhere ten-thousand-ton liners were being hustled through the Panama Canal. We had no wireless, which was why it was impossible to summon a tug to take us on our way, but finally a monstrous steamer passed so close that it was possible to hail her, and a few hours later we were taken in tow by an apparition of noiseless engines, shining varnish, and gleaming brass. “ It would cost us six dollars an hour,” the pilot told us, and I sat back to figure out just how long seventy-eight dollars would last under such an onslaught. The result was alarming. We held a committee meeting about it in the bows and decided that there was nothing for it but to go on and keep going on until we stopped. We had hoped to reach lands where money was of secondary importance, but we were not there yet, that was evident. So we continued to race through the Canal and we saw the miracle of the Isthmus of Pana- ma from behind. Futility overwhelms me at thought of trying to describe what we saw that night, over the lock, under the lock, at the sides of the lock ; besides, you will find it all reduced to cold figures in technical journals if you are that way inclined. It was the spirit of the thing that took hold of me—a pigmy man sitting at a lever! What was not possible after this ? We returned to the ship almost stupefied. One feels much the same if he attempts to think in Westminster Abbey. We were in the process of turning in when a cheerful head appeared through the skylight. “We await your pleasure,” quoth a voice. I explained that the owner of the head was, no doubt unconsciously, violating the sanctity of my sister’s bedroom. It made no difference. I protested that at that moment her costume consisted of pyjamas and a kimono; that Steve and I had nothing to our backs but what we had worn all day— an undershirt and a pair of football shorts ; that we were all tired to death, and literally

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THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM- SHIP. 241 ached for our pillows; that his kind- mes; was overwhelming, but that—— Nothing made any difference. Somehow we found ourselves in a car—the chief operator’s first car, which he had learnt to drive during the dinner hour the previous day. Out into the moonlight we sped, or rather zigzagged, at the rate of forty miles an hour, while between my sister and myself a youth named Bill—I shall never forget Bill—kept up a running flow of informative rhetoric: ‘‘ On the left we have the famous Isthmus of Panama, inter- sected by the still more famous Canal, a miracle of modern engin- eering, as it has been aptly termed. Fear not, lady ” (this in an aside to Peter), ‘‘ the man at the wheel values his life as much as yours, perhaps more. And now we approach the historic city of Panama, passing on our left the Union Club, fre- quented solely. by the nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood ; while on the vight——” On the right was the blazing portico of a cabaret, and the car had come to a jarring full-stop. In vain we pleaded our costumes, the hour of night, the utter degradation of exposing ourselves to the public gaze in such a condition. We literally found ourselves Leaving Miraflores Lock, Panama Canal. Vol. xlvi.—17 The Dream-Ship at St. Lucia. seated at a table, drinking imitation lager beer and grape juice and listening to raucous- voiced imported ladies rendering washy ballads to the accompaniment of tinkling ice and tobacco smoke. It was all vastly amusing to sea-weary wanderers, and will remain with us a memory of kindness and good fellowship. To-day we lie at anchor off Balboa, on the Pacific Ocean. We have come far and hope to go a great deal farther. To do so, we have come to the conclusion that it will be necessary to make some money. How? Well, we have a Dream- Ship, a group of pearling islands lies thirty miles to the eastward, and — but more of this anon. A. strange life, my masters, but one that I would not exchange with any man on earth. (To be continued.)

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The continuation of this remarkable narrative. THE LIFTED VEIL THE STORY OF AN AMAZING DECEPTION By LIEUT-E-H-JONES INDIAN ARMY RESERVE OF OFFICERS Mlustrated by HOWARD This instalment describes the finding of the second clue to the “treasure,” the desperate attempt made by “OOO” to kill the mediums, and the change of plan which forced the Author and Lieutenant Hill to play their last card and get themselves certified as lunatics. VII. HOW "000" SOUGHT TO MURDER US. E had long since decided that the most appropriate date for finding the second of the two clues we had made would be the first of April. Hill had buried it some four miles away on the bank of a gully beyond the Pinewoods, known to the camp as “ Bone’s Nullah.” The photographs being already taken, we had no troubles to contend with or fears of discovery to disturb us. The treasure-hunt began about twenty minutes’ walk outside the town. There were slight variations from the previous day. YYY allowed the Turks to talk. He did not at first appear to our vision like KKK, but was able to make himself heard. The remainder of our journey was a repetition of the previous day’s, save that no photograph was taken; and when the tin box containing a second lira and another paper of cryptic in- structions was unearthed, we failed to escape the gratitude of the Cook. Tle went on his knees, kissed our hands, and made a most fervid speech of thanks. All the way back the Turks babbled about the treasure. Two of the three clues were now found. The Spook was rapidly fulfilling his promises. All honour to the Spook, to YYY, and to KKK! When we got back to our prison the spook-board was produced, and the Pimple duly thanked all concerned with great solemnity, and asked for further orders. In return the Spook warned us that another attempt might be made on our lives that night by OOO. The Commandant doubled our sentries again, and next morning at dawn the Pimple appeared with an anxious face. The sentries had reported strange noises in the house during the night, and he was sure OOO had made another attempt on our lives. We told him that OOO had made a perfect nuisance of himself until well past midnight. Doors had banged, windows had rattled, and footsteps had echoed through the house. Several times OOO had come within an ace of “ controlling ’’ us, but our Spook had come to the rescue. The strain had been terrible. The Pimple congratulated us on being still alive, and escaping so lightly. THE WAR OFFICE TELEGRAM. Then he asked if he might consult the Spook about the War Office telegram ordering our release. The explanation turned out to be simple enough to a truce believer. “You remember,” said the Spook, ‘“ how I said I might cause Constantinople to send a telegram ? Well, I had everything ready. Their minds were prepared to send a wire as soon as I put it into their heads what to say. OOO got wind of our intention through his who must have picked up your medium, thought-wa Moise (aside) : ‘‘ Who is this fellow ? ”” Spook: ‘It is X." (naming a friend of ours in the camp). ‘OOO got this wire sent because he was able to use the ground previously pre- pared by me. OOO is determined to stop us finding the treasure. He hoped the wire would arrive in time to stop the search for the first The Author's book, “On the Road to En-Dor,” is published by Mr. John Lane.

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clue, because he thought, if the Commandant got this wire before anything had been found, he would not believe in me, and, being frightened, would send the mediums back to the camp.” The Pimple was much impressed by the cunning of OOO. He agreed that, had the telegram arrived before the finding of the clues, Kiazim Bey would have been fnghtened out of his wits. The Turks were now entirely in our hands. Their confidence in the Spook was absolute. They had reached the high water-mark of faith, and we determined to rush things through on the full tide of their credulity, For there was no more “ planted treasure "” to be dug up, nor could we hope to increase the trust in us which they already showed, so there was no sense in delay. Our first object now was to get into touch with somebody in the camp, and give him the negatives and other proof of Kiazim’s com- plicity. Not until then should we be free to go ahead with our two alternative plans, which, as has already been explained, were either to get Kiazim to send us somewhere whence escape would be easy, or failing that, to sham madness, in the hope of being exchanged. We got rid of our proofs easily enough. It was done thus :— The Spook thanked the Commandant for his trust and his readiness to disobey the War Office. But to make the disobedience doubly safe, the responsibility for our continued con- finement should be transferred elsewhere. With this end in view, the Spook announced, he had placed Doc. O'Farrell ‘' under control.” Let Moise go to the Doc. and say that the mediums wanted some quinine ; the proof that the Spook was in control would be that Doc. would refuse to give any medicine without first seeing his patients. “ If Iam successful,” the Spook said : “the doctor will be very uneasy about his patients after his visit. He will go home and consult his text-books. Then he will ask the Commandant’s permission to keep them under medical observation, and will suggest they be not permitted walks or access to the other prisoners until he is satisfied about their health. In this way the Commandant will be free from all blame for their continued imprisonment.” The Pimple thought the plan excellent, and at once put it into execution. He asked the doctor for some quinine. As previously ar- ranged, Doc. refused to give it without seeing us. The Pimple, much delighted at finding the ‘‘ control’ so perfect, brought him over to us. While the doctor was examining our tongues and feeling our pulses, Hill shpped into his pocket a small packet, containing :— (1) A complete copy of the Pimple’s records of the séances. (2) A brief explanation of our plans, and a note telling the Doc. what advice we wished him to give the Commandant, and why. THE LIFTED VEIL. 243 (3) The negatives of the treasure-hunt. (4) The camera, to be returned to its owner (Lieutenant Wright). In connection with the third, and last, clue to the “ treasure,’’ the Spook first made an attempt to get into telepathic touch with AAA through the board. The séance was in many ways most interesting. We had the greatest ditficulty in getting through to Constantinople, and for a while it looked as if OOO and Co. had captured the thought-wave exchange. The Spook appealed to us for one last etfort. We made it, got Constantinople, got AAA on the other end of the ‘ thought-wave '’—and imme- diately got jammed. The opposition had blocked us. The Pimple was almost in tears, and we were so near success and yet so far away! “Tt is OOO again,” he wailed ; “ he is getting more powerful.”’ There remained, said the Spook, telepathic trance-talk, but this involved enormous risk to all concerned. Failure might mean loss of sanity, or even death to the mediums, and equal danger to the sitter if he made any mistake. There was no other method of finding out the third clue in Yozgad; the only alternative was to move us away. From April 2nd until the 5th (when the Spook allowed Kiazim to make it known that our solitary imprisonment was ended) we had s¢ances day and night. Indeed, until we left Yozgad, on April 26th, we gave the Turks no rest. When the hour for trance-talk arrived (it was to take place in the dark) Moise shook hands with us very solemnly and took his place at the other side of the room. His instructions were to listen, but not to interrupt. The Spook announced he was going to Constantinople (where AAA was for the time being) in order to put AAA under control. Till and I had everything rehearsed before- hand. We waited for the silence and the dark- Ness to begin to prey on the Pimple’s nerves, and then rose together, called to the Pimple to follow, and set off downstairs. We talked, as we went, to an imaginary spirit. With the Pimple at our heels, we turned to the left at the bottom of the stairs and passed through a doorway (usually shut) into a large hall on the ground floor. A BATTLE IN THE DARK. - Immediately there was the bang of a most terrific explosion. Hull and I shrieked to Moise to run. Bhnd with terror, the poor little fellow rushed out of the house and smashed into the ten-foot wall of the yard, which he vainly sought to climb. Then, re- covering himself bravely, he came back to our rescue. We were half-way up the wooden staircase that led to our room, bawling for help at the top of our voices, and wrestling des- Perately with an invisible opposition in the dark. First one and then the other of us fell

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244 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. clattering to the bottom of the stairs. As fast as we climbed up we were thrown down again. The night was filled with our groans and shouts and the noise of blows. The din was terrific. Moise often told us afterwards that it was the most awe-inspiring incident in all his spooking experience. It was so dark on the stairs that he could see nothing, but he realized that we were fighting for our lives. The tumult on the stairs, of course, was pre- arranged. First Hill dragged me backwards, ther I dragged him, and we both yelled at the top of our voices, pounded one another in the dark, kicked and stamped and raved to drown the laughter that was rising within us. We were seeking to terrify Moise into another flight, and hoped he would make a bolt for home, but we failed. We did not know until after- wards that he had left the key of the outer gate in our room upstairs, and was as much a prisoner as ourselves. The end came suddenly. Hill was_ half- way upstairs, holding on to the banisters with both hands and shaking them till they rattled. I had him by the ankles and was heaving and hauling in an endeavour to break his grip and give him as bumpy a passage to the bottom as he had just given me. We were both yelling blue murder. Then the Pimple took a hand in the fight. He came up to within a foot of my back in the dark, stamped his heavy boots loudly on the wooden stairs, and cried “ Shoo- shoo!” in a very frightened voice. The idea of “ shooing " away a malignant spirit who was intent on our murder was too much for us; Hill let go of the banisters and I loosed his heels at the same instant, and we fled together to our room to suffocate our laughter in our blan- kets. The Pimple followed, and bravely took up his position at his table. Finally we got back into our chairs, and with the usual groans and grunts the “ power passed awa’ The Pimple lit the lamp and peered at us anx At his request we examined ourselves. We found bruises; I had barked my shins, Hill’s nose was skinned, and though it was a cold night we were both bathed in perspiration. We affected not to understand, and the Pimple gave us a lurid account of the night’s perform- ance. Then we turned to the Spook for further light on the subject. In preparing us for the trance-talk the Spook had warned us: “It is like a battle. While I am attacking AAA at Constantinople, the opposition may suddenly counter-attack on my mediums, and, as I have told you, I have no Teserves.”” It had been a second and a most brutal attempt by OOO to kill the mediums. Our Spook had arrived back from Constantinople just in time to interpose between us and the “ explosion ” and to divert the missiles. ‘‘ The missiles themselves, of course, are invisible in your sphere,” our Spook explained, “ but their results and the results of the explosion you heard are visible. Would you like to see them ? ” “Is there no danger ? " Moise asked. “No; I am with you,” said the Spook. Wei took a candle and went cautiously down- stairs and into the hall below. The place was in a fearful mess. At the end where we had entered, the floor was deep in broken plaster, and in the wall, all around the spot where we had been standing when the explosion took place, were ten great holes. Moise probed those he could reach with shaking fingers, but found no missiles. As the Spook had said, the missiles were “invisible.” Awestruck we returned upstairs. “The mediums and I thank you sincerely,” said Moise to the Spook. "It was a dreadful explosion, We are grateful to you.” “You are a brave man, Moise,”’ the Spook replied. “I congratulate you. Your presence on the stair and your stamping helped me. Well done! But you sce it is very dangerous. I think you are satisfied it is too risky. You had better consent to Plan 2.” Moise was satisfied, and returned with the news that the Commandant was strongly in favour of Plan 2, because if his mediums were killed all hope of the treasure would be gone. Plan 2 entailed our leaving Yozgad. We had got what we wanted! The Turks were now keen on moving us. ‘We did not trouble to explain that the “ explosion” which had frightened them was caused by Hill banging shut a heavy trap-door left open for that pur- pose, or that the ten “ shell-holes ”’ in the wall represented some hard work with the pick we had borrowed for the treasure-hunt. Just when everything was arranged satis- factorily for the conspirators’ plans—they were to go to a quiet place on the coast, accompanied only by the Commandant, Moise, and the Cook —utter disaster befell their daring scheme. The timid Commandant, though not in the least suspicious of the mediums’ bona fides, lost his nerve as to what the spirits opposing the ‘‘ Spook” might do, and practically backed out of the treasure-hunt. Hill and Jones had planned to get the three Turks into a boat, overpower them, and take them with them as prisoners when they made their escape. But now the Command- ant’s cowardice had ruined everything, and they reluctantly decided to abandon the idea of escape by means of the “ treasure "’ scheme, and to try shamming madness as a last resort. WE DECIDE TO BECOME MAD. Our last hope was to go mad, and try for exchange. We came to the decision reluctantly, after a discussion that went far on into the night. Our Spook had a delicate task regaining its full authority over Kiazim. It began by developing the Commandant’s own plan—a

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process to which he could hardly object—and laying stress on its desire to keep Kiazim in the background. It reminded us that in order to avoid OOO’s interference, it was better for us not to know what method would be ultimately adopted. But there was no harm in preparing for a trip to Constantinople to read the thoughts of AAA. And if we failed, which was unlikely, we could try some other method when we returned to Yozgad. Meantime, Kiazim need do nothing but tell the truth, in which there was never any harm. It did not reprove. Kiazim for lack of faith or pretend to know anything about his temporary secession, but went on quietly as if nothing had occurred. The Commandant was perfectly ready to THE LIFTED VEIL. 245 We were unshaven, unwashed, and looked utterly disreputable. For over three weeks we had been living on a very short ration of dry bread and tea. For the last three days we had eaten next to nothing, and by the 13th of April we were literally starving. We sat up all night on the r2th, so that our eyes might be dull when the doctors came, and we took heavy doses of phenacetin at frequent intervals, to slow down our pulses. All night we kept the windows and doors shut, and the stove red- hot and roaring, and smoked hard, so that by morning the atmosphere was_ indescribable. We scattered filth about the room—which had already remained a week unswept—and strewed it with slop-pails, empty tins, torn paper, and “Bone’s Nullah,” where the second “treasure-clue" was found. tell the truth, but wanted to know to whom he was to tell it, and what he was to say. The Spook told him. He was to call in the Turkish doctors and make to them a statement as to our mental condition that we drafted out for him to learn by heart. The Pimple and the Cook likewise brought their testimony. As a consequence of our scheming, a very good case was laid before the two official Turkish doctors in Yozgad, Major Osman and Captain Suhbi Fahri, on the morning of April 13th, 1918. We knew nothing of the medical attain- ments of Major Osman or Captain Suhbi Fahri, but we calculated that the statements ought to create a most favourable atmosphere. The Spook had promised the Commandant to place us under control and make us seem mad when the doctors visited us. It succeeded to perfection. clothing. Near the door we upset a bucket of dirty water; in the centre of the floor was a heap of soiled linen, and close beside it what looked like the remains of a morning meal. Over all we sprinkicd a precious bottle of Elli- man’s Embrocation, adding a new odour to the awful atmosphere. An hour before the doctors were due, Hill began smoking strong plug tobacco, which always makes him sick. The Turks, being Turks, were ninety minutes late. Hill kept puffing valiantly at his pipe, and by the time they arrived he had a horrible greeny-yellow hue. Finally, we heard Moise and the doctors coming up our stairs, laughing and chatting together. Captain Suhbi Fahri, still talking, opened the door of our room and stopped in the middle of a sentence. It takes a pretty vile atmosphere to astonish a Turk, but the specimen of “‘ fug ’’ we had so laboriously

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246 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ Hill, with a British ‘warm’ prepared took his breath away. The two doctors stood at the door and talked in whispers to Moise. DECEIVING THE DOCTORS. Hill, with a British warm up to his ears and S-eKENED up to his ears, sat huddled motionless over the a Balaclava on his tousled head, sat huddled motionless over the red-hot stove, warming his hands. On the other side of the stove I wrote furiously, dashing off sheet after sheet of manu- script and hurling them on to the floor.

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THE LIFTED VEIL. 247 toed silently round the room, peering into our slop - pails and tubbish - heaps, until he got be- hind my chair, when I whirled round on him in a frightened fury, and he hur- tiedly retreated to the door again. Neither of them sought to investigate ourreflexes—the tests we feared most of all—but they contented themselves with a few questions which were put through Moise in whispers, and translated to us by him. They began with me. Mayor Os- MAN.— ‘* What are you writ- ing?” SELF (ner- vously). — “ It is not fin- ished yet.” The ques- tion was repeated several times; each time I an- swered in ; the same || words, and ; immedi- , ately began writing again. MAJOR OSMAN .— “What is it?” * SeLF.—"“A plan.” (Back - to my writ- red-hot stove. On the other side of the stove I wrote furiously.” ing. More Their examination was a farce If their minds were not already made up before they entered, the state of our room and our appear- ance completely satisfied them. Major Osman never left the door. Captain Suhbi Fahri tip- whispering between the doctors at the door.) Major Osman.—‘‘ What plan?” Secr.—‘ A scheme to divide up England at the end of the war. A scheme for the abolition of England! Go away. You are bothering me.”

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248 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN (More whispering at the door.) Major Osman.—'‘ Why do you want to do that?” SELF.—'' Because the English hate us.” Mayor Osman.— Your father is English. Does he hate you?” Setr.— Yes. He has not written to me for a long time. He puts poison in my _ parcels. He is in league with Major Baylay. It is all Major Baylay’s doing.” I grew more and more excited, and burst into a torrent of talk about my good friend Baylay’s “ enmity,” waving my arms and raving furiously. The two doctors looked on aghast, and I noticed that Captain Subhi Fahri changed his grip on his silver-headed cane to the thin end. It took them quite a time to quieten me down again. At last I gathered up my scattered manuscript and resumed my writing. Hill had never moved or paid the slightest attention to the pandemonium. They turned to him. Major Osman.—‘ Why are you keeping the room so hot? It is a warm day.” (Moise had to call Hill by name and repeat the question several times before Hill appeared to realize that he was being addressed. Then he raised a starving, grey-green, woebegone face to his questioners.) “Cold,” he said, and huddled an inch nearer the stove. “Why don't you go out?” Osman. “ Baylay,” said Hill, without lifting his head. “Why don’t you sweep the floor ? ” “ Poison in dust.” “ Why is there poison in the dust ? ” “ Baylay,”’ said the monotonous voice again. “Is there anything you want?” Major Osman asked. Hill hfted his head once more. “ Please tell the Commandant to lock the door, and you go away.” Then he turned his back on his questioners. The two doctors, followed by Moise, tip- toed down the stairs. We heard the outer gate clang, listened carefully to make sure they had gone, and then Iet loose the laughter we had bottled up so long. For both the Turkish doctors had clearly been scared out of their wits. asked Major CERTIFIED AS LUNATICS. Moise came back later with our certificates of lunacy. They were imposing documents, written in a beautiful hand, and each decorated with two enormous seals. The tollowing is a trans- lation as it was written out by the Pimple at our Tequest :— “Hill. This officer is in a very calm condition, thinking. His face is long, not very fat. Breath heavy. He has been seen very thinking. He gave very short answers. There is no (? life) in his answers. There is a nervousness in his present condition. He states that his life is in danger and he wants the door to be locked because a Major is going to kill him. By his answers and by the fact he is not taking any food, it seems that he is suffering from melancholia. We beg to report that it is necessary he be sent to Con- stantinople for treatment and observation and a final examination by a specialist.” * Jones. This officer appears to be a furious. Weak constitution. His hands were shaking and was busy writing when we went to see him. When asked what he was writing he answered that it was a plan for the abolition of England because the English were his enemies ; even his father was on their part because he was not seniing letters. His life is in danger. A Major wants to kill him and has put poison in his meat. That is why he is not eating. He requested nobody may be allowed to come and the door may be locked. According to the statement of the orderly and other officers this officer has been over-studying Spiritualism. He says that the doctor was giving him poison instead of medicine. According to his answers and his present condition he seems to suffer from a derangement in his brains. We beg to report that it is necessary to send him to Constantinople for observation and treatment.” Both reports were signed and sealed by— “Maior Osman, Bacteriologist in charge of Infectious Diseases at Yozgad. “Captain Suhbi Fahri, District Doctor in charge of Infectious Diseases at Yozgad.”” “Your control,’’ said Moise, to us, ‘ was wonderful—marvellous. Your very expressions had altered. The doctors said your looks were “very bad, treacherous.’ You, Jones, have a fixed delusion and Hill has melancholia, they say. They have ordered that a sentry be posted to prevent your committing suicide and that you and your room be thoroughly cleaned, by force. if necessary. Do you remember the doctors’ visit ?”’ Our memories, we said, were utterly blank, and we got the Pimple to relate what had occurred. “It was truly a glorious exhibition of the power of our Spook,” the Pimple ended, “ and the Commandant is greatly pleased. I trust you suffer no ill-effects ?”” We were only very tired, and very anxious that the doctors’ suggestions as to cleansing up should be carried out. Sentries were called in. Our bedding and possessions were moved to a clean room, and we were led out into the yard and made to bathe in the horse-trough. Then we slept the sleep of the successful con- spirator till evening. (To be continued.)

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( )urAdventures amons the Berbers = _ THE . WHITE ARABS OF ALGERIA. » CAPT: M-W-HILTON-SIMPSON The fascinating story of a long-lost white race. Exclusively written for “The Wide World Magazine,” this narrative sets forth the Author’s experiences among a strange and little- known tribe—the Shawia Berbers of Algeria, the representatives of an ancient white people. Living in well-nigh inaccessible villages in the heart of the mountains, these “ White Arabs” have remained practically unknown and unvisited, and still practise many strange customs that have long since vanished elsewhere. Captain Hilton-Simpson, accompanied only by his wife and a native orderly, spent a long time among the Berbers, as the guest of the village sheikhs, and his articles and photographs will be found exceedingly interesting. L W I returned to Algeria in 1913, wildness scarcely invites the visitor to after an absence of several years, Algeria to venture into the massif itself, my object was to undertake some where, wandering over its sometimes researches into the manners and almost impassable tracks, he could see for customs of the people in the remoter parts of himself the life of its strange white Berber the hill country, with a view to finding people in their eyries amidst its forbidding out as much as possible concerning the crags. daily life of the Berber tribes in- habiting it, among whom I considered that survivals of many ancient arts and customs might reasonably be ex- pected to persist. With this idea in view, my wife and I selected the great mountainous massif of the Aurés, some forty miles to the north-east of Biskra, as the field for our researches. This is a wild range of barren hills, the beauty of whose tints of pink and purple delights the distant gaze of the tourist in I Biskra, but whose _ El Kantara, the “Mouth of the Sahara,” from which the Author started.

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250 For a series of expeditions into the heart of this little-known region we selected as our rail-head the little wayside station of El Kantara, the ‘‘ Mouth of the Sahara,” as the Arabs call it, which lies some thirty miles to the north of Biskra at.the point where the motor road and the railway, following the line of a little stream, emerge from a narrow cleft in a solid wall of red rock towering a thousand feet or more above the brook, and bring the traveller from Algiers to his first oasis of date palms, a forest of deep green branches nestling in a barren, stony valley at the foot of the mighty wall of rock in which the gorge of El Kantara is the only break. This gorge, with its everchanging hues as dawn emerges into sunshine or the fiery glare of the setting sun illumines its barren rocks, seen from the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. indulged in even by the boys. Their years being too tender to allow them to frequent the club-like cafés with their parents, they play in the street, lines scratched in the dry earth serving to mark the squares of a “ board.” Having made a number of acquaintances among the men and boys,. it was not long before my wife began to réceive invitations to visit the women in their houses. ‘These Arab women of the desert, though not com- pelled to wear the veil, like their sisters in Algiers and similar large towns, are kept very much out of sight, especially during the all-too-brief period of their youth and beauty, so that they leave the shelter of their’ homes only to perform such tasks as carrying up heavy goatskins full of water from the brook or washing clothes beside it, stamping with rhythmic ~ tread housetops over a sea of palm tops, with the minaret of a mosque in the foreground, has deservedly been considered one of the most beautiful spots that can be visited by the traveller in Algeria who sticks to the rail and the road. On arrival at our base we found much to occupy us in addition to admiring the never-failing charm of its bar- ren beauty, for we at once com- menced a study of the life of its Arab inhabitants with a view to comparing it with that of their neighbours, the Shawia Berbers of the hills. upon the soaped garments and gossiping the while with their friends. These women lead a life which, though - slightly freer than that of the wealthy women of the towns, is one long round of toil without enjoy- ment. They cannot visit a café, they can- not loiter with their friends, exchanging the gossip of the market-place; they dare not mingle with the crowd to watch the antics of a passing juggler from Morocco, whoseunpleasant habit of sticking iron spikes into his nostrils or We accordingly began tofrequent the little cafés in the villages where the Arab man _ passes so much of his time in the consumption of black coffee—his only stimulant—and the playing of various games such as dominoes and Spanish cards, or a game played with improvised pieces, date stones versus pebbles, which resembles our old game of ‘fox and geese,’ and is much A wandering juggler from Morocco displays his feats of legerdemain. allowing a snake to hold on to his tongue, is so much appre- ciated by the male population of El Kan- tara, All these things are forbidden them, lest their charms should arouse the admira- tion of some chance beholder and the conse- quent fierce jealousy of their rightful lords. Indeed, save for the gatherings of female relations at weddings—which always take place behind closed doors—and an occasional

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OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE BERBERS. peep through a half-open portal at a passing Negro clown from the Sudan, the distractions of the women-folk of El Kantara are prac- tically non-existent, so that many families came to look eagerly forward to a visit from my wife. Although, owing to the number of European travellers that they see in the course of their water-seeking excursions or washing parties, they were familiar enough with the general appearance of European women, and accordingly did not overwhelm my wife with attentions, they were always glad of an opportunity of a ‘ private view ” of a Roumiya (as a European woman is called) in the seclusion of their own homes. Gradually— often as the bringer of medicine for a sick member of the household—I, too, gained admittance to some houses in which to this day I am the only male person, European or native, other than members of the family, who is allowed to cross the threshold. Having during our first visit to El Kantara tecome acquainted not only with many of its Arab inhabit- ants but also, through them, with a number of Shawia from the neigh- bouring hills, we proceeded to visit the latter in their own villages. We decided that to camp outside the village, attended by a number of servants, who might easily cause trouble with the villagers, would lead to our seeing next to nothing of real Shawia life, so we determined to stay in the villages themselves, either as the guests of the sheikh, the head of the community, or in any vacant room in a hut which Arab boys playing a game resembling “fox and gee: 251 we could find, rely- ing for food upon native fare cooked by the sheikh’s wives. supple- mented, of course, by a few European stores. Thus we could dispense with the services of any attendants whatever other than themuleteers, who would accom- pany us from each village when we moved on to the next, and the native mounted orderly whom the French Adminis- trative authorities very kindly lent to us in the capacity of an interpreter and escort. This plan we found to be highly successful. It is true that, in addition to other minor discomforts, we usually had to endure a diet of steamed semolina, tasting strongly of goat’s fat and rancid butter, and stews of insipid goat's meat and broth so flavoured with red pepper as to be almost uneatable ; A Soudanese clown.

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252 Making pottery at Beni Ferah. but with the help of Belkadi, our orderly— the somewhat ferocious appearance of whose aquiline features belied a gentle disposition and cheery nature which gained him popu- larity wherever we went—we soon persuaded our hosts to reduce the use of condiments and rancid butter to a minimum. Our daily life in the natives’ homes afforded us magnificent opportunities for conducting our researches, amply repaying us for the lack of the creature comforts left behind us in the cosy inn at El Kantara. - Taking a couple of baggage mules and two others to ride upon, and with Belkadi mounted upon his own young horse, we struck off across the wide, stony valley to the south of the gorge, and, wending our way up the steep slopes of a low range of rocky hills to the south-east of the oasis, came at last upon a plateau studded with dwarf juniper trees, from which we obtained a wonderful pan- orama of the snow-clad peaks of the Aurés to the north, We had not long to wait for an example of the survival of an- cient crafts with which we had hoped to meet. Just as we were about to descend into the rocky valley of a small stream overlooking which stands the village of Beni Ferah, our destina- tion, we found a mill for The Author's orderly, Belkadi. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. crushing the olives which abound in the gardens of Beni Ferah. The olives were crushed beneath a heavy stone roller in a roughly- built-up trough, a blindfolded mule harnessed to the wooden axle of the stone supplying the power required to draw the roller around the trough in exactly the same manner as they, were crushed a couple of thousand years ago during the Roman occupation of North Africa. The press in which the oil was subsequently squeezed out was of an even earlier type. As we moved A Lost through the vil- White Race. lage to take up our abode with the sheikh we very soon realized that the inhabitants themselves, like all the natives we were to meet with later on in the fast- nesses of the Aurés, constituted a survival from a bygone age. The pale complexions, especially noticeable in the children, fair hair, and blue eyes which we saw around us clearly showed that here were no descendants of the early Arab conquerors of Algeria, but members of the white Berber race which, for untold ages before their coming, peopled the country, and whose customs we had come to observe. The quaint Berber tongue, so utterly un- like the Arabic of the plains, which we heard spoken on every hand caused us to reflect with comfort upon the fact that Belkadi, our Arab orderly, could speak it as well as his own. One very marked difference between Arab and Berber cus- toms forced itself upon our notice immediately we reached Beni Ferah. At El Kantara such few women as are to be seen in the villages hasten by with downcast eyes, scarcely daring to glance at the stranger. Here among the Shawia, however, numberless women were to be seen all day long, carrying on their various occupations before all beholders and even greeting us as we passed, We were soon able, therefore, to com- mence our investigations into their arts and crafts. The women of Beni Ferah, to an even greater extent than those of other Shawia villages, excel in the making of —=

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OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE BERBERS. 253 pottery vessels of a very ancient model, which they sell to the dwel- lers in the plains, whose country is lacking in the necessary clay. Almost every woman in the village is capable of making simple bowls, cups, and large dishes for the kneading of their unleavened bread, such as that shown in my illustration, and they attain a re- markable symmetry in their work, especially as the potter’s wheel is unknown in the Aures and the vessels are shaped entirely by hand and eye. A smooth surface is obtained by polishing them with a A primitive olive-oil mill. snail-shell before baking the finished article beneath a pile of burning faggots. It was at Beni Ferah that we first noted a very quaint method of measuring time by means of a perforated metal bowl, which sinks every so many minutes in a pail of water, thus providing a ‘ water-clock on the hour-glass principle. This is used to check the amount of time for which each owner of a garden is entitled to the use of the small irrigation canals by means of which the water from the stream is conveyed to this well-nigh rain- less oasis of the hills The quaint “water-clock ' at Beni Ferah. (To be continued.)

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T the time such quick and sure that the profits to me. I events of 5 reasoned that, by this narra- Z simply buying some tive began I was em- property, I should ployed by a certain large electric railway and lighting corpora- tion, whose North American headquar- ters were located in one of the Pacific Coast cities. The work that was assigned to me was of sucha nature that it frequently gave me a foreknowledge of intended railway ex- tensions into new territory. It is per- haps needless to state that the preliminary plans and prepara- tions respec‘ing these extensions were generally guarded with great care, as eer there was always the bad to fortune : VE GIT CHELL | ILLUSTRATED BY TH-ROBINSON be betraying no con- fidences if I did it in such a manner that it would direct no attention to the pro- ject undergoing de- velopment. This mat- however, gave me food for consider- able thought, for I was firmly opposed to playing a double hand with the com- pany. The question as to whether or not I had a right to use my knowledge of its affairs as a means of realizing —_ personal profits worried me a great deal. At length my conscience be- came _ sufficiently salved by the con- danger that a prema- ture disclosure would lead to needless diffi- culties for the com- pany in attaining the rights and objects which it was seeking. After witnessing and playing a part in a number of these new railway projec- tions, the fact gra- dually dawned upon fuge. A very interesting and amusing story, offering a curious problem in business ethics. The Author made a lot of money in unusual circumstances, but perhaps helped his good luck along by means of what stern moralists might call a subter- Was he justified? For obvious reasons the names of places, persons, and corporations concerned have been sup- pressed, but these have been supplied to usin confidence, and Mr. Gitchell vouches for the facts. | clusion that it made no difference to the company whether John Brown, Jim Smith, or I owned a particular piece of property. My owner- ship of it, im fact, might result in an actual benefit to my employers, as I should be ready at me that I was al- lowing many good opportunities to escape me of turning my early knowledge of the contemplated extensions into substantial personal profits. I had noted that the announcement of the building of a new electric line through a district invariably resulted in an immediate increase in the values of property there, and that these values continued to advance during and after the construction of the road. Sales of land and lots at good profits would be brisk, and new homes would begin to make their appearance throughout the section. Ours was a new and rapidly-growing district, which probably accounted in no small degree for this fact. After pondering over this subject many times, I at length came to the conclusion that I was nothing but a fool for not getting into the speculating game, which offered all times to grant the company privi- leges and concessions which another owner might try to deny it, or for which he might demand exorbitant payment. I thereupon decided to enter the lists as a claimant for the favours of Dame Fortune; in fact, I felt as if she was urging me to accept from her hand another Aladdin’s lamp, so sure was I that a golden shower would follow this outbreak of my hitherto dormant financial genius. I then set myself to the task of making a start. A certain new suburban line was at that time in its prospective stage, and I did not have to delay matters because of any lack of definite territory in which to operate. The first action that I took was to ascer- tain very circumspectly where some good properties were obtainable at what seemed to be low prices. From a list of these which I made it was easy to select a few

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that offered the best inducements for in- vestment. After making this selection, however, a disconcerting realization came to me. In formulating my ambitious scheme | had failed to consider the fact that money would be required to carry it through, and of that particular article I happened to be woefully short. Figuratively, I was a Napoleon of finance ; actually I hardly possessed the price of a meal. Unfortunately for me, the banks at that time had failed to recognize in my patronage anything to get excited about or quarrel over, and their doors might as well have been permanently closed so far as my credit was concerned. This state of affairs placed me in a quandary for a while. Finally I took my scheme to a friend of mine who had met with considerable success as a company promoter. I knew that he could be trusted, and the idea appealed to him immediately. I explained to him that while I had the information—reliable in every detail—to warrant a venture of this kind, I did not possess the money with which to undertake it alone, and that I must obtain financial assistance that would enable me to carry the plan into execution. As an inducement to him I proposed that the two of us might go into partnership—I to furnish the informa- tion, he to supply or obtain the necessary capital—afterwards dividing equally any Profits that might come to us from the undertaking. He consented to this plan, and told me that it would probably be easy for him to form a syndicate amongst some of his business and professional acquaintances. We then prepared a list of likely subscribers and the next day made a round of visits to those whom we had selected as possible members of the syndicate. We talked to each one very confidentially and bound him to secrecy respecting our proposal before we gave him any of the particular: The result of our canvass was successful beyond my most optimistic dreams. Before the end of the second day we had obtained subscriptions which enabled us to buy Property to the value of fifty thousand dollars and to make the first payment on it, amounting to fifteen thousand dollars. This Property was all in one tract, well located, and consisted of about eighty acres. After completing this purchase the period of waiting for activity respecting the con- Struction of the line began. There, also, gan my troubles. Railways sometimes have a way of not being built or put in hand to schedule time, and this particular one displayed more mulish THE ROAD TO FORTUNE. 255 obstinacy in this respect than any that had ever before come within the scope of my observation or knowledge. Time passed, and more time, but that wretched railway scheme failed to give any signs of life whatever. It simply would not get itself built, and matters gradually became serious for me. Inquiries from the syndicate members and my fellow-promoter became very frequent, and weresoon tinged with expressions of doubt and sarcastic remarks of increasing severity. Matters became so bad that when I was not meeting one of these dissatisfied people on the street or elsewhere—which meetings I studiously tried to avoid—one of them would be calling me to the office telephone. My explanations, such as they were, became of no avail, and it speedily became painfully evident that our syndicate was heading towards a family row and that the storm would rage chiefly around my head. Anxiously I watched for signs of activity on the part of the company, and ventured as far as I dared with hints and suggestions 7 which I thought might serve to hasten its action, but it remained obdurately inactive. At length the date on which the second payment on the property would be due drew near. This would call for a further ex- penditure by the syndicate of ten thousand dollars, and more threatening clouds ap- peared. Confident that there would be no unreasonable delay in the building programme, I had, when inviting my partner and the investors to come into the undertaking, led them to believe that we should easily be able to sell enough of the property before the due date of the ten-thousand-dollar payment to provide sufficient money, and that after the first payment they would be required to make no further expenditure of any consequence out of their private funds. To state that my co-operators were exas- perated is to put it pretty mildly. They began to make life an actual burden to me, and I became immersed in an atmosphere of gloom and despondency that nearly drove me crazy. is charged with having made false representations and even with having made a secret profit on the sale of the land to the syndicate! Exposure and prosecution were threatened, and my time was occupied principally in treading on metaphorical red- hot stones. I imagined that I was facing all kinds of disaster, and that exposure would lead to direful complications and disgrace with my employers. One evening, when I was drawing cheerful mental pictures of myself behind prison bars, exploring the uttermost depths of the slough of despond, a thought suddenly

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256 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, struck me. I was desperate, and des- peration invites desperate action. That thought of- fered a_ possible meansof liberation from my troubles. and it electrified me. It was evident that the railway company would not make a move soon enough to pacify the syndi- cate, and save my- self, unless it should be pushed intoaction bysome unusual course of events. I thenand there decided to supply those un- usual events. If the company would not build that line, J would start the construc- tion of a railway there myself! 1 would put a rival into the field and show my dilatory employers that its methods were not to be allowed to obstruct the pro- gressof community development, jeo- pardize my inter- ests and standing, or hold the shadow of the cell over my head. Rote sen It had been ru- — moured that one of the leading steam-railway .companics was contemplating the construction of a branch line into the local field and that it was already con- ducting a preliminary inspection of the district. This fact gave birth to my new idea, and the very next morning found me at the office of a friend of mine who was a civil engineer and to whom I was obliged to appeal for a little help. Without divulging too much of what was in my mind, I bor- rowed from him all that was left of an old surveying instrument. In general appear- ance it seemed to be complete, but in reality it lacked two very important parts: there “*What are your rates ?’ was no eye-piece or object lens in the tele- scopic attachment, and when looking through it one simply gazed through a hollow tube. This omission, however, did not bother me; appearances were what I was interested in. My friend also lent me an old surveyor's chain and a line-rod. I took this outfit to my room and soon afterwards added to it a hatchet, a good imitation of a field-book, and some small printed forms of the steam-railway company, on which its name was shown conspicuously. My next move was to secure the services

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I asked, reservedly.” of two assistants, which was done with little trouble. I was well acquainted with the men whom I selected, and to one of them, a man named Fred, I assigned the réle of surveyor, while the other, a young fellow called Charlie, I appointed chainman. By arrangement we met in my room, and there 1 explained to them the details of their duties. I also put them through a prepara- tory course in the science of surveying. As I knew nothing whatever about surveying and they knew less, it may easily be imagined how illuminating was the knowledge they gained. Vol. xlvii—18. i THE ROAD TO FORTUNE. 257 Two days later we departed for the scene of action with our im- pedimenta, carefully disguised by cover- ings. At an outlying point I had provided some stakes for use in our operations, and these we picked up on the way. At the little subur- ban town of A : which was the point at which the new line was to form a junction with an electric line then existing, we com- menced operations. The articles of our equipment were brought into view and displayed very con- spicuously for the bene fit of a number of loungers and_ village wise-heads whom we encountered, and who immediately displayed a keen interest in the surveying party which had so suddenly ap- peared in their midst. We had dressed for our parts with con- siderable care and at- tention to details. So far as appearances went we were passably true to type, and we had decided that if any too-pertinent questions were asked of us, threatening to over- strain our knowledge of the technicalities of surveying, we would hide our ignorance be- hind a mask of cold reserve and cautious discretion, which would give the impression that we were bent on a mission which could not be babbled about indiscriminately. I was not known in the town and had no fears that I should be recognized. We walked up the main street to where the town’s only hotel was located, and entered the office. Here I bought a supply of “smokes ’’ and handed some round. We lighted up to the accompani- ment of small talk about matters which concerned only ourselves, but all of which —as we hoped—was absorbed with much

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258 attention by the who had waited on us. _ “1 wonder what kind of boarding-places they have in this town, anyway,” remarked Fred. “ That’sa question,” I replied. ‘“ It doesn’t look to me as if the gang can be taken care of here.” ‘The proprietor eyed us eagerly. “ Those fellows are pretty peevish about their grub,”” said Fred, ‘and there'll be enough of them to eat up this burg.” “You folks stopping in town ?”’ broke in the proprietor. “*Oh—no,” I replied, slowly and indiffer- proprietor, ently. ‘ We ourselves sha'n’t be here very long.” “We'll have to look round,” observed Fred, guardedly, but not so quietly that he could not be heard by our auditor, “ because, until we get the camps built, we've got to find roosting-places for those birds.’”’ “If it’s hotel accommodations that you want, we're right on the job,’’ remarked the proprietor. ‘““What are your rates?’ I asked, re- servedly. He told me. “Pretty high for a gang of rail—— How many beds can you supply?” I had nearly made a slip, and noted with satisfac- tion that it had not escaped his attention. He informed me, and added that he also had some cots that could be used if necessary. I took pencil and paper from my pocket— the paper being one of the steam railway's forms—and_ studiously wrote out some figures and added them up. Our hotel- keeper friend watched me solicitously, but I gave no indication as to the meaning of the figures. “We'll look into this a little later,” I remarked, pocketing my pencil, but care- fully neglecting to notice that I had dropped the railway company’s form, “‘ We may see you about it pretty svon.”” The proprietor made an effort to pump us regarding the meaning of this prospective influx of boarders, but we were very discreet, and by our reticence and general actions showed him that he was touching upon a matter that could not be discussed. Although we were really reversing the natural order of things in making references to a gang of workmen before the advent of a survey or the obtaining of a right-of-way, that fact caused us no concern. We were starting a fire, and we were not particular about the kind of fuel we used so long as it served to feed the flames ettectively. After the hotel-keeper, at my request, had directed us to a blacksmith’s shop, we gathered up our trappings and left the hotel. ‘The shop was not far away, and upon THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. arriving there we opened negotiations with the blacksmith. ** We may have considerable work for you before very long—sharpening tools and horse-shoeing, as well as general repair work —if you can take care of us and your charges are fair,’’ I told him. “ You don’t need to look any farther,” he assured us. “ The company making some track repairs ?”’ he asked, referring to the railway then in operation there. “No; not exactly that,” I replied, and at the same time I reached into my pocket for one of the forms that I had borrowed. “Let me see—what is your name?” I asked, as I produced the paper, which I held, during an unguarded moment, so that he could read the name of the company. I then tore off the tell-tale heading of the form and, crushing it into a ball, threw it aside where it could afterwards be easily found by the blacksmith, who, I observed, had not failed to note my action and the paper's resting-place. We talked with the blacksmith for a short time before departing, and our remarks, though ambiguous, were so suggestive that, without doubt, they afforded him the satisfaction of believing that he had cleverly drawn from us, against our wills, the secret of our mission. After interviewing a carpenter in a similar manner, and making arrangements with him for’ supplying us with more stakes and performing other work ‘‘ when we needed it,” we marched forth from the town to apply ourselves to our real work as surveyors. The route that we were to follow lay parallel to a large river and led through alternating stretches of woods, jungle- covered swamps, and open spaces where small farms had been developed. At some points there were houses along the way, belonging principally to farmers and market gardeners. These inhabited places received the exclusive benefit of our technical skill, for we were staging, not an expedition, but an exhibition. Where the travelling was bad we made detours around the worst stretches, and if a true map had been made of our line of survey it would, have looked like the trail of an inebriated sailor. Where there was a chance that we would be seen, however, we made gvod for all our lapses. All the movements and flourishes of real surveyors were brought into play, and many more were improvised. Fred would set his tripod at a convenient place and hold one end of the chain, while Charlie, with his rod, and 1 with some stakes and the other end of the chain, would proceed onward until the length of the latter had been reached. Then Fred would squint through the

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THE ROAD TO FORTUNE. 259 empty tube of the instrument and twist and wild waving of his arms, to the accompani- shift the various attachments. ment of which Charlie would shift his rod These operations would be followed by a to the right or left as his fancy dictated.

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260 Then, at the right moment, Fred would yell: ‘*Stake!’’ loud enough to rattle the win- dows in the near-by houses. We had to let people know that a survey was under way, and when Fred bellowed out ‘‘ Stake!’’ it served admirably as an advertising medium. At one point a group of inquisitive Indians of both sexes, of whom there are many in that region, approached us and looked on in amazement at the squinting and arm-waving antics of Fred and the strange pole dan e that Charlie was executing. After Fred had yelled “ Stake !"" with a sudden roar that made the Indians jump, he greeted them in a jolly manner in the Chinook jargon, with which he was familiar. ‘‘ Clahouya six!" (Halloa, friends) said he. The natives answered with a chorus of clahouyas. Then one of the men pointed to the tele- scope and exclaimed : '* Nika ticka nanich !”’ (I want to see). 1 made Fred understand that we were treading on dangerous ground and he, in their click-clacking language and with many gesticulations, told them some sort of story that kept them off. After their speaker had growled, as a parting shot, “ Delate cuitice"” (Very much no good), our disappointed audience moved on. Whenever we could do so, and at the same time give the impression that we were disposed to be uncommunicative, we talked with the people whom we encountered along the way or who were attracted by our performance. At such times one of us generally managed to allow some indiscreet remark to escape him which would furnish a clue to the meaning which we intended to give to our presence and the work we were doing. At three different points I “ accidentally ” dropped one of the printed forms and, strange as it may seem, all these accidents occurred where there was a likelihood that the papers would be picked up by somebody. Too many slips of this kind might have appeared to be intentional, so I limited them to a small number. We conducted our operations until six o'clock in the afternoon, when, weary and with a liberal coating of dust and dirt, we halted for the day. As near as we could estimate it, we had covered about two-thirds of our whole route, and after a parley we decided to caché our paraphernalia, walk into the town of L , which was not far distant, and return next day to complete our work. ; L. , a good-sized town, was the terminus of the real proposed railway line and, of course, of ‘our ”’ line as well. After our efforts of the day the walk to this town was no joking matter, but at length we reached THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. it and caught a train back to the city. The next day we repeated our performance over the remaining part of the route as far as the outskirts of L- , and then, after again wrapping our instrument in its cover- ing, we regarded our work as finished. During several of the days that followed I caught eagerly at every scrap of rumour that emanated from our mysterious survey. I even found ways of starting rumours myself, and passing them along so that they would reach the ears for which they were intended. The people living along the route were much excited, and the rumours multi- plied to such an extent and became so general that they finally reached the offices of my company, where, seemingly, after a short period, they began to be regarded with considerable seriousness, They also reached the ears of the syndicate members, and, although that large second payment was confronting them,. I noticed that their attitude towards me was gradually undergoing a change for the better. Their inquiries and remarks on the subject showed that they had gained the impression that the activity which had come in for so much discussion was none other than that of my own company. I made no denials and no affirmations. To bask in the sunshine of their goodwill was such a relief to me that I said nothing which would disillusion them. These conditions had continued for only a comparatively short time when what was to me the most remarkable and joyful of all things happened, and I shall probably never know whether it was hastened by my ridiculous surveying scheme, or was only a coincidence. My company actually put its right-of-way man into the field! He was followed by a real engineering force, and the building of the road proceeded forthwith until its completion. Perhaps I had put a “ kick” into the proposition which influenced the company to start work; but, be that as it may, the road was built, and I was jubilant. The syndicate cheerfully arranged to meet its second payment in due time, and it was not long before it had subdivided its property and sold it off at a handsome profit. My partner and I ultimately received as our part of this profit a sum which extended well into five figures. It may seem that my part in this under- taking was a somewhat dubious one, but no one was harmed by it. Everybody who was connected with the transaction realized a benefit, and even the company was a gainer, for we gave it, free of charge, the right of way through our property. Furthermore, this line has proved to be a very paying one, and it now serves a prosperous district, made populous by its service.

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| THREE TIMES! 8 JAMES AJAMIESON : MNilu sfraled Ly -LEO-BATES- If ever a man bore a charmed life it was the engineer who figures in this remarkable story. Mr. Jamieson vouches for the truth of the narrative, but has been requested to suppress the name of the narrator. was wrong. The European in Asia is very susceptible to the conscious- ness that all is not going as it should, and soon learns to read the signs. The silence of the natives; the little groups in earnest conversation that disperse on his approach, or else take up their tools and set to work as if their only object in life was to please the Sahib ; the overt looks of dislike— al these things give warning that trouble is in the air. : On certain railway works in Bengal Mr. C. , one of the engineers employed by the contractors, had this unpleasant feeling when he began to discover traces of bad fesling directed against himself. live long in Asia without running counter to someone's wishes, even though the greatest care is exercised to fall in with local customs and prejudices. The trouble in this case seemed to have arisen over some of the minor details of the contract. The disgruntled ones were obviously on the war-path—out to make trouble. There were many little evidences that this was the case, and at times the “ Sahib’? had an uneasy premonition that something untoward was about to happen. It is a common custom in the East to carry out illegal acts with a ‘ borrowed so that the owner of the gun will bear T was quite apparent that something gun, the brunt of the inquiry, while the perpetrator of the deed gets off scot-free. The “ bor- rowed guns” in this case were two coolies. One morning, as C passed, they were leaning against the wall of the little office, and failed to give the customary salute as the Sahib approached, but instead stared at him insolently. One of them carried an axe in his hand, with a handle about eighteen inches long. C addressed the second aman, who, by way of reply, suddenly sprang straight at him, and threw his arms round the Sahib’s shoulders. This sudden on- One cannot * slaught the engineer was quite unprepared to meet, but living in the midst of danger quickens one’s nerves. C. was on the alert at once. He swerved round to meet the attack, and with a swift movement parried his adversary’s clutch and_ seized him. As he turned he caught a glimpse of the other coolie leaping forward, and the moment he laid hold of the man who had first attacked him he looked over his shoulder to see what he had to expect from behind. He was just in time to see that short-handled axe swinging—aimed at the tendons behind his knee! Swift as thought he threw up his foot, and the axe, instead of severing his leg-muscles, sheared through the leather of his boot and deep into his foot. C stumbled with the force of the blow and felt a hot pain sear through his foot and up his leg. But it was no time for delay. With a savage wrench he threw off the man who was wrestling with him, flinging him to the ground, and dealt his second assailant a heavy blow in the face which knocked him down. The sudden affray was witnessed by many of the workmen in the office yard, and, though they had not time to defend their master, they now rushed to his rescue. Ina trice the two assailants were overpowered and secured, and deep sympathy was ex- pressed by the workmen for the wounded engineer. He was helped into the office, and in due course his foot was attended to and he made a good recovery. The two coolies —mere tools of the real assailants—were tried in the local court and sentenced to a term of imprisonment in the village prison. All would have been well if the matter had ended here, but the wielder of the axe, in- censed at his defeat and conviction, uttered a threat of dire vengeance against the engineer as he was leaving the court-house. The threats of the people of Asia have, in Most cases, to be taken seriously, and the

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262 tuffian’s venomous words remained in C ——'s mind for a long time after the man had gone to prison. His wife, too, was greatly upset by the incident, and urged her husband to be very careful. The engineer and his wife slept, in the hot season, in an open sleeping-room attached to their bungalow. One moonlight night they had retired as usual, made the mosquito netting fast in its place, and were soon sound asleep. Later in the night a dark form stealthily approached the bungalow. Utiliz- ing every shadow among the trees and bushes, it crept nearer and nearer to the building. Reaching the house, it stole noiselessly round the bungalow to the engineer’s sleeping- room, entered through an open window, and passed along close to the wall. At the back of the door an overcoat was hanging, and behind this the dusky form slipped. The Hindoo had broken out of prison, and had now come for the revenge he had threatened. One bound forward, the sweep of a long knife, and the work would be complete ! The miscreant was nerving himself for the spring, when the engineer's wife awoke with a shudder. The moon lit the room up brightly, and she found herself looking straight at the overcoat. It is impossible to say what attracted her attention to it, but suddenly, with a cold thrill of horror, she saw it move ! It was a dangerous moment. A sudden movement, a startled cry, and both she and her husband would have been completely at the mercy of the alarmed assassin. But Mrs. C—— was a plucky woman. In an instant she connected the mysterious move- ment of the coat with the threats of the coolie who had wounded her husband. Her woman’s intuition told her that the scoundrel was behind that coat. So she lay perfectly still and—with great presence of mind— proceeded to awaken her husband by gently pushing him. She did not speak, but, when he awoke, silently pointed with her finger to the moving coat. As his mind cleared C. . too, grasped the situation and guessed that his enemy was in the room, seeking his life. In an instant his mind was made up. To attempt any stealthy manceuvre was out of the question ; at his first movement the man would have been upon him, and he would not have stood a dog’s chance, tangled up in a mosquito curtain at the mercy of a knife. With a sudden sweep of his arm, C- threw off the bedclothes and at the same instant sprang straight for the overcoat. Mosquito-netting and frame gave way witha crash as he carried them with him in his bound ; he had no time to wait to clear the net out of his way. Encased in the net as he was, he sprang on the overcoat, and in another moment had it and the man behind THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, clasped in a powerful embrace. There was a sharp cry from behind the coat; then a desperate struggle began. As it meant life or death to the engineer to hold that coat, he made no mistake about it, but gripped it in a fashion that made its occupant squirm. Meanwhile he called to his wife to get the wooden bar that closed the window, and with .it to deal the wriggling Hindoo a blow on the head. The lady was equal to the occasion, and, while her husband held the miscreant firmly, she swung the bar up and struck the intruder a blow that stunned him. There- upon the engineer flung him to the floor and proceeded to disentangle himself from the mosquito curtain. The servants were then aroused, and the coolie was speedily tied up. It was discovered that he was stripped stark naked and greased all over, after the manner of the Thugs, so that no hold could have been obtained on his person. It was well for the engineer that the villain hid behind that overcoat, as otherwise it would have been entirely impossible to lay hold of him; one’s hands would have slipped from his greasy body as though from an escaping eel. This time the term of imprisonment for the would-be assassin was made heavier, and he was removed to a safer place for custody. After the shock of this second attempt had somewhat subsided the engineer felt that the air was cleared, and that he had finally got rid of his troublesome enemy. That any further attack would be made on his life he did not anticipate, and as the rails crept further and further into the jungle his spirits rose; the work would soon be finished and he could enjoy a well-earned rest. In connection with contract work on rail- ways a number of hand-trolleys are always available, for use in running backwards and forwards along the line. One pleasant after- noon the engineer took his wife with him for a trip along the metals, through the jungle. He had a shot-gun with him, in case he should meet with any small game or birds. Cc felt very happy as he worked the handle of the trolley, impelling himself and his wife along the line, occasionally pausing to point out something of interest. Here and there they passed through a cutting, where a hill had been dug away to allow the line to pass. Above one of these cuttings, as they entered it, © noticed workmen engaged in clearing work. They seemed to be removing stones, but the engineer was not much interested in them, and passed on into the cutting, chatting to his wife. It was only when the machine was well into the cutting that the occupants became aware that something was happening. From above, far up the sloping bank, came a

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THREE TIMES! 263 “Encased in the net as he was, he sprang on the overcoat, and in another moment had it and the man behind clasped in a powerful embrace.”

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264 curious rushing sound, as of something heavy tearing away the loose earth and _ pebbles. Startled, the engineer and his wife looked upwards. All they could distinguish at first was a cloud of earth and dust rushing down the bank at a great pace. Then, to their horror, they saw that the centre of this clond was a huge rock that had been dislodged by the workmen above! It was a sheer im- possibility to stop the trolley in such a short space, and the two sat, speechless and motionless, awaiting their fate, for the rock was coming directly towards them. The evil faces of the dusky workmen appeared above, keenly watching the result of the fateful messenger they had sent hurtling downwards. Suddenly the crash came. The rock struck the rear of the trolley and—grinding, splintering, and tearing—ploughed through the woodwork. The trolley was overturned and the two occupants thrown off, one on each side of the track. The shattered machine followed the rock for a short dis- tance from the line, but was soon outdis- tanced as the boulder bounded on out of sight into the jungle, for this was a one-sided cutting, the slope continuing downwards past the shelf whereon the line ran. The engineer was certain that his wife had been killed outright. He himself, being in the front of the trolley, was unhurt, though much shaken. He picked himself up and hastened to his wife. Though evidently hurt, she assured him that the extent of her injury was only a few scratches. She added THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. that he had better get his gun and go after the men to see who had released the rock. The charge in the gun was intact, and C—— promptly snatched it up and started climb- ing towards the workmen. As soon as they saw him coming they took to their heels and ran. Levelling his gun, he fired at the nearest man, but none of them stopped, and they soon disappeared into the trees. C—— then returned to his wife and attended to her hurts as far as possible. The trolley was ~ quite unusable, so they set out to walk home. With the assistance of friendly natives they managed at last to reach the bungalow, where the brave little lady rapidly recovered from her wounds and the shock of the escape. ~ It was proved that the rock had been released maliciously, and presently the hand of C. 's pertinacious enemy was discovered in the affair and for the third time he was brought to book. Though he had escaped after the outrage, he took away something that finally proved his undoing—some pellets from the sporting gun. He had to go to bed owing to his injuries, and natives friendly to the engineer traced him through the shot- wounds in his body. The rascal was imme- diately arrested, and in due course arraigned before the proper authorities and given a heavy sentence. Evidently both the man and his backers came to the conclusion that C bore a charmed life, for this was the last attempt made on the engineer, and he has since pur- sued his way unmolested. A FREAK PINEAPPLE. FREAK pineapples are not uncommon, especially when grown from seed, but specimens of such symmetrical proportions as that shown in the accompanying photo- graph are very rare. A correspondent writes: “ Pineapples are not propagated from seed, as these occur rarely in the fruits, but when one is found te contain seeds it is saved for the purpose of experiment. Mr. Bert Tarleton, of the Hawaii Pineapple Association, is my authority for the statement that ninety per cent. of the pines thus propagated turn out freakish. It is extremely inter- esting to note that the great pineapple industry of Hawaii was built up from an original parent plant in Kew Gardens, England.”

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Either Playing or Singing— Every Step Made Simple as A B C by Print-and-Picture _ Lessons That You Can't Go Wrong On. TRY IT ON APPROVAL Entire Cost Only a Few Cents a Lesson—and Nothing Whatever to Pay Unless You Are Satisfied. How often have you wished that you knew how whatever your fay- pleasure has been ut- an evenings poiled and ruined by the admission “I can’t or “No, I ¢ but I can’t play." ocial gatherin; some one is sooner or music. When the others th who can take fun, one gather around for no part feels hop of it—a wall flower— @ mere listener and on! Or those long and ome evenings at home, when minutes seem like hour how quickly the time would pass if you could “n spend it at the piano or organ— ‘ or in making a violin “talk,” or in enjoying some other instru- 2 ment. Advanced And now—at last—this pleas- ure and satisfaction that you |} piano have so often wished for can | Organ, easily be added to your daily life. } Violin Drum and Traps, No need to join a class or pin down certain hours No need your to elf = Tenor Banjo, Mandolin, priva teacher. N Clarinet tion of time nor e Flute, any longer a bar—eve Saxophone the obstacle have Cello, enjoyment fining your ching music— My method of tez in your spare time home, with no strangers around to embarr: makes it amazingly easy to learn to sing by note or to play any in You don’t need to know the first thing about music to begin—don’t need to know one note from another. My method takes out all the hard part—overcomes all the diffieulties—me S P progress easy, rapid and sure Whether for an advanced pupil or a inner, my method is 2 revolutionary improvement over the old methods used by private teachers. The lessons I send you explain every roint and show every step in simple Print-and- Picture form that you can’t go wrong on—every step is made as clear as A B C. My method makes ea step so easy to understand and practice that even children only 7 to 10 years old have quickly become accomplished players or singers un- der my_ direction by mail. Also thousands of men and women 50 to 70 years old—including many who had never before tried to play any instrument or taken a lesson of any Name. omemeseey so- radically understand ways Learn to Play by Note For Beginners or ee et MR. DAVID F. KEM U. S. School of Music, Please send me your free book, Own Home,” and particulars of your Special Offer. - Learn Music at Home— New Way Makes It kind—have found my method eq method is the only right note. shifts of ually easy. M: 1s thorough as it ia easy. I teach you way—teach you to play or sing by trick’’ music, no “numbers,” no make- any kind. my method “new’—simply because it is different from the old and hard-to- of teaching music. But my method is thoroughly time tried and proven. Over 250,- 000 successful pupils—in all parts of the world, and in- cluding all ages from boys and girls of 7 to 8 to men and women of 70—are the proof. Read the enthusi- astic letter from some of them, which you will find printed at the right—sam- ples of the kind of letters I am receiving in practically every mail. My files con- tain thousands of such let- ters. Largely through the recommendation of satisfied pupils, I have built up the largest school of music in the world. But I don’t ask you to judge my methods by what others say or by what I myself say. You can ‘take any course on trial— singing or any instrument you prefer—and judge entirely by your own progress. If for any reason you are not satisfied with the course or with what you learn from it, then it won’t cost you a single penny. I guarantee Guitar, satisfaction. On the other hand, Ukelele, if you are pleased with the Hawaiian course, the total cost amounts to Steel Guitar only a few cents a lesson, with Harp, your music and everything else Cornet also_included. Piccolo, When learning to play or sing Trombone is so easy, why continue to con- fine your enjoyment of music to mere listening? Why not at least let me send you my free book that tells you all about my methods? I know you will find this book absorbingly Interesting, simply because it shows you how easy it is to turn your wish to play or sing into an actual fact. Just now IT am maki a special short-time offer that cuts the cost per lesson in two—send your name now, before this special offer is withdrawn, No obliga- tion—simply use the coupon or send your name und address in a letter or on a postcard. Instruments supplied when needed, cash or credit. No I call Pupils Harmony and Composition, Sight Singing U. S. SCHOOL OF MUSIC 1862 Brunswick Bldg. NEW YORK ee . President 1862 Brunswick Bidg., New York City “Music Lessons in Your *“"(Biease Print Name)

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“A DRY TWIG FELL AMONG THE SMOULDERING LOGS, CAUSING A FLAME TO SPURT UP, WHICH EXPOSED TO MY VIEW THE SCARRED AND DUSKY FEATURES OF THE APACHE CHIEF, GERONIMO!” (SEE PAGE 268.)

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ky = HUGH THOMASON) ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L WOOD An exciting story of the old Indiam days in the South-West, when the Apache chief Geronimo, with his band of redskin fiends, swept like a scourge through the mountains, leaving behind a trail of bloodshed and desolation, and defying all attempts at his capture. ES,” said the old Top Sergeant, as he filled his pipe. ‘I can tell you a tale of the old Arizona days, when Geronimo and his band of cut-throat Apaches ranged through the rugged mountain passes of the great South- West, leaving behind them a trail of blood and devastation. At this time I was serving as First Sergeant of Indian Scouts under the command of First Lieutenant J. Y. F. Blake, Sixth U.S. Cavalry. The Lieutenant was as white a man as ever wore a shoulder- strap.’ Then he told me this story. With only six Apache scouts we were trailing along a hundred or more yards ahead of Troop “ L” of the Sixth Horse through the mountain mesas, when we struck a clear broad trail of the “ hostiles ’’ crossing ours at right angles. We halted until the troop came up. Lieutenant Blake tried to impress the commanding officer of Troop “L”’ with the immediate necessity of following this trail, as it was not over two hours old, but the troop commander had other views in regard to the matter, choosing to think that the trail was made ‘by other parties of our own scouts. Nothing would induce him to follow it, and very shortly he resumed his march through the pines. “Him plenty hostile Injuns all right,” said our leading scout, who went by the name of Dandy Jim. “ Maybe-so thirty, Maybe-so forty. Plenty pony. Geronimo. Me savy mucho.” “How do you know it’s Geronimo?” asked the Lieutenant. Vol xlvi.—21. The Apache quietly pointed to a dim print of a coyote’s foot in the sand. ‘ Geronimo have coyote all same white man have dog,” he replied. The Lieutenant was angry at the troop commander’s refusal, and after awhile he said, ‘‘ We'll follow them, whoever they are.” It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when we started to follow the trail of Geronimo’s band of hostiles, first detaching a scout to double back and notify Troop “F,” which was following Troop “ L.”” The sun was blazing down from a sky that looked like burnished copper, while in the distance a low-hanging curtain of pul- verized red sand showed where Troop “L” was marching away to the southward. The trail of the hostiles was easy enough to follow over the soft sand of the vale where we first struck it, but when we came to the hard, dry, stony ground, to us two white men it entirely disappeared. Two of the Indian scouts, however. followed it on foot across the dry grass of the flinty swale at a trot. The Apache wears no feathers in his hair like the Indians of the plains, but around his head he almost invariably wears a red banda of silk or cotton. Our scouts wore moccasins, regulation light - blue cavalry trousers, calico shirts of various colours, and around their jet-black hair, which hung to their shoulders, a scarlet banda of silk. They were armed with the ‘45 calibre Springfield carbine, the same as the cavalry- men.

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268 Presently darkness began to gather, so we made camp on the edge of a canyon which rolled away to the south-west A beautiful little stream meandered down through the sands of the canyon floor, After we them, we picketed our horses out on sixty. foot lariats to graze and rest. Gathering up several ‘armfuls of dry sticks and dead pine-chunks, we built a small camp-fire and fried our bacon in the folding mess-pans, and each man made his own coftee in the tin cup that was for ever buckled to his saddle-bags on the march. After the meal the Lieutenant and myself smoked and talked about everything but Indians. He never forgot that he was first of alla man, and then an officer, The scouts smoked cigarettes and talked to each other in their own language. Glowing in the darkness like a giant firefly, the camp-fire at last burned low. All Nature was silent except for the mutterings of a screech-owl in a near-by pine. ‘ The six Indians, wrapped up in their blankets, lay in a semicircle on the opposite side of the fire from the Lieutenant and myself, with their feet stuck out to the burning logs. I lay beside the fire, facing it. We put out no sentinels, for Indians do not fight at night. Being tired, we soon fell asleep. I remember that just before I passed into dreamland, I caught myself counting the row of feet on the other side of the fire. Before I got to twelve I faltered, and dozed off. It grew chilly during the later hours of the night, and I must have grown restless from the cold, for I turned over on my side and opened my eves dreamily. It was then I saw the gaunt, grey spectre of a coyote flit through the camp like a passing shadow. This incident served to awaken me, and I again began to count the row of feet that lav before me on the other side of the fire. I counted up to twelve, and then noticed for the first time a figure squatting on its heels beside the fire, with a blanket draped over its head and shoulders. The six pairs of feet gave me six Indians, the number re- quired, but the figure by the fire gave me one Indian extra. T lay as still as death. Suddenly the lean, shaggy prairie wolf again appeared in camp from the outer darkness of the night. Like a shadow it wafted up to my feet, and then jumped back. It next sniffed at the feet of the sleeping Indians and then crouched at the feet of the figure by the fire. The figure silently extended its hand, picked upa live twig, threw back the blanket from its face, and lit a cigarette on the glowing end. At this moment a dry twig fell among the smouldering logs, causing a flame to spurt up, which exposed to my view THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, the scarred and dusky features of the Apache chief, Geronimo ! He sat like one carved from stone; the very incarnation of silence. Then I remem- bered that he had a pet coyote that followed him everywhere. Seeing Geronimo during the dead hours of night, an uninvited guest at our camp-fire, was, needless to say, a great shock to my nervous system. I did not stir; in fact, I almost ceased to breathe. I thought of the thirty or forty hostiles near at hand, who had us completely at their mercy. I closed my eyelids tightly to see whether I was dreaming or not. When I opened them Geronimo and the wolf were gone—gone without a sound, like the mist before the morning sun. I lay for some ten minutes, watching and waiting for something to happen, but all was as silent as the grave. The grey dawn of the morning now came creeping over the mountains, and I expected every moment to hear the sharp crack of the Winchesters, as the Indians generally attacked early in the morning. At last I crawled over to Lieutenant Blake, who was now awake, and whispered to him that the hostiles were all around us, telling him what I had seen. With our carbines ready, we lay side by side waiting for the ball to open. The scouts now began to stir, so the Lieutenant cautioned them as to what had occurred. They crawled off through the grass in different directions like so many great lizards. Half an hour passed before they walked back into camp, reporting that they had seen nothing of the hostiles. The Lieutenant laughingly accused me of having dreamed all that I had reported to him, and told me that I had better cut down my supper rations in future. I showed him the moccasin tracks by the fire. “Yes, the tracks are there all right,” said he, “ but they are no different from the other tracks you see around here, are they ?”’ I had to admit that they were not, and finally agreed with him that I must have been dreaming. The Lieutenant was still determined to follow the trail, so we saddled up, broke camp, and started to travel over some of the roughest country on the globe. After a hard day’s march, without sighting a hostile, we again made camp, just as the sun was declining behind the western hills, on the edge of a deep ravine. The horses were picketed out ona piece of flat grass land to the west of us. Supper over, we soon wrapped ourselves up in our blankets and lay down by the fire. Being tired out, I speedily fell asleep. How long I slept I do not know, but I was awakened by the yip- yip-yipping of a coyote close at hand. 1 looked over the bed of fire to where the

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ON THE HEELS OF GERONIMO. Indians lay. There was only one Indian there. The other five were gone. I lay perfectly still and watched. Presently this Indian sat up and looked around him for a moment; then he arose to his feet and silently disappeared over the edge of the ravine. I got up, took my carbine, and followed him. We crossed the valley, climbed a ‘‘ hog-back ’’ and passed down the other side, then zigzagged up the side of a flat, rocky mesa that was situated in the fork of a canyon. I trailed well in the scout’s rear, so as to avoid being seen should he happen to turn his head, but he never looked back. At this point the trail forked into two branches, one of the paths passing around a bluff of porphyry, the other around the hill higher up. At the edge of the bluff the scout I was following met another Indian who was standing directly in the centre of the lower path. This Indian raised his hand, back to front, and then turned and retired behind the cliff. Not a word was spoken as they disappeared in the gloom. I took the right-hand fork of the trail and crept around on top of the bluff. Twenty or thirty yards farther on I suddenly saw, in the crater of an ancient volcano, the camp of the hostiles. I was right over them, and so close that I could have dropped a boulder down in their midst. There were at least thirty bucks, fourteen or fifteen squaws, and four or five half-grown boys. I also saw our scouts fraternizing—to a man—with the hostiles! The ponies were picketed out within the natural enclosure. All these things burst upon my vision at once—and then a folded blanket settled over my head and neck from behind and was drawn so tight that I could not make a sound. I knew it was an Indian blanket by the smell. I was securely bound, gagged, and laid on the ground for future use, the blanket being removed when it had served its purpose. They were going to save me, 1 decided, until after they had captured Lieutenant Blake and then torture us together. The hero in the ‘ movies” generally twists*round, gets a foot or a hand loosened, and then finishes the job with his teeth. You can bet your smal] change he wouldn’t do that if he was tied up by an Apache ! I was convinced that I had not very long to live, and as I lay there on my back my whole previous life passed in review before me. Then I heard the sounds of approaching feet, and nerved myself for the beginning of the end. They were coming for me ! Someone leaned over me. I could feel his hands on my wrists, and then the thongs which bound my hands fell apart. I opened My eyes—and saw Lieutenant Blake! He 269 next cut the thongs that bound my ankles. I tried to stand up, but could not to save my life. My feet appeared dead, as did my hands. The powerful Texan picked me up from the earth as if I had been a mere child, and swiftly retraced his way to the bottom of the canyon. He, too, had seen the camp of the hostiles. He had awakened, and, finding the camp deserted, had set out to investigate. By so doing he had escaped meeting the Indians who were sent out to capture him. By chance he took the right- hand trail instead of the left-hand one, and found me instead of the camp of Geronimo’s Apaches. Presently my feet and hands began to tingle, and we stopped for a minute or two, while I sat on the ground and the Lieutenant rubbed them to restore circulation. My carbine and revolver had been taken from me by the Indians, so the Lieutenant gave me his revolver. It was no good returning to our camp, so we made our way down a ravine into a canyon about thirty yards wide, the perpendicular sides of which arose three or four hundred feet in the air. “There is not much chance of our getting away from these devils,” said the Lieutenant ; “the only thing we can do is to make our way to the south and get into the crags, where they can't follow us with their horses. Troop ‘ F’ is behind us, and if we can stand the Indians off until the troopers get up we shall be all right. It is only about two hours until daylight; then they will be able to trail us. We will get as far away as we can during that time.” We ran until we were out of breath, walked for awhile, and then ran again. We were not destined to go very far, for we soon found our way barred by a wall of sandstone which stretched from one side of the canyon to the other, towering over three hundred feet in the air. We were caught like rats in a trap in a box canyon ! “That settles it,” said the Lieutenant: “there will be wigs on the green before this day is done.” P It was now daylight and we could see how we were situated. We discovered a small cave near the base of the cliff, and into this we crawled to make our last stand. It was only a small chamber with two openings, one slanting down into the cave from the face of the wall above, like a skylight ; the other one ran in horizontally from the side of the wall. Time passed slowly ; each minute seemed anage. At last three or four birds flew down the canyon towards us, and right behind them came the Apaches, following our trail on the run. When the one in the lead got within two hundred yards of us the Lieutenant took a good steady aim at him and fired.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “He was dragged along the ground for twenty or thirty feet before the leather broke.” ized OE gle

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ON THE. HEELS OF GERONIMO. = 271 The sound of the shot echoed from canyon wall to mountain peak as the leaden messenger sped on its way. The big buiiet struck the Apache full in the breast. lifted him from his feet, and dropped him on his face in the damp sands of the canyon floor. The other Apaches instantly sought cover and disappeared from view. It was quite an hour before we heard from them again. Then we detected a slight Scratching noise around the hole above. I waited, revolver in hand, for a shot. But the Indians were much too wise to give us a chance. They shoved a long pole down and began to poke around with it. Seizing the pole, we suddenly jerked it from them. Very soon a blazing piece of pine dropped in from above, and this was followed by a whole armful. The cave became an inferno; our eyebrows were singed off, our clothing scorched, and our hands burned. We threw hand- fuls of damp sand on the flaming brands, trampled on them, and then threw them out of the lower hole. The Apaches next took bundles of dry pine-splinters, leaves, and pine-needles, set them on fire, and shoved the burning mass into the lower entrance. Great waves of smoke and flame swept up through the natural chimney. “We returned their fiery offering with the long pole they had so kindly lent us, but it was a losing game, and none knew it better than ourselves, though we were determined to play it to the end. Then the unexpected happened. The attack on us suddenly ceased. We were burnt and haif-sufiocated, but airaid to come out of the cave. I must now digress a little to explain why we suddenly found ourselves left alone. A part of what follows was told me by one of our scouts shortly before he was hanged at Fort Bowie, over a year later, for his share in the affair. The horse that I was riding was a Western horse, weighing about nine hundred and fifty pounds, and belonging to Troop “F”’ of the Sixth Cavalry. On account of his colour he was registered in the troop horse-book under the name of Blanco. He was of a creamy white tint, with a pure white mane and tail. He was our regimental racehorse, and could

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272 run like the wind. One of his characteristics was that he possessed a rabid hatred of all Indians, whether friendlies or hostiles. He was captured by the Apaches once, and kept by them for seventeen months. One morn- ing, when the troop was marching down to attend stable call, Blanco joined them at the corral gate and marched in with them. He had escaped and come back to the troop, the only home he knew. The Indians who went to capture or kill Lieutenant Blake, not finding him, concluded that it would be an excellent idea to take all the horses over to Geronimo’s camp. They very easily gathered in all of them but Blanco. One of the Apaches pulled up the picket-pin to which Blanco was tethered and commenced to loop in the lariat, but the little horse ran at him like a man-eating tiger. The Indian dropped the pin and line and made a dive over the edge of the ravine for safety. The horse, finding himself free, galloped down the side of the slope. An Indian ran to check him. Hanging to the chin-strap of the leather halter by an iron Ting swung a sixty-foot lariat, at the end of which was fastened a steel picket-pin eleven inches long and weighing about three pounds. As the horse dashed along this pin would strike the ground, rebound, rise in the air, and make great horizontal circles behind the 'YHE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, horse. As the Indian ran forward the lariat struck him on the shoulder, and the bight end, with the heavy steel pin attached, whirled rapidly around his neck. Imme- diately he was jerked from his feet and his neck dislocated as neatly as if done by a hangman. He was dragged along the ground for twenty or thirty fect by the frightened horse before the leather broke and allowed the bruised and battered corpse to rest among the boulders. Running wild and free, the little white horse sped onward to the picket-line of Troop “EF Sixth Cavalry. The sentinel of the troop stable-guard was rprised to see, in the early grey dawn of the morning, a tired riderless horse, all covered with sweat and foam, gallop up to the double row of horses and stop of his own accord. Then followed ‘‘ Boots and Saddles,’’ and the troop was soon on the trail. The Indian scouts back-trailed Blanco to the second night's camp. The sentinel of the hostiles, perched high on a mountain cliff, saw this troop coming from afar and imparted the information to the band who were trying to burn us alive. They immediately bolted away through the defiles of the mountains, but we did not come out of our retreat until we saw the blue-clad troopers marching down the canyon towards us. It was a close call. seek adventure. 2ADD FI99A: DIDI: ST a _. DON’T MISS NEXT MONTH’S ISSUE! This number will contain the first instalment of a remarkable new serial narrative, The Adventuresof a Rolling Stone, describing in vivid fashion the experiences of two young Royal Navy officers who, tiring of routine and discipline, threw up their positions and prospects and set out to They found it in abundance, as the story shows |! § ORDER YOUR COPY NOW!

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CREEPY CRAWLIES” ASSAM af : TEA PLANTER™ “ge If you dislike insects, don’t goto Assam. There are more creeping things there, the Author asserts, than in any other country, and they have amiable little ways that will send a shudder down many people’s backs. HE man who comes to Assam must make up his mind that he will not let the innumerable insects upset him. If he dislikes beetles, spiders, and things like that, he will be well advised to seek fortune elsewhere, or else cultivate a philosophic mind and resolutely ignore them—if they will let him ! Were it not for the innumerable “ creepy- crawlies " that infest the country, a stay in Assam would be a very agreeable experience. To assist in making up a complement of insects that no other country can beat, there are creeping things innumerable, boast- ing names not easy to retain in one’s memory, and possessed of amiable little ways that endear them greatly to the white man. Amongst a few old familiar friends the cockroach holds a place—the only truly harmless insect there is, though he possesses an inconvenient pre- dilection for boots, Straps, bags, and other leather goods. The premier place, of course, is occupied by the mosquito. My pen falters when I conjure up past per- sonal experiences of The centipede. He is the alternate subtlety and audacity of this pest. New-comers with the fresh blood of Eng- land in their veins are troubled more by the The mosquito, whose vicious ways need no description. mosquito’s at- tentions than older sojour- ners in the land; their skinisthinner, and conse- quently the irritation set up by the poi- sonous little stings results in a sore that often con- tinues painful for a week ‘or ten days, and renders the putting on of a boot, when the foot has been the part attacked,any- thing but a pleasant task. : Centipedes and scorpions are more deadly in their bites; but with the latter, fortu- nately, Assam is not plentifully supptied. The centipedes run large: an average one would probably measure four inches from tip to tip, but occasionally they will be met with five or six inches long. A more The common cockroach—“ the only truly harmless insect” in Assam ! about four inches long, trav. Is at a terrific pace, and has a poisonous bite.

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274 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, This is not a new kind of “ rhini mere horned beetle. loathsome creature it is impossible to picture as it appears wriggling and darting across the floor, always travelling at such a pace that its forty or fifty legs are invisible. Armed with a large pair of nippers on its tail end, which it twists up when defending it- self,-somewhat after the manner of an earwig, it presents a for- midable front to the hapless per- son who ap- proaches it, or upon whose head it falls from the bungalow roof. A decidedly un- pleasant feeling steals over a dinner- party when the “ pat ” made by the fall of a centipede is heard in the room ; looks are ex- changed, and all feet are hurriedly lifted off the ground until some quick eye discerns the cause of the interruption, making off as fast as he can put his myriad legs to the ground in the direction of the bookcase or some other handy cover. To seize a thin cane and with a well-directed blow cut him smartly across the middle is the work of an instant. The heel of a boot does the rest. At night various weird noises outside and inside keep the heaviest sleeper awake until he grows accustomed to them. Every-night, and all night, there is the same chorus of croaking frogs going on—not the croak of an ordinary English frog, but the bellow of a veritable mammoth, whose note is pene- trating and unutterably woe-inspiring. These cheerful noises are suddenly and rudely broken in upon by the boom of a beetle as he rushes into the bedroom. Round and round he whirls, with a terrific uproar like Assam boasts one of the noisiest frogs on earth. a hundred spindles hard at work, until he comes blindly in contact with one of the rafters or the looking-glass. A short silence ensues, during which you sincerely hope that he has knocked his detestable brains out ; but no! he is only stunned. Hark! there he is, prone on his back, whirring his wings, unable to get up, spinning round and round, with ever-increasing noise in his frantic efforts to get right-side-uppermost. Sleep in these circumstances being im- possible, the wretched wooer of Morpheus has to rise and remove the cause of his dis- quietude ; only, perchance, to find, when safe back in bed again, that there is a large bat in the room, which proceeds to make frantic efforts to regain the liberty that he has unknowingly deprived himself of. So the night wears on, full of incidents due to the inconvenient activity of birds, beasts, and in- sects. Mice and rats are here also in goodly numbers, and _ contribute their quota to- wards the en- joyment of a “ quiet” night. If nothing else is on the move, the weary planter can_ invariably calculate on representatives of one or both of these species. Even in broad daylight mice will come out and play about the room. There is hardly a residence in india in which you will not find these small plagues running about in the middle of the most-frequented apartment, having no fear of its occupants, helping them- White ants. These pests can eat anything except kerosene oil and metal.

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THE ‘“‘CREEPY-CRAWLIES” OF ASSAM. 275 Ants acting as scavengers. selves to the crumbs that have fallen from the table, or deeply interested in the al- monds and raisins on the sideboard. Indian ants are universally known and —next to the mosquito—the * most dreaded members of the insect world, for in no circumstance can their too-familiar presence bedispensed with; they are ubi- quitous. Deathin any form has a gigantic attraction for the ant; his scent is keen, and death to him means something toeat. Ifit be merely a mosquito that has paid his well-deserved debt, the last convul- sive kick has scarce left his body ere the ants march in the direc- tion of the defunct one, gather round the carcass, and carry him off to their nest Endless amusement can be got out of watch- ing the mode of procedure of these wonder- fully organized insects. For instance, when an opportunity arises for them to really put forth their strength collectively, as in the case of a dead beetle, the system on which they work is curiously effective. After the first jubilation over the discovery of the corpse, and the consequent discordant efforts of each ant to pull his own way, they will settle down to haul their comparatively monstrous load in a very businesslike fashion, while one ant—a sort of overseer—bustles in and about and around the burden, A pine-knot after being attacked by ants. evidently dictating the way it should go, giving a push here and a pull there to stimulate his fellow- workmen. Then there is the white ant. To this destructive insect all things are edible except kerosene oil and metal goods. Nature has constituted him with a ten-thousand-ostrich-power digestion, which he is for ever abusing. In appearance he is of a creamy white colour, and he is of a retiring dis- position. It is not until he has buried himself in some dark corner that his natural depravity comes out. The spot selected is usually one that is likely to be undisturbed by man for some time, such as stowed-away port- manteaux or a box full of clothes that are not in imme- diate use. If there is one thing that the white ant appreciates more highly than another it is a good English box made of deal. Leave him alone for a month with an article of this sort and he will reduce it to such a condition that when an attempt is made to lift it it will not bear its own weight, but crumbles to powder at the first touch. Hat - boxes, trunks, the stocks of The “stinking bug,” a kind of miniature skunk.

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276 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. guns, portmanteaux, packing-cases, furniture, the floor of the bungalow, and a thousand other things—all these mean good living to white ants. They have a strong distaste for kerosene oil and boiling water. The first- 2 lll The “praying insect” in a characteristic attitude. named, smeared over the furniture, will keep them away if frequently applied; the latter, judiciously introduced where they are col- lected together to pursue their usual calling, will have a somewhat disturbing effect. Lizards are plentiful but harmless, and form a pretty wall decoration. Their food consists of all small flying things ; they there- fore reccive every encouragement to take up a residence inside one’s bungalow, to whose walls they cling in an extraordinary manner. At night, when insects attracted by the light fly in, lizards hold high carnival. The neighbourhood of a lamp as a point of van- tage is much sought after, and here one can note the craft employed by the lizard to secure his meal. Twiddling his tail jerkily, as a cat does in the process of fascinating a bird, he stealthily advances step by step, with body crouched and eyes distended, until within striking distance. Then, witha sudden dash, he seizes his prey, gobbles it up, and is immediately ready to repeat the performance. At times dinner is disturbed by the irrup- tion of thousands of crickets, small beetles, or green flies—whichever are in scason— that tumble headlong into the soup, glasses, lamps; in fact, into every place that one could wish free of them. The pleasures of the table, in these circumstances, cease to hold out any attractions. Again, at unexpected moments, a large insect (a species of locust) settles with a “ flop’ on to your face. This is alarming enough in a place like Assam, but it is only the harmless “ praying insect "” —so called on account of the strange way that he has of doubling up his two front claws, when he presents a most ludicrous appearance of supplication. A peculiarly objectionable visitor is a tiny beetle, properly enough called the “stinking bug.’ At certain times of the year these horrible creatures muster in great force, depositing their odious little bodies in the most frequently-traversed quarters of the bungalow, in order, as it seems, that they may be trdédden upon and so throw off a perfume so intensely disagreeable that hand punkahs, handkerchiefs, scent, etc., have to be brought into requisition for the next quarter of an hour to dispel the stifling odour. Once I inadvertently squashed one in my eye. A sensation as if the pupil had been suddenly seared with a red-hot iron seized me, and for the next half an hour the intense agony completely blinded me. The common house-fly is also present in great numbers, also a tiny brute called the “ eye-fly,”’ from its favourite habit of settling at the corners of these organs. There are other flies too numerous to name. Spiders the size of a small bird, whose every step is a six-inch stride and whose bite, or “lick,” as it is generally termed, crawling horrors. Photo, John J. War., F.E.S. will incapacitate a man from work for some days after the accident, are another attrac- tion, together with countless other horrible creatures. 1 could write a good deal more about the “ creepy-crawlies ’’ of Assam, but perhaps this list will do to govon with}

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ILLUS An amusing account of the mis- his wife on a cycle- UR cycling-camping tour in Western France was born, not of reading the alluring advertisements of Thomas Cook and the South-Eastern Rail- way Company, but of sheer downright necessity. The lease of our house terminated on the last day of May; there was no prospect of getting so much as a decent- sized fowlhouse until September; hotels, barges, army huts, dug-outs, boarding estab- lishments, carava were all for various reasons impracticable. England had become too small for us; we must clear out. But where, where should we go? In turn we considered Iceland, Italy, New Zealand, the South Sea Islands, Central Africa, Ireland, Spitzbergen. We bought the guide-books of each, and found that they were cither too hot, too cold, too far, or not exciting enough. Then one morning my wife made the astonishing discovery that owing to Lloyd George, or the late war, or the late peace— I forget which—a pound note in France was worth two pounds and twopence halfpenny. Two pounds for one; new Jamps for old! It sounded impossible—but we found it was true. If I took over to France a draft for one hundred pounds I should receive in exchange for it more than two hun- dred pounds’ worth of francs ! Well that, of course, settled it! I had wanted for some time to find a new zoological collecting ground. We would cross to Dieppe and spend a glorious Two fkres as Nena LEO wal IMSLEY “ROBIN” adventures of a demobilized officer and camping tour in France. four months following the coast southwards tc St. Nazaire—perhaps even to the coast of Spain. To go by train would be too expensive and too uninteresting; to walk would be too hot. We would cycle, and —-splendid thought !—take a portable tent, blankets, and cooking gear, and be inde- pendent of everyone. A wonderful little tent, ground sheets of balloon fabric, an aluminium canteen, com- bination knives, forks, and spoons, and numerous oddments were bought at an out- fitter's in Holborn. Passports were success- fully, if expensively, obtained, and at last, one glorious morning in early June, we packed up everything, leapt on to the saddles of our trusty steeds, and set off across Hyde Park for Victoria. Your citizen of London is famed for his good manners. I have seen an Indian Ihave seen two French— men salule each other un. the manner of fr renchmenwn the mddle of "Piccadilly Circus « nol asmile anaes

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278 Prince, turbaned and emblazoned in gold, walk down Regent Street at eleven in the morning without a person turning round ; I have seen two Frenchmen salute each other in the manner of Frenchmen in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, and not a smile anywhere, but the people we met that morning in the vicinity of Victoria Station did not hesitate to show their interest in us. Our cycles were packed so high with luggage, back and front, that our faces were only just visible. Mine was very red for several reasons. In addition to a big camera, I had on my back a rucksack—containing the canteen, several metal dishes, photo- graphic gear, and at least forty pounds of feminine toilet apparatus. One strap of this bag had worked loose and the other had slipped round my neck and was threatening every second to strangle the life out of me. We arrived at the station thoroughly exhausted and very bad tempered. How- ever, a little powder and a pipe of ‘baccy quickly smoothed our respective brows. Much to my wife’s surprise, it was found that I had forgotten neither the tickets, the passports, the money, nor the maps. We caught the train, and embarked safely on the s.s. Dieppe at Newhaven a few hours later. ‘It’s lucky I had those three months in France last year,” I remarked to my wife, as the boat drew near to the harbour mouth of Dieppe. ‘‘ A kind word and a little tact, and you can do what you like with a French- man. I'll manage the Customs all right, don't you worry.’’ We had booked straight through to Rouen, as I was anxious to reach the Brittany coast before the season started. The train was standing on the quay-side as we made fast, and we were informed that it would leave in three-quarters of an hour. I had better explain that our luggage consisted of two large parcels, each wrapped first in a blanket, then in a waterproof sheet, and fastened up temporarily with the straps from the cycle-carriers. In addition there was the tent—packed in two canvas rolls, my camera and rucksack, a fishing-rod, and our rolled-up Burberrys. All these things we had to carry in our hands as the cycles were stripped for the journey. It can be imagined, therefore, what a splendid equip- ment of sheet anchors we had for the rush through the Customs gate. It was a terrible mélée—as bad as a bargain sale—and in the middle of the crowd one of the large parcels came loose and half the contents rolled on to the floor. There was a bottle of a special brand of brilliantine in that parcel—the only kind that will ever make my hair look respectable. I knew by the intensity of the smell and the look on everyone's face what had happened. If only it had been content THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. with smashing, things wouldn’t have been so bad, but the beastly stuff ran over my six clean collars and my one clean shirt . . We got through at last. The Customs officer eyed me suspiciously. Had I any- thing to declare ? No; but two bicycles—I had permits for them—Oh, Lord! where had I put the beastly things ? “Oh! do hurry up, dear,” came the voice of mv wife, “‘ we’ve only got ten minutes.” “Don’t worry,” I replied, coolly, as I put my hands on the missing tickets, ‘‘ they're not going to bother looking through the parcels, anyway.” The officer took the tickets and commenced to write, slowly and with great delibera- tion. Occasionally, he would look up and give me a searching, discomfiting glance, as though he was quite certain in his own mind that I was either an absconding bank clerk or an escaped lunatic. “ Voild, m’s'r,” he said, at last, handing me two muchly-stamped and signed documents. “You have nothing else to declare, monsieur ?”’ “Nothing, and my train goes in one minute.” “But in that bag on your back—there is nothing, monsieur ? Might one see?” He opened my rucksack and promptly pulled out a packet of cigarettes! How the dickens they got there is still a mystery to me. But there they were—as damning a piece of evidence as anyone might not wish for. Everything was now laid on the table. Our parcels were undone and searched with minutest care. The tent was unrolled, the very ropes untwisted. Even the handle of my shaving-brush was unscrewed and the cavity examined. “All right, monsieur, we are satisfied. A thousand apologies for any inconvenience we may have occasioned you.” “Don't mention it,” I replied, happily, as I pushed tent, blankets, collars, ties, tickets, maps, combs, and shirts into my rucksack and swung it on to my shoulder. “Only, by Jove! in the next war--—” “Oh, do come on,” came an almost hysterical voice from across the platform; “the train’s moving.” I boarded it just in time and sank breath- less on to the carriage seat. “Phew! Thank heavens that’s over!” I gasped. ‘ Have we got everything ?”’ So far as one could gather we had. “We'd better repack everything straight away,” I said, ‘we're due in an hour— halloa! We're stopping.” The train, starting in remarkably fine style, had reached the end of the platform, and there, evidently in answer to the frantic shouts, whistles,and semaphoring of numerous

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TWO EXILES JIN NORMANDY. and excited stationmasters, guards, douaniers, and porters, it had suddenly come to rest again. ** Darling!’ my wife cried, anxiously, ‘* you don’t think they want to—er—search us, do you?” “It’s more than likely,” I hopefully replied. ‘‘ Evidently they think we're sus- Picious characters. Of course, you can’t very well blame the fellows; it’s an un- pleasant duty they’ve got to carry out.” “Don’t be a pig. Anyway, it’s all your fault. If you hadn't put those cigarettes ’’ And then, more sweetly, ‘‘ So useful your having had those three months in France, isn’t it ?’’ A woman has no sense of humour. The train waited for an hour and a half, which for a French train wasn’t at all bad going. We arrived at Rouen before midnight, found an hotel, and spent the first night of our camping holiday in the easy softness of a feather bed We stayed two days at Rouen, for I was anxious that my wife, who had never done much cycling, should be fresh for the long journey I had planned. On the evening previous to our depar- ture I ordered a rigorous kit in- spection, for the weight of my rucksack had alarmed me mn He opened my rucisad and promplly pulled oul- somewhat. There a padre! of dgerelles—! is a limit even to what a cycle will carry. Everything was arranged neatly on the bed ; or, shall I sa my wife’s things were laid on the bed, while mine were placed on top of the guide-book. ‘1 say, old girl, it’s absolutely ridiculous —you simply can't want all those things,” I told her. ‘‘ Dash it all! This is active service. We used to go for a month on one shirt and a pair of socks. There's at least a dozen blouses: i ‘* All right,”’ came the indignant response. “I'll send them back and order a suit of overalls. I thought you liked me to look nice, and if you think I can do that on rambler “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I replied, hastily. ‘‘Of course, you must look nice. I was thinking of the cycles, but we'll manage all right.” Let no demobilized officer think, because he once commanded a company of soldiers, that he can command a wife. That kit inspection was a woeful failure, and we left — 279 Rouen a good four pounds to the good—or to the bad, as the case may be. My plan was to cut straight across Normandy and reach the coast at Avranches in the Bay St. Michel. Our first real town would be Liseaux—famous for its churches and its medieval architecture. For six miles we followed the south bank of the meandering Seine. The road was not a good one. “We don’t want to do too much the first day,” I said. ‘‘ We must break ourselves gently to it.” “Rather,” replied my wife. than another twenty kilometres “Well, hardly that. After all, you must remember you're a girl and not—oh, con- found this blinkin’ camera !—wish I hadn't brought it.” “Yes, it was rather silly of you. You sim- ply can't want all those things.” We pushed on without —speak- ing for nearly six miles. The sun had reached its zenith, and a lazy stillness lay over the land, broken only by the lowing of sleek oxen in the lush meadows of the Seine, the sound of distant church-bells, the creaking of straps and saddle springs, the clatter of enamel dishes, and the soft mutterings of a hundred things I was saying beneath my breath. At one o'clock we stopped at a wayside inn, ate an omelette, drank some cider, and fell asleep on a wooden bench. “IT want some tea!” cried my wife, when she awakened. ‘I’ve just been dreaming I was in Buszard’s!” “You ought to have gone on dreaming, old girl. I’m sorry for all the tea you'll get in rural Normandy.” “Don't be facetious. J want tea—and I'm not going on till I get it!” One might as well ask for an underdone beef-steak at a vegetarian restaurant as ask for tea at a French café. We pushed on— without it. At four o’clock we reached the foot of a hill—a very tall hili. “We'll stop at the first likely-looking place,” I said. ‘‘ The main points in choosing a camping-ground are fresh water and absence “Not more

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280 of damp. This is where my training in East Africa comes in. By Jove! the war did teach a man to look after himself, didn’t it?” “It did,’’ came the unnecessarily caustic reply. ‘Not that a man ever wanted teaching that.” “ Anyway,” I continued, good-temperedly, ““we can’t camp here; it’s too low-lying. There'll be mosquitoes, and I’ve got to think of my malaria. We'll climb this hill, and at the top there’s bound to be a place.” The road now turned at right angles from the valley of the Seine, and commenced to climb steeply into the great forest of the Londe. The heat was almost unbearable, and I began to wish for my own sake that we might quickly find a possible camping- ground. Viewed from the hot baked road the forest looked delightfully cool and seductive ; but I knew the risks of that moisture-laden soil, and deliberately turned my eyes towards the summit of the hill. “Look, darling,”’ said my wife, ‘ there's a perfectly topping place. Oh, do let us stop here! We could pitch the tent under that tree, and there’s a stream close at hand. What a perfectly wonderful wood ! ” ““No, darling,” I replied, firmly. ‘It would be sheer madnes We'd simply die of cold in the early morning. It would freeze the very marrow in our bones. Come on—only just to the top of the hill. Perhaps we'll find an hotel.” “I don’t want an hotel! I don’t want to go another inch. It’s just the place I’ve been dreaming about. It’s the most romantic place that ever was. I can almost see fairies dancing among those trees.” “If you'd looked closer you'd probably have seen a very fine selection of frogs, snails, ants, spiders, earwigs, lizards, and centipedes—not to mention the slimy toads who alw live at the foot of big leafy trees like tha ““ Now you're just being horrid. Anyway, help me to pitch the tent. I'll stay here, and you can go on to your hotel.” “ All right, just as you like. Oh! if we’d only got an outfit like that, instead of cycles! Just look at it!” A very smart trap was ascending the hill. Seated in it was a middle-aged gentleman, just inclined to be stout, and an extremely good-looking young lady who held the reins. They approached quickly, and to our astonishment the lady drew up. “The hill, the hill, is it not terrible ? she cried, in perfect English. ‘‘ Ah! I know you are English—your clothes—your cycles —cevervthing. Am I not right?” I attempted to explain in a mixture of French, Swahili, Arabic, and broad York- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, shire—I was very embarrassed, for some reason or other—that her theory was correct. “Come, Mademoiselle, you must come and sit with me,”’ she continued, addressing my wife. ‘‘My father—he will walk and take your cycle.” “Oh, thank you, but that would be impossible,” my wife protested. ‘* We couldn't think of it.” “Oh, but Mademoiselle must! My father will be honoured, delighted. It will wake him up—he has drunk too much cider, and he will be honoured to walk. Will you not, my father ?’’ she added, in French, to her parent. Father looked somewhat doubtful, but he got down stiffly from his seat, bowed gallantly, and picked up the cycle. “It really is awfully good of you,” said my wife, “ but I simply couldn’t.” ““Ah, but no; you will sit here and we shall talk of England. I have lived there so many happy days. It will be such a very great pleasure to me.” Well, it looked as though the old man and I were going to be out of the picture for some time. My wife got up, still under protest, and the trap started. Pa and I seized our respective loads and _ struggled bravely on behind, the sun now hotter than ever, the trembling air charged with acrid dust sct up by the wheels of the trap. Judging by the happy flow of conversation, scraps of which were wafted down to us, Mademoiselle and my wife were getting on famously. Father and I had been con- signed to oblivion. We did not exist; we were washed out. I felt that I was indebted to the old gentleman. After all, there are not many men, inclined to be corpulent, who would give up their seat in a carriage and walk up a long hill on a hot day for a perfect stranger. I wanted to thank him. * “* Monsteur,” | began, in my best French, “jaimerais bien vous remercier pour votre. Ms “I do not spike English,” he replied, without even looking round. It had taken me nearly five minutes’ hard thinking to compose that sentence. I was hurt, but I could understand his sentiments all the same. Occasionally he would mutter something under his breath about cider— but it was hard to make out whether he was wishing he had drunk less or that he wished he had drunk more. I shouldn't have minded a bucket or two myself just at that moment. It is a long hill, however, that has no summit. The road to the summit of this one measured a good three miles, and by the time we drew within hearing distance of the trap once more the sun was low in the sky. “Oh, Monsieur,’’ the good lady cried to

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TWO EXILES IN NORMANDY. 281 One might as well ash fe r © an underdone beefsteak al a vegelanan restaurant me. ‘Madame has made me ridiculously happy. I have lived my schooldays over again. It has been wonderful—wonderful ! ” Father muttered something sotto voce. I think he said that he agreed perfectly with all his daughter had said, but that he could not find words to express everything he thought. Neither could any of us, really, and after a tremendous amount of handshaking and bowing we said good-bye. The trap dis- appeared round a bend of the road, and my wife and I sat down by the hedge-side and laughed until we were ill. The sound of distant church bells chiming the hour of eight brought us back to our senses. “Come on, old girl, we must find a place soon or there won't be light to pitch the tent.” “Oh, but won’t this do? You said the top of the hill. Now I suppose you want to drag me another twenty miles. Do try and remember we're on Active Service. We can't expect to find everything just as we want it.” “But, darling, it’s impossible. There’s absolutely no water. I wanted to make tea for you!” Whenever logic fails with a girl, try tea. The road was level and smooth, the smell of pine trees gave delightful piquancy to the cool evening air, and we pedalled on contentedly for another six miles. “Look, darling, there’s water there, I’m sure. What a perfectly topping place. Do let's stop. Now don’t start arguing ; I won't listen to you. There’s water and there's Vol. xlvi.—20 firewood—everything. It's just like one of those undefined pictures by John—Some- body or other—in the Spring Exhibition.” I hadn't seen the Spring Exhibition, so I did not press the point. “All right; but it looks terribly damp, and there’s bound to be——”’ “‘ Mosquitoes, spiders, crocodiles, scorpions, snakes, wolves. There! I've got the list off by heart. Darling, this isn’t Central Africa —it’s France.” The place, beyond doubt, was picturesque. We wheeled the cycles through a gap in the low hedge and leaned them against the trunk of a fine oak tree. The ground was thick with leaves, sodden, and already glistening with dew. ‘“What a topping bed these leaves will make! Oooh! I want to lie down on them now ; they're so soft !’”’ “Don’t, for Heaven's sake!” I cried in alarm. ‘I'll light a fire and then you can sit down on the ground-sheets while I go for some milk and bread. Come on; I'll show you how the natives in Africa make their fires. First we want some dry grass, then some small dry twigs, finally, two big sticks.’’ All these were obtained. The grass and sticks I piled into a little heap, in front of which I knelt. “Now, darling, I'll show you how it’s done. It will be a lesson to you not to dis- believe everything I tell you about East Africa.” “But, dearest, I believed several of your yarns.”’ Ignoring this spitefulyremark, I [seized two

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282 pieces of stick and rubbed them frantically together for several seconds, then suddenly bent down and began to blow vigorously. A thin blue wisp of smoke rose up from the heap, then came a yellow flame and the crackling of twigs ! “ Voila!’ 1 cried triumphantly as I rose to my feet, adroitly slipping something into my waistcoat-pocket as I did so. “Darling, how wonderful! I wouldn’t have believed it possible. Tell me how you did it. I want to do it ft “Not now—after,” I replied, with the calm dignity of one who has scored a point. “I'll just clear this space for the tent and spread one of the sheets on it; then I'll go back to that cottage for some grub.” The first handful of leaves exposed a very large, evil-looking toad, which I carefully transported to another part of the forest. Toads are unpleasant bed-mates. In five minutes the site for the tent was tolerably clea of animal life, and I spread the two ground-sheets upon it. “Don’t mind me leaving you, do you, old girl? Won't be long. Put the billy-can on, and we'll make tea as soon as I get the milk. Don’t let the fire go out, will you?” “T'll try not,” came the sweet response, “but I think you’d better lend me that patent lighter you’ve got in your waistcoat- pocket in case it docs. How clever of the natives to have thought out a thing like that!” I could not think of any suitable reply until I was half-way to the cottage. Here I found an old lady chopping wood. Had she any milk ? Not a drop. Any butter ? Pas du tout. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Any eggs ? Likewise pas du tout ! A five-franc note, however, quickly con- vinced her that she had all three, and I started back for the camp heavily laden. Iwas hungry. The fire gleamed cheerfully through the darkening shades of the forest, and as I hastened along I had a sweet vision -of ham and eggs and tea—made in the good old English fashion, with tea and boiling water. But, to my surprise, I saw that my wife, instead of being busy with the billy-can, was strapping something on to her bicycle. She turned sharply at the sound of my approach, “ Oo-oh, darling,” she faltered, ‘“* you were —were right! Ooh! I can’t stay another minute. The—the whole ground’s alive. Look ! there’s a horrible frog, and ff “ Good gracious!” I laughed, ‘* he won’t do you any harm! Why, we might even shove him in the pan and have him as an hors d’euvre. Really, there’s nothing to be afraid of. We'll build two huge fires and cover the site for the tent with hot ashes. You'll never see another thing after that.” ‘“ But there’s spiders and ants—hortible things. Are you sure——” p “ Quite. But we’ll have to get a move on. We want some bracken first, to make a bed to lie on. We can cook later.” While collecting the bracken my wife dis- covered a hundred yards up the hillside a patch of pines where the ground was com- paratively dry. I was not at all loth to move there, in spite of the fact that it meant a further postponement of the meal. We had the benefit, at any rate, of an extra half-hour’s twilight, giving us time to clear a new site among the pine-needles and pitch “Ido not sphe English he replied without even

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TWO EXILES IN the tent. The dead fir branches made a wonderful fire, and I began to think that at last we were going to taste some of the real joys of camping out. I was right. “TI think I'd better do the cooking, old girl,” I said, with the best intentions. “You'll hate messing with these primitive utensils. Which would you prefer—fried eggs, boiled, or a nice little omelette ? ” “You're not going to do the cooking,” was the very de- termined reply. “Look at your hands — they're filthy! Oooh, darling, I can see another frog!’ “Then for goodness’ sake catch it. You know we've got to economize. These French frogs have a very high nutri- tive value. We might fry him in butter.” ““Oooh—don’t be such a pig! You're perfectly disgusting. I don’t want anything now—you can cook your own. I want to go back to England!” There was an armistice, lasting fifteen minutes, during which the fire nearly went out. We successfully came to an agreement, however, whereby it was decided that we were both perfectly happy and good-tem- pered, that neither of us wanted to go back to England, that we couldn’t if we wanted to, and that my wife would make the tea while I should fry the omelette after I had washed my hands. By this time night had fallen and the rekindled fire crackled joyously at its double task of cooking food and lighting up the forest. It was good to be alive on such a night as this. “Gracious !’’ I cried, as I turned the omelette over, ‘to think there are fools who will ‘blew’ a whole fortune for a week at Torquay when they might be tasting this sort of thing for ten francs a day! Really, it’s up to us to let the world know how perfectly easy it is. Did you ever smell such an omelette in your life?” “No, darling, I didn’t,” was the candid response. “Pooh! You're only jealous. you've made your tea ?” The tea was smoked, the omelette tasted of pine-leaves, but never was there a more Wait till NORMANDY. 283 heavenly banquet. For a whole hour we forgot that there were such things as house agents, tailors, mosquitoes, toads, landlords, ants, spiders, or bills. “No, by Jove,” I said® as I lit my last English cigarette, ‘‘ there's nothing like the open-air life—an Had she any rik! ideal existence ! Net ds To think that oop, we've been pay- Any buller? ing umpteen pounds a month os du tout simply for so much brick and mortar to shut out the good sweet air from our lungs. Com- pare the smell of these pines to the smell of a London Any i Lies pated Tube——” “Don’t, dar- ling, you’re making me home-sick again. Isn’t it time we went to bed ?”’ Our sleeping- gear consisted of two ground sheets, one large Army blanket, and one smaller one. In addition, there were our waterproofs. : ~ We had piled the floor of the tent nearly a foot deep with bracken, and on this I pegged down the sheets, forming a springy, comfortable bed. ‘It’s going to be pretty cold, I’m afraid,” I said, ‘‘ but it’s the moisture from the ground that we’ve got to fear. I'll put the two waterproofs on top of the ground-sheets, with the smaller blanket on top, and then we'll have the big blanket to cover us. Don't know what you'll do for a pillow. You'd better use that pile of blouses and things.” “Yes, and what an awful state they'd be in by morning! I don’t want any pillow. Ough, it is cold, though, isn’t it ? We ought to have brought another blanket, oughtn’t we?” ‘IT suppose it would have come in useful +but there, don’t worry, you'll be warm enough when I fasten up the tent-flap and you get the old blanket over you. Good old blanket, that. Issued to me in January, ’15; had it with me at- a “Now, then; don’t start reminiscencing at this time of night. Besides, it is not nice to know too much about an Army blanket. 1 do hope it’s warm, anyway—I’m shivering.” We carried no thermometer, but I would

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284 not have been much surprised to have found ice on the streamlet when I went down for the last bucket of water. Ough! it soaked through to your very bones, for there is no cold so terrible as that of a damp, rain- soaked wood. However, it was now too late to push on, and, at any rate, the tent would protect us from the dew. ““ Now for a good old blaze—and then bed and happy dreams.” “Hope I dream of morning—it’s the nicest dream I can think of.” As commander of the expedition I refrained from giving away my state of mind so frankly as that; yet I will confess now that I had a fleeting thought of home and beds and comfortable things. I curbed it—as a good soldier should, 1 broke up a dead sapling and piled it on the fire, and by the light of it we made what toilets we could and retired to bed. Did we sleep ? We did not ! Not that the ground was too hard or that our heads yearned for the case of feather pillows. It was the cold—a wet, freezing cold that would have penetrated the pelt of a Polar bear. We sank at last into a stupor—or into two stupors, if you like. I awoke from mine about two o’clock in the morning. 1 should have said that part of me awoke, for one arm still ‘ stupored ’’—likewise one leg, complete with toes, one ear, and several ribs. I had, however, awakened with an idea— “Twom.” “ Twom’’ was our rubber hot- water bottle. Last winter I was lecturing at a little town high up in the Yorkshire Dales. The ground was several feet deep in snow and the cold unspeakable. The only hotel in the place was a temperance hotel, managed by a religious lady called “ Twom- ley.” In despair of getting warm, we called at the local chemist’s and bought a rubber hot-water bottle, which we christened “Twom ” in sardonic remembrance. There had been considerable controversy as to whether we should take ‘ Twom ”’ with us. Experience argued that circum- stances would certainly arise in which its use might be advantageous, and vet it was such an undignified thing to take with one ona cycle tour. I had slipped it into my bundle at the last moment and it had been a source of constant criticism on the part - of my wife. In the excitement of making our first camp it had been forgotten. I got up and pulled on my shoes—promptly pulling one of them off again to remove a small colony of earwigs which had taken temporary possession. Then I loosened the flap of the tent and staggered out into the chill darkness, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Thank goodness! There were still a few ted embers left in the fire. I stooped down and began to blow, piling on a few twigs as I did so. Quickly the resinous wood was spluttering and the yellow flames curving high into the air. For a minute I stood and thawed out my frozen toes, then I found “Twom,” and made the disconcerting dis- covery that the canvas bucket contained not a drop of water. The stream was a good hundred yards away, and it ran through the thickest and darkest part of the oak forest. Was it worth while? I huddled up to the fire and began to weigh the problem out in my mind. After all, supposing I did get: “ D-d-darling! = W-w-where are you ? O-ooh! I’m n-n-nearly d-dead with c-c-cold. 1 w-w-want to come out t-to the fire!” “It’s all right,” I replied. ‘“ Suddenly thought of ‘Twom.’ Thought you would like to have it, so I'm putting the firing on, and—and—I'm just going to—er—get some water from the stream.” My wife came out and sat at my side. Like a pair of mesmerized fowls, we stared into the fire and uttered no word for many, many minutes. At last I plucked a burning pine brand from the fire, found the bucket, and crept cautiously down through the drunken stag- gering forest shadows to the water's edge. So far so good. I filled the bucket with one hand, holding the torch high in the other; then I started slowly back for the camp, stepping daintily between the spreading brambles and fallen branches, one eye on the torch, one on the bucket, and both on the faint glimmering fire ahead that betokened the whereabouts of the camp. I was more than half-way there when, without a second’s warning, the torch went out! Had 1 been in full possession of my senses this would not have perturbed me very much, for it would have been a simple enough thing to shout to my wife and tell her to bring me another, standing per- fectly still the while. But instead of this I pushed straight on, moving, if anything, faster than 1 had done while the torch was burning. I did not go far. My foot suddenly caught on the naked root of an oak, I stumbled forward, tried to balance myself, tripped again, and fell—right on top of the squelching bucket of ice-cold water ! We did not go back to bed, but spent the remainder of that night of horrors huddled up in our blankets in front of the fire, telling one another tales, reciting poetry, inventing riddles without answers, and having a good time in gencral.

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Ms ‘}wo\ears in MV See ILLUSTRATED BY E-S:‘HODGSON Ex l1CoO Told by WILLIAM E. RIDENOUR, and set down by CARL CLAUSEN. Mexico, apparently, is not a healthy place for the foreigner; life is altogether too compli- cated —and too cheap. Here is the plain, unvarnished narrative of what happened to an engineer who signed on for duty at an up-country gold-mine. All things considered, Mr. Ridenour was a very lucky man to escape as he did. ARLY in June, ror4, I left the service of the American Hawaiian Steamship Company after install- ing radio sets on all its steamers. One day a gentleman called at my hotel in San Francisco and introduced himself as Mr. R. C. Conklin, general manager of the Lluvia de Oro Mine, Chihuahua, Mexico. He said that he wanted a man to take a high- powered radio outfit down to the mine, in- stall it and operate it, as all communications had been cut off on account of the revolution. He made me a tempting offer, with ex- penses paid both ways, my pay to start the minute I signed up. The radio outfit, he said, was tied up somewhere near the border, as it was against the law to install, import, or operate ‘‘ wireless ’’ in Mexico. From what he told me, I gathered that the proposition was somewhat more than a picnic, and that if I accepted I might do well to settle my affairs. However, after some discussion, I agreed to take the job, and we both started for Los Angeles on June 7th, 1914. On the oth we left Los Angeles for Nogales, Arizona. There we were met by six more members of Mr. Conklin’s party, among whom were: Mr. Hauser, metallurgist ; Dr. A. C. Arnold, the company’s physician ; Mr. H. C. Giddins, mill superintendent ; Mr. John Sedley, mill superintendent ; and Mr. E. A. Wright, electrician. We remained in Nogales for eight days, waiting for a train to take us to San Blas, Sinaloa, and finally learned that we could not get through because of a Yaqui uprising along our intended route. On the 18th we took the train back to Los Angeles, where we stayed another ten days waiting for the steamer Mazatlan. When the boat arrived at San Pedro we found that we could not board her in Ameri- can waters because she carried explosives in her cargo. We accordingly left for San Diego and chartered there the gasolene launch McKinley to take us to Ensenada, Lower California. After a sixteen-hour run we arrived in Ensenada, where the Carranza officials made us take our baggage ashore, ostensibly for Customs inspection, but really to see if there was anything worth stealing among it. As we were not going to land, this was strictly against the law. Next morning, before daylight, the Mazatlan arrived, and on the third day we left Ensenada for Topolobampo with three hundred passengers — Germans, Japanese, Mexicans, and Chinese, among others, a Japanese spy and the second officer of the German cruiser Leipzic. As soon as we were out of sight_of land the

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286 German officer took possession of the wireless room, ousting the Marconi operator, a young Englishman named Smith, and calmly pro- ceeded to call the Letpzic, using a secret four- letter call instead of the international three- letter one. Smith, the erstwhile operator, asked me if there was anything we could do to queer the German's little game. There was! On the forward deck near hatch No, 2 there was a winch with steel cables leading aloft to the cargo boom. When night came Smith and I swung this boom around so that the steel cables touched the aerial, thereby “ grounding it’ and preventing the Hun from sending any more messages. Knowing that I was a radio expert, I was requested to go up into the wireless room and locate the trouble. Smith and I fooled around for two hours pretending to be looking for the trouble, while the disappointed German cursed furiously. Of course, we found nothing. The next morning at ten o'clock the ship's electrician, also a German, discovered our little ‘‘ juice perverter " and released it. Seon the sparks were flying merrily, and the German got the Letpzie off Magdalena Bay about four o'clock in the afternoon. Two hours later she hove alongside, and the German officer and a sailor who had been helping the cook in the galley for a blind, but who was really one of the Leipze’s crew, went aboard the cruiser, and took with them four crates of apples, three crates of cabbage, and four cases of cham- pagne. For four hours we lay two cable lengths from the Leipzic, listening to the high jinks in the officers’ quarters. Then the Leipzic steamed away and we started around Cape San Lucas, the southern- most point of Lower California, making La Paz the following day about noon. We stayed in La Paz a few hours, discharged some cargo, took on hides and flour, and pro- ceeded to Guaym, Arriving at aymas, we learned that although we had taken passage direct to Topolobampo, the Mazatlan was to go back across the Gulf of Mexico to Santa Rosalea, a Gulf port, and then proceed from there to our destination, which meant a delay of over a week, so we disembarked at Guaymas trusting to get a train south to San Blas. Luckily, we got a train next morning and made the run through the Yaqui country to San Blas, a distance of a hundred and twenty- five miles, in) twenty-four hours! The engineer and fireman got off every few minutes to examine the track for Yaqui surprises. At one place they pulled out cnough d mite from under the rails to blow us s high. Out of San Blas and terminating at the town of Yoyanco a little streak of rust THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. calling itself the Kansas City, Mexico, and Orient Railroad creeps dispiritedly across a steep up-grade country, and gives up the ghost after sixty miles of thankless effort at civilizing a country that doesn’t want to be civilized. Mr. Case, the manager of the line, a very courteous gentleman, informed us that his road was not running any more trains that year, but he would loan us a hand-car for ourselves and a push-car for the baggage, providing we would give them a push and start them home when we got through with them ! Accordingly, we packed our baggage on the push-car, got aboard the hand-car, and started for Yoyanco. We worked the handles for two miles or so and then found that when Mr. Case asked us to give the cars a push for home when we were done with them, he wasn’t joking! The grade was so steep that we had to get oft then and there and push, and we pushed for the best part of the remaining fifty miles, arriving at Yoyanco after dark, tired, cross, hungry and ready to eat up all the Yaquis in the State of Sinaloa, At Yoyanco we found our radio set, which had got this far after unwinding a couple of trainloads or so of Mexican red tape. Mr. Conklin, Mr. Wright, and myself stayed in Yoyanco all the next day repacking the set for mule transportation, the others of the party going ahead early in the morning. Starting out at dark with our mules packed, we overtook them at a wretched place called Aguagito, about two o'clock the next mom- ing. Towards noon we left Aguagito for Mes- quito, where we arrived after dark, rolling into our blankets beside the trail for the night. At daylight we broke camp, re- packed the mules, and left Mesquito on a trail that kept ascending, sometimes almost perpendicularly. So steep was the trail that, as I walked behind my pack mule, leading my riding nag, I expected every moment to see the pack slide off the mule and bury me under an avalanche of suit-cases and dry- goods boxes The scenery was no doubt beautiful, but my time was taken up entirely between watching the pack and the trail. Though I missed some very fine views, I felt amply recompensed by not missing my foothold and going sliding down a couple of thousand feet of the aforementioned scenery. About noon we reached the summit and found ourselves gazing out over an immense hole in the ground. - Far away in the distance, on the other side of the hole, mountain tops after mountain tops reared themselves defiantly towards the sky. At the bottom of the hole roareda torrent—the Fuerte

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MY TWO YEARS IN MEXICO, River. ‘ Six thousand feet to the bottom,” Dr. Arnold remarked, casually. Peering fearfully over the edge of the abyss, we saw the trail meandering along pleasantly down the almost perpendicular wall towards the river. It looked like a streak of whitewash on the side of a barn, Well, we started down! Sometimes at night I wake up bathed in perspiration. [ know then that I have again been descending that trail of the Fuerte. In places, the trail was hewn out of the solid rock and barely three feet wide. At times it was fairly level, then it would take a dip so sharp and sudden that the mules had to sit down on their haunches and slide. When the trail became extra narrow thev leaned against the wall of the mountain at an acute angle and appeared to be using only their two inside legs. At last, after two hours of nerve-racking descent, we gained the bottom of the gorge and crossed the river in a small wooden boat. We swam the mules acr after loading the packs into the boat. When we crossed for the last time, Dr. Arnold’s pack-mule was caught in the rapids and drowned, the doctor, Giddins, and myself narrowly escaping the same fate in the boat. Immediately after crossing the Fuerte we re-packed, distributing Dr. Arnold’s baggage among the other mules, and entered the mouth of the Reforma Canyon, which at this point discharged an infinitesimal stream of water into the turbulent Fuerte. At the other end of the canyon, six thousand feet above us, and as yet invisible, lay the Lluvia de Oro Mine. The sun was just setting over El Tigre mountain, to the left of us, when we rounded the last curve and came in full view of the mine. Straggling down the mountain side, it was hewn into the solid rock in the form of a series of terraces, with the mill on the first, directly in front of us, and the rest of the buildings one below the other, white roofs agleam in the setting sun, like the steps of a giant staircase. The last level was occupied by a score or more of huge tanks, and the whole was surrounded by a twenty-foot wall, which rode straight down the mountain side from level to level, for all the world like the upturned teeth of a huge bucksaw. A short distance beyond the mine and its enclosure, the canyon ended abruptly ina high granite wall rising a thousand feet above the little town of Lluvia de Oro, which is nothing more than a miscellaneous collection of mud and brush huts. The town boasts of just two brick buildings, the Cuartel, a sort of military guardhouse, occupied alternately by Car- ranzista soldiers and Villa bandits, and a one-sturey general store, conducted by one 287 Ignacio Guerra, as patriotic a Carranzista and as loyal a Villa sympathizer as could be found in the State of Chihuahua ! To the left, crouched like a huge hump- backed tiger ready to spring, El Tigre mountain rises dark and threatening to a height of twenty-five hundred feet above the bottom of the canyon. With the exception of the side where the mine is located, the walls of the canyon are almost perpendicular, enclosing the town on three sides. At the point where the mine stands the canyon is about nine hundred feet wide. A trail beginning at the point where we were standing wound round the side of the precipice about a thousand feet above the town, passing within a hundred feet of the upper wall of the mine. Here, facing the trail, was a row of buildings comprising a two-storey brick hotel for the Americans emploved at the mine, two one-storey houses with sleeping quarters, and a one-storey hospital. The mine is peculiarly located. Situated in the extreme south-western corner of the State of Chihuahua, it is so near the border of Sinaloa that the bridge across the narrow chasm leading to the pumping plant is in Sinaloa and the plant itself in Chihuahua, while the Durango line is only five miles away. The date of our arrival in Lluvia de Oro was September 15th, 1914, just three months after leaving Los Angeles. The radio set arrived on September 17th, and I immediately began to rig it up. I was assigned a room in the hospital building for the sect and my sleeping quarters. The aerial lead passed through the window to the aerial suspended between two mountain tops four hundred and fifty feet above the hospital. It was a difficult job to get that aerial anchored. On September 2oth, however, I had the sparks flying, and first tried to call the U.S. Naval Station at Point Loma, Cali- fornia, but could not work satisfactorily with them. Then [I began working with U.S. warships stationed at Guaymas, Topolo- bampo, and Mazatlan, and they relayed my ssages to the company’s offices in St. Missouri, through Point Loma. Everything went along very nicely until December, t914. Then the fun commenced t General Villa had two or three small radio stations in Chihuahua and Sonora. These sets were particular pets of his, and when I started to work my powerful equip- ment Villa's little streaks of lightning petered out pitifully. Thereupon Villa sent a man in to try and locate us, and he duly found us. His name was Don Juan de Jose, and his title “ First Captain of Telegraphists ”” in the army of General Villa. Don Juan stayed with us for two days,

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288 inspecting the outfit and eating three big meals a day—the first decent grub he had struck since Porfirio Diaz left the country. Don Juan also smoked half a box of Mr. Conklin’s Perfectos, and generally made himself quite at home. He hadn’t been with me more than thirty minutes before I found out that what he didn't know about wireless telegraphy would fill several good-sized volumes. He had been an old railroad operator before becoming “ First Captain of Telegraphists '! I had things all my own way. He made me try to send a message - to General Gaxiola, a Villista bandit stationed at Guaymas with a garrison of half-naked Indian cut-throats. I sent the message, but saw that it didn’t get very far, for I kept the aerial switch open. That homeless message is still hanging around somewhere in Chihuahua looking for General Gaxiola. You see, we expected the Carranzistas to re- capture the town at any moment, and we didn’t want to have any embarrassing ques- tions to answer in regard to non-neutral messages. Don Juan de Jose finally left us very much at ease on account of the apparent harmlessness of our radio sct. About two weeks later the Villistas were driven out of the district by Federal troops, and we congratulated ourselves on the begin- ning of a period of comparative peace and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, ] 3 _ Es “T was taken out and stood up against the wall, with twelve rifles a safety. We had exaggerated notions about the efficiency of those troops ! The routine at the mill was rather interest- ing. My own hours were very short—from twelve o'clock midnight to 2 a.m. Every night for two hours I sat at my switchboard ‘getting’ the Associated Press with the news of the world and dispatching my own messages to the company’s offices in St Louis, Mo., through the U.S. warship West Virginia, stationed at Mazatlan, or through Point Loma. Nothing was heard from General Villa again until March, 1915. During this time the territory changed hands several times, but at the time referred to the Villistas were again in power. One day we received an order from the Jefe de Armas in the town demanding the confiscation of the wireless set and the immediate delivery of it and the operator (myself) at Chihuahua City. I courteously declined the invitation and informed the Jefe that there weren't enough bandits in the whole state to take me to Chihuahua City. If he thought there were, I added, would he please come and get me? Six days later another order arrived from the Jefe de Armas confiscating the radio set, but avoiding any reference to the operator. Mr. A. J. Finley—who was acting-manager at the time, Mr. Conklin having returned to the United States—decided to let them have

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MY TWO YEARS IN twenty paces pointed at my head.” the set to avoid trouble. It was accordingly taken to the Cuartel, where it remained until June, when the town was recaptured by the Carranzistas. Mr. Frank Perry, the com- pany’s auditor, then induced the command- ing Carranza officer to return the set to us, but without permission to use it. As the whole garrison was either asleep or drunk long before midnight, I paid no attention to this stipulation and soon had Point Loma relaying my messages by cable to St. Louis, and the company’s cashier there getting writer’s cramp signing ‘“* O.K.’s ” for bills. The Carranzistas being again in power, we hoped for some relief for the stricken district. Our hopes were in vain. This new garrison was even worse than the preceding one. The commanding officer, instead of suppress- ing acts of violence towards civilians, actually encouraged them, ignored them, or par- ticipated in them. As for myse#f, I was placed under sur- veillance, and later under arrest. The charge against me was that of sending Messages somewhere or other detrimental to the Villa faction. I shall never know where. It was, of course, a trumped-up charge. The commanding officer assured me that no harm would befall me if I submitted peacefully to arrest. I was permitted to stay in my room, but not allowed to leave it. MEXICO. 289 My meals were brought to me from the company's hotel and a heavy guard stationed around the wireless room. One fine morning I was taken out and stood up against the wall, with twelve rifles at twenty paces pointed at my head. I was informed that orders had been received to execute me at once! [he master of ceremonies, a vil- lainous-looking cut-throat, had his eyes on my gold watch, and his colleagues had mentally divided my clothing and other personal belongings among them- selves, when Mr. Finley arrived on the scene with his heart in his mouth and fifty pesos in his hand, begging them to desist. The arrival of the coin of the realm caused my funeral to be postponed indefinitely. I was greatly relieved. The only thing that made me sore was the value placed on my life. Fifty pesos! Ye gods! And me with seventy-five dollars’ worth of dental work in my molars ! The next day and for five days thereafter this performance was ~< repeated, the fifty pesos of the day before having been satur- ated in mescal. It was “ easy money” for them. Then they began to want bigger donations. Fifty pesos a day was not enough. They sod me up against the wall twice a day and ‘sometimes thrice for the next two weeks, while Mr. Finley patiently trotted out his fifty pesos and charged the item to “ fixed expense."” I soon realized that there was very little danger of my losing my life as long as the company kept solvent, and I thanked my stars that the Lluvia de Oro Mining Company was rated by Bradstreets at ninety millions ! At three dollars and a half twice or three times a day, I felt reasonably sure of attaining a green old age. However, the ‘ execution ” stunt became rather monotonous after a while; and besides, I reflected, some fool bandit might pull the trigger while he was full of mescal, so one day I told Mr. Finley to send my two Colt automatics down with my dinner things. He did. Two of the guardsmen came into my room with the basket, placed it on the table and turned to go. “Sit down, sefiors," I said, suavely. They whirled around—and gazed wistfully into the business end of two Colt 45's. I indicated chairs. They sat. “While I dine,” I continued, casually, “vou might divest yourselves of light artillery, cutlery, and other superfluous objects. Just drop’emon the floor. Pretty

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290 quick! Presto!’ They did, and I gazed in wonder and awe at the arsenal stacked up in the middle of the tloor. “You may go now," I said, pointing to the door. ‘ By the way,” I added, “ tell your captain that if he or his firing squad ever show their faces around this joint again the coroner will not be able to close his eyes for a week. Adios!” The firing squad stayed away. Two days later a Mexican girl brought us the news that several hundred Carranzistas camped over the ridge were planning to attack the town on the following day. They duly came ; the casualties were two killed and one wounded. The Villistas scattered over the hills on the run, and I saw the captain of my firing squad legging it up the mountain about five hundred yards away. 1 knew him at once, and took a couple of long shots at him from my doorway, but missed him. The bullets hit the trail behind him, how- ever, and caused him to greatly accelerate his speed. Conditions in the district became worse every day, and several attempts to rob the mine were made. The reason the attempts failed was because of the great cowardice of all fighting factions. Cowardice is not the characteristic of the law-abiding Mexican —far from it. Most of the men in the field, however, are prisoners released from jail, men who have never possessed courage to face the world honestly, or else mercenaries grown bloodthirsty by years of continuous murder and pillage, men steeped in the blood of a thousand outrages, mere wolves in the guise of human beings. The district changed hands oftener, out- rages grew more frequent, and some of our men were fired upon when they visited the town, We never left the mine unless heavily armed, and then only in the day- time. On September 21st, 1015, we received an order from the American Consul Letcher, at Chihuahua City, to leave the district immediately. The message came by tele- phone from Creel, four days down the trail, and informed us that the Villistas were massing themselves in great) numbers to drive the last remnants of the Carranzista troops out of the State for ever. The town of Fuerte, the message stated, was their objective. Fuerte was a Carranzista stronghold, a short distance from Lluvia de Oro, with a garrison of about two thousand soldiers. The commander was frantically recruiting all able-bodied men in the district, and throwing up breastworks in preparation for a siege. Meanwhile the Villistas, under a leader THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. named Banderis, were moving swiftly and murdering all Americans in their path. The next morning, September 22nd, we packed bullion to the value of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars on mules, and started down the trail to Yoyanco. We left about thirty or forty thousand dollars’ worth of gold in the furnaces which we had. no time to extract. We arrived at Yoyanco on the evening of the 25th, and went direct to the terminus of the Kansas City, Mexico, and Orient Railway, wondering if Mr. Case was running any trains fs year. He wasn't. We stayed five days waiting for a freight, which was reported to have left Los Mochis for Yoyanco a week earlier. It never arrived ; a Mayo Indian uprising along the line had detained it permanently. The prospect of our getting through to Los Mochis with our treasure was anything but rosy, as the Mayo Indians had the reputa- tion of being very enthusiastic throat-slitters, with a predisposition for American victims. We tried to hire an escort of Indian guides to see us through the troubled territory, offering two hundred dollars gold to each man for the three days’ journey; but although this sum was more than any of them had ever seen in their lives, or ever expected to see, they declined with thanks. Mr. Finley went down to Fuerte to see the Carranza commander. The Mexican laughed. Risk the lives of his soldiers to protect the necks of a bunch of gringo thieves? Not much! Besides, he couldn’t spare any men. Banderis with eight thousand Villistas was coming down the mountains after his scalp! Mr. Finley returned to Yoyanco with three wagons which he had purchased in Fuerte. With him were four Americans—Fuerte business men—who had decided to ‘ get from under "’ before Banderis arrived. They were a very welcome addition to our small party. - We loaded the bullion into the wagons, and with twelve mules to each started towards the Mayo Valley. Two hours out of Yoyanco, we met five more Americans, also bound for Los Mochis. This made our party twenty-two in all, two of whom were women, the wives of Dr, Arnold and Mr. Giddins, who had joined their husbands at the mine two months earlier. We were all well armed, each of us carrying a high-powered ritle and two Colt'’s 45 auto- matics, with plenty of ammunition, We met Indians twice ev route, but were not attacked. They stopped us, but on seeing our business-like armament decided that it would be unhealthy for them to “start anything.” On the second day we passed through what was once the city of Mochicahui, now

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MY a heap of smoking ruins. A week before, Mochicahui was a prosperous city of eight thousand inhabitants—to-day, not one soul was left in the town. Those who had escaped the murderous fury of the Indians had fled over the mountains, never to return. The main thoroughfare was strewn with human bodies. On the evening of the third day we arrived at Los Mochis, and staved there fifteen days, waiting for the steamer Jarv Dodge to arrive at Topolobampo, twenty miles distant. It was with a heartfelt sigh of relief that we placed the bullion aboard the ary Dodge on October 17th, and took the purser’s receipt for three-quarters of a million of dollars. Dr. and Mrs. Arnold and Mr. and Mrs. Giddins, with Mr. Hauser, the assayer, and a young fellow named David Wilkey left for San Francisco on the boat. Thinking that the trouble was over, the rest of us attempted to return to the mine. At Yovanco we were informed that the Villistas had murdered a party of Americans encamped near the upper rapids of the Fuerte river. This unpleasant information did not deter us from proceeding to Choiz, a town about four hours out of Yoyanco. Here we learned that Banderis was on his way down the mountains, with his eight thousand little black devils from the sugar plantations of Jalisco and Yucatan, murdering and sacking everything in his path. We also heard that they had completely wrecked the mine and had taken everything of value. We accordingly returned to Los Mochis, and stayed there three day: Hearing no more news of Banderis, we concluded that it was another one of those highly-coloured fairy tales for which Mexico is famous, and made another attempt to return to Lluvia de Oro. This time we got as far as Agnagito, a day’s travel nearer the mine than our previous attempt. At Aguagito we heard more rumours of Banderis, and returned again to Los Mochis. This time we stayed five days at Los Mochis and then heard that Banderis was not in the district. On the sixth day we hit the trail again, swearing that nothing should keep us from going to Lluvia de Oro. We got as far as Ranchito, about two hours out of Choiz. There we heard that the advance guard of Banderis’s army had that day visited Tasajara, a little village four miles farther on. As it was already late in the afternoon, we decided to stay at Ranchito for the night, holding the baggage train behind us two miles down the trail. We held a council of war and it was decided that Thomas Phillips, an Englishman, and Luschterheim, a German, were to go on in advance and investigate, as Banderis was TWO YEARS IN MEXICO. 291 only killing Americans and not molesting the foreigner: At Tasajara Phillips and Luschterheim tan into Banderis’s outpost, consisting of fifty Indians. Although Phillips had ex- cellent passports from the Villistas, the two men were told that they could neither proceed nor retreat. The officer in) charge of the outpost said that he had orders not to let any white men pass. Having neither coats nor blankets with them, Phillips begged to be allowed to return to Ranchito, giving his word of honour to remain there until the outpost arrived the next day. After much palaver, the permission was granted, the two men returning about 10.30 p.m., and advising us of the conditions. It was finally decided that Phillips and Luschterheim were to remain at Ranchito with the baggage while the rest of us—all Americans—took the down trail before davlight. We left) Ranchito at 1 a.m., arriving at Yovanco two days later, From there we went direct to Mr, Phillips's ranch near Tehueco, The following morning, November 2nd, all the Americans except myself left the Phillips ranch for San Blas, Sinaloa, pro- ceeding thence to Mazatlan by way of Guamuchil, where they caught a steamer for the United States. The manager asked me to stay and return to the mine if things cleared up. On November 3rd the ranch was visited by a band of one hundred and eighty Mayo Indians under the command of General Machomo, I happened to be down at the lower end of the ranch, fixing a broken fence, when the Indians arrived. Not sus- pecting their presence, I returned to the house for dinner and found that the Indians had got there first. In the parlour two stalwart warriors had got Mrs. Phillips’s new phonograph going, and were executing a sort of war-dance to the accompaniment of “ I Trovatore.” The kitchen had been captured by Machomo himself, and was held against all comers by a squad of bavonetted patriots while the ‘ General’ rummaged around the pantry shelves for something to eat. When 1 entered he was seated on the kitchen table swinging his legs, a huge bowl of rice pudding in his lap. “ Hah, gringo,”” he said, glaring at me across the bowl of rice. “No, General,’ T answered. Englishman.” “ Relative of Mr. Phillips ?’? he inquired, gruffly, spoon poised in mid-air. “ Brother,” I lied, glibly. “Humph! Got four bits on you?” he whispered, mysteriously. The General had been a section hand on “Not gringo,

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292 THE WIDE WORLD the S. P: Railroad in Los Angeles in past peaceful years, and spoke American like a native. “I’m busted flat, General,’ I said, regret- tully. Haven't got a dime, have you?” he ventured, hopefully. “I ain’t had a smoke for two days.” “Come over to my room after awhile,” I whispered, “ I’ve got a whole trunk full of Egyptian cigarettes and a pint of Old Taylor.” The General's eyes lighted with pleasure. “Juan Bull,” he grinned, ‘ you're a trump!” : The General put the bowl of rice down on the table and linked his arm affectionately into mine as we strode across to my room. “Humph,” he said, thoughtfully, as I opened my trunk and told him to help himself. He filled his pockets, took two good pulls at Old Taylor, and pointed to some garments hung over the foot of the bed. “What's them things ? ” he inquired. “ Pyjamas, General,” I answered. “Humph!'” he said. Turning around he walked swiftly to the door and called out a sharp command to some of his Indians. “ Sefior Phillips,” he said, ‘I regret that I am forced to extreme measures. This war —ahem—is a horrible thing. In the interest of my beloved country I am forced to con- fiscate all the cigarettes.’’ He took another pull at Old Taylor. ‘‘ And also those—er— pyjamas.” “ General,’ I remonstrated, “ take the coffin nails, but oh ! spare my night-clothes !” “Tam _ filled with sorrow, sefior,’”’ he answered, tearfully, ‘ but I cannot grant your request, My uniform is not what it was, and I shall soon go into battle. You cannot refuse me ? ”” The idea of Machomo leading his men to slaughter in a suit of pyjamas was too much for me. I fear I laughed. “Pyjamas are for sleeping in, General,” I said. “Ah, yes, but no matter,’’ he answered, loftily. ‘‘ We sons of Mexico would fight in sackcloth for the honour of our country, if need be!’ Half an hour later the Indians departed up river in a cloud of cigarette smoke, to join’ Banderis. My pyjamas went with them ! Ten days later I visited the mine, and found Luschterheim there, he and Phillips having got through on the latter’s passports. Phillips had returned to the ranch the day before, by way of La Casa Colorado, a small town on the Fuerte river. He was making a detour to avoid the Villistas, who were advancing on Fuerte. For this reason I had not met him on the trail. The conditions at the mine were bad. I MAGAZINE. made a detailed report of the damage done ; I also put on twenty-four armed watchmen, who promptly proceeded to steal everything they could lay their hands on. While I was there another raid was made on the mine, and I had to hide out in the brush for three days and nights. After this I saw the useless- ness of staying any longer, so I started back to the ranch. I got as far as Fuerte, where I found the Carranza garrison in a state of great excite- ment. Banderis was reported by messengers to be less than five miles away, and coming as fast as his Indians could travel. I tried to reach Yoyanco, but met soldiers half a mile down the trail, who told me that I should never be able to get through, as Banderis had split his forces and was coming from all directions. There was nothing for me to do but to return to Fuerte. Here I called on General Delgado, who told me that he could not guarantee me protection, but that I was at liberty to hide anywhere I chose ! I blacked my face and hands, so as to look as little like an American as possible, and made my way up on the roof of the Palacio. The Palacio is the seat of administration for the county, a building corresponding to an American county court-house. It was situ- ated nearly in the centre of the town, facing the Plaza, and commanded a fine view of the surrounding country and Fuerte’s main street. The roof was perfectly flat, with a stout parapet running around all four sides —a splendid breastwork. Here the soldiers had mounted four machine-gung, one at each corner, and could have swept the town had they known how to use them. I found a seat on an old cartridge box, lit my pipe, and awaited developments. They weren’t long in coming ! About two miles down the high road we saw a cloud of dust. It was Banderis’s cavalry. The machine-guns were swung into position and we all held our breath. For ten minutes not a sound was heard. During that ten minutes I had an opportunity to observe the entire situation through my field-glasses. General Delgado had placed his men well. On a low hill directly behind the Palacio a long line of earthworks, bristling with machine-guns, had been thrown up. Not less than a thousand men were strung out in a double line behind these breastworks. The hill commanded the entire length of Fl Camino Royale, the street making a slight curve at the base of the hill. The other side of the strect was flanked by El Campo Santo (the camp of the saints), the poetic name in Mexico for a cemetery. This covered about ten acres, and was surrounded on all four sides by a three-foot wall. General Delgado

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MY TWO YEARS IN MEXICO. 293 “In the parlour two stalwart warriors had got Mrs. Phillips's new phonograph going and were executing a sort of war-dance.”

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294 had massed here about two thousand men, with rifles and machine-guns. Baskets upon baskets of hand grenades were stacked up in the centre of the cemetery. I shudder to think what would have happened if Banderis had succeeded in dropping a shell into that stack of hand grenades ! I swept my glasses over the city. The Plaza below was crowded to the limit, the soldiers resting on their arms. A motley crowd they were, a few of them in the regu- lation uniform, but most of them dressed in anything, from overalls to evening clothes. General Delgado had pressed into service every male in the town suspected of possess- ing enough nerve to pull the trigger of a Remington. I had been told that by strenuous recruit- ing Gencral Delgado had succeeded in raising his army to thirteen thousand men, and I think the figures were correct. Had Banderis known what he was up against he would not have been so hasty in attacking Fuerte. General Machomo—who by this time had increased his original band of a hundred and eighty Mayo Indians to several thousand— was scheduled to participate in the attack. Somehow or other he failed to make connec- tions with Banderis, and the intrepid bandit chief, with his eight thousand Pilones Indians, decided to tackle the job alone. Wiry little devils, these Pilones, none of them under- standing scientific warfare, but every one of them ready to fight at the drop of the hat. That ten minutes before the battle of Fuerte was one of the longest ten minutes of my life. At my feet lay the city, still as the grave. In the trenches on the hill a thousand men lay watching, with their eyes sighting along the gleaming barrels of a thousand Tifles. There came a muffled word of command, repeated by someone in the cemetery across the street, and a double row of flame poured from the trenches. The wall of the cemetery became a thing alive; the machine-guns whirred and spat fire; the Gatlings roared. The battle was on ! Down came Banderis and his eight thou- sand Pilones—a howling, yelling avalanche of human furies. Over the wall of the ceme- tery they swarmed, in the face of a withering fire of small arms and hand grenades. Up the hill they charged, through a veritable storm of rifle-bullets and a hail of shells. Nothing seemed to stop them. Along the road they came, tearing down the barricades, charging headlong for the Plaza between two fires. Again and again Banderis’s Indians charged the hill and the cemetery. Again and again they were driven back. Each attack was more furious than the preceding one. Both sides had ceased to shoot and fought hand THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to hand with rifle-butts, hand grenades, un- shipped bayonets—anything they could lay their hands on. The soldiers on the roof beside me stopped firing their machine-guns because the mélée had become so general that they could not tell friend from foe. During the afternoon a party of about twenty Indians broke through the cordon of soldiers stretched across the Camino Royale, and charged down the street to the Plaza. They got there! Barricading themselves behind dry- goods boxes and old furniture, they poured. a deadly fire into the rear of the trenches on the hill. The troops in the trenches thought that another army had entered the town from the west, and began to waver. Had it not been for the presence of mind of one of the machine-gun operators near me, who trained his gun on the barricade and in two minutes wiped out the intrepid little band, Banderis would have taken Fuerte. This danger over, the troops in the trenches rallied, and the fight went on. Dark closed on Fuerte with the first day of the battle a draw. During the night a few minor attacks were made and repulsed, and the second day of the battle was well in progress before the sun had risen over the Sierra Madres. All the morning Banderis’s Indians kept up a continual fusillade at about two hundred yards, having entrenched themselves at this distance during the night. Two brisk charges, one after the other, were made about noon, followed by a general slackening of fire on both sides. By one o’clock the firing ceased altogether, with the exception of an occa- sional shot. At first we thought that Banderis, becom- ing discouraged, had decided to give up the fight. But no! What he did was to retire to a distance of about a thousand yards and there split his army into three sections : one making a wide detour towards Yoyanco, another executing a flank movement around. the hill, and the third returning to the trenches, two hundred yards from the cemetery. His intention was to attack the town at three different points ; but his plans were frustrated by the Carranzistas making a counter-charge as soon as the two other divisions were far enough away to be unable to render support. The Indians, being greatly outnumbered, were forced to give up the trenches and retreated several hundred yards to a shallow canyon, while the defending troops held the captured trenches. General Delgado sent a strong division to meet the band flanking the hill, which engaged the Indians in fierce hand-to-hand combat in the outskirts of the town. It was nearly dark when the band who had gone around by way of Yoyanco began attacking from the west.

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MY Night came with the Carranzistas well intrenched and Banderis badly handicapped by being unable to communicate with all three divisions at once. A few small engage- ments occurred that night, but nothing decisive. About eight o'clock I noticed a band of men sneaking up a dark alley towards the Plaza. [t was just light enough to recognize them as Indians. Some of them carried baskets filled with hand grenades, which they were hurling over the roofs of the buildings into the Plaza. The machine-gun operator nearest me saw them, and sent a spatter of about ten shots down among them. There was a terrific explosion, which shook the Palacio to its very foundations—one of the shots had hit a basket of hand-grenades, exploding the TWO YEARS IN MEXICO. 295 diminished in violence, and before night we knew that Banderis was beaten. At sunrise of the fourth day he began to prepare for retreat, and by noon we saw his cavalry and supply train retiring up the river. The infantry followed. Fuerte was saved ! “Knocking down a sub-lieutenant with the butt end of my gun.” bombs! Every one of those Indians was blown to pieces and never knew what struck him. The day after the battle I visited the spot. A great hole was torn in the ground and two small shacks facing the alley had been blown clean off the map! On the third day of the battle the attacks Going over the casualty list, we found only one hundred and fifty-six dead, but a great number wounded. Most of the wounds con- sisted of abrasion on the heads and upper part of the body, knife cuts, fractures of arms and legs, and not less than two hundred black eyes! It was certainly some scrap!

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296 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZL Banderis retired up river to La Casa Colorado, where Mr. Phillips ran into the whole army in full retreat. He was taken prisoner because Banderis learned that the rest of our party had aped his clutches through Phillips’s advice. They took his baggage, his mules, and even his shoes, and marched him barefooted before them for four days, until they reached Toro, another small town on the Fuerte mver. Here Banderis was met by Machomo and his Indians. Through Machomo’s influence Phillips was released, as he was very popular with the Mayo Indians, having lived in the Mayo country for nine years. : I stayed at the Phillips’s ranch from November, 1915, to June, 1916, making ten or twelve trips to the mine during that time. Consulting my diary, I find that it was on May 25th, 1y16, that [ made the last trip. Conditions at the mine were very bad. There were rumours of war between the United States and Mexico; Umited States troops at Minaco, about seventy miles north, and Villistas at Batopilas, a short distance from the mine, displaying flags with the words, ‘Ante Americanistas,” printed in red letters. On May 29th I visited Fuerte, hearing more rumours of war with the United States. On June 2oth I again visited Fuerte and was informed that war had been declared between the Umited States and Mexico. General Delgado told me that no American could leave the district. The following day Philips went to Yoyanco for confirmation of these reports and returned on the 22nd, telling me that General Delgado had orders to kill all Americans on sight and advising me to leave if possible. Phillips was nearly shot coming out of Fuerte, the soldiers thinking that he was an American. On June 24th I left the ranch for Norotes, where I caught a train for San Blas. Getting off at San Blas, I was mobbed by a company of Carranza soldiers, who stood me up against a wall to shoot me. The officer in command interfered. After saving my life he struck me in the mouth and spat in my face! [ got away without coat and hat, losing all my arms except one Colt 45 auto- matic and two extra clips of cartridges, which [ had hidden in my boot-tops. When the train pulled out I watched my chance and swung aboard. The train was full of soldiers, and, knowing that 1 should certainly be killed if they saw me, I hid in the lavatory and locked the door. The train crawled along at a snail's pace while the soldiers drank and caroused. I expected every moment to be discovered. Once or twice someone tried the door, but, finding it locked, went away. At six o'clock the train pulled into Topolo- bampo, As 1t swung around the curve I saw through the window a most heavenly sight— the great broad Pacitic Ocean and the U.S. cruiser Yorktown in the open roadstead, with decks cleared for action and battle flags flying, ready to shell the town. When all was quet I slipped off the train and made for the water-front. I hadn't gone far before T was discovered. A mob of civilians and twelve soldiers surrounded me. They struck me repeatedly, crowding me so hard that I was forced to retreat to a short jetty, keeping the mob back at the point of my pistol. The jetty was about ten teet wide and thirty feet long. Standing on a pile of old ties, I wig-wagged to the Yorktown the following message : ~ American ; send launch.” The captain saw me thrqugh his glasses trom the bridge, and returned the message: “Am sending launch. Hold your own.” I saw the launch lowered and manned with blueyackets. The crowd at the foot of the wharf saw it also. They became greatly enraged because of my signals, and rushed at me with blows and insults. A soldier struck me over the head with a bayonet. I opened fire with my Colt automatic, firing twenty-two shots trom behind the pile of ties into the mob, every shot taking ettect. I then ran out of ammunition, and they rushed me again. Knocking down a sub-leutenant with the butt end of my gun when he tried to grab me, [ kicked off my shoes and took a back-dive into the bay. I swam four hun- dred yards under fire from the soldiers, who would undoubtedly have got me at last had it not been tor the blueyackets, who stood up in the launch and returned the fire. I was quickly pulled into the launch, and thirty minutes later stood on the deck of the Yorktown—soaked, exhausted, but pertectly happy. , I stayed on the Yorktown until June 26th, when I was sent ina launch to meet the U.S.S. Buffalo at sea. On the evening of July 4th, 1910, I walked across the gang-plank of the Buffalo into San Diego, Califorma, wearing 4 sailor's jacket and cap. The San Diegoans were celebrating the Fourth—and I pitched in and helped them !

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The tustites ee OT ie cftve Dream Thip™] thisand th: , isa awh OSE OVE aor ie oe ‘ : ah raphe Xv igh ee hae Pees Jers Opera e i ot toad rr i me aad Here is a treat for you, gentle reader. Most of you are familiar with the delightful writings of Mr. Stock, who has contributed to our pages for many years. After the war he set to work to realize a long-cherished dream— to sail to the South Sea Islands in a little vessel of his own, obeying only the call of adventure and the open sea he loves so well. Mr. Stock told us about his great scheme, and we commissioned him to write a descrip- THE ASH-HEAP, se (O-MORROW,” said Steve, mate { of the Dream-Ship, “we ought to raise Tower Island.” “Good !”’ said I, with an in- difference born of confidence in our navi- gating officer. 4 “ Splendid !” said ‘ Peter ”"—my sister— who, owing to a professed and ‘preferred ignorance of navigation, had not ceased to look upon the determination of a ship’s Position at sea as a species of conjuring trick, We three were the crew of a twenty-one- ton pleasure yacht bound from Devonshire, England, to the South Sea Islands via the Panama Canal, and now, after a seven- thousand-mile sail, approaching the ash-heap of the world. At the time we had no notion that it was an ash-heap ; but you shall judge. Throughout that night we took our ap- Pointed four-hour single-handed watch, slept our four hours as we had come mechanically So to do during the past four months, and went on deck at dawn to see Tower Island. It was not there. Vol. xlvi. 21 Il. a ! Uf National tion of his experiences exclusively for “ The Wide World Magazine.” Here is the second instalment, and we can promise you that as the narrative progresses you will find “The Cruise of the Dream-Ship,” with her crew of three, one of the most entertaining stories you have ever read. Many a stay-at-home will wish himself with Mr. Stock, tied to no time-table, and sailing through enchanted seas to the Isles of Adventure. Steve, who was at the tiller, looked vaguely troubled, but offered no comment. Neither did we. ‘‘ Leave a man to his job,” had become our watchword through many vicissitudes, But when night followed day with customary inexorableness, but without producing anything more tangible than the same empty expanse of ocean, Steve was constrained to mutter—a sure preliminary to coherent speech. “One of three things has happened,” he announced at last. “ Either the chronome- ter’s got the jim-jams, the chart’s wrong, or the blinking island has foundered.” As skipper of the Dream-Ship, it devolved upon myself to verify these surprising state- ments, which, after a superhuman struggle (being probably the worst mathematician on earth), I did. By our respective observa- tions and subsequent calculations, the ship’s position proved identical. According to our instruments we were at that moment plumb in the middle of Tower Island. It was thoughtless of it to have evaporated at the very moment when we so sorely needed it as a landmark, and we said so in strong terms. We were still saying something of the sort

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238 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, when a small, high-pitched voice came from aloft :— “Land O!” Peter, in striped white-and-green pyjamas, was astride the jaws of the gaff. Steve and I exchanged relieved glances, and, with a lashed tiller, we all went below for a “‘ rum swizzle,” the inevitable accompaniment to a land-fall, We had reached the Galapagos Islands. The south-east “trade '’ was blowing as steadily as a “trade’’ knows how, and there was nothing between us and Cristobal, the only inhabited island of the group. Consequently I slept the sleep of a mind at peace until awakened by a_ well-known pressure on the arm. “ Come and take a look at this,” whispered Steve, so as not to wake Peter in the opposite bunk. “This ” proved to be a solid wall of mist towering over the ship like a precipice. The trade wind had fallen to a stark calm, and _ the Dream-Ship lay wallowing on an oily swell, A young moon rode clear over- head, and myriads of monstrous stars glared down at us, yet still this ominous grey wall lay fair in our path. “It ought not to be land,” said Steve, ‘but I don’t like the look of it.” Neither did I. We stood side by side, strain- ing our eyes into the mirk. A soft barking, for all the world like that of a very old dog, sounded somewhere to port. Splashes, as of giant bodies striking the water, accom- panied by flashes of phosphorescent light, came at intervals from all sides, and presently the faint lap of water reached our ears. “Mother of Mike!’ breathed “ We're alongside something ! At that moment, as though impelled by Steve. “Land O!” some silent mechanism, the of mist lifted, revealing an inky-black wall of rock not fifty yards distant ! My frenzied efforts at the flywheel of the motor auxiliary were as futile as I had more than half expected. Who has ever heard of these atrocities answering in an emer- gency ? We had nosweeps. To anchor was a physical impossibility; the lead-line vanished as probably twenty other lead- lines would have vanished after it in those fathomless waters. So we stood, watching the Dream-Ship drift to her doom. What happened during the next hour is as hard to describe as I have no doubt it will be to believe. The Galapagos Islands are threaded with uncertain currents, and one was now setting us on to the rocky face of an islet cut as clean and sheer to the sea as a slice of cheese. We should have touched but for constant fending-off. There is no other way of describing our antics than to say that we clawed our way along that rocky wall until, at the end of it, a faint air caught the jib, the fore- sail, the main- sail, and we stood away with- out so much as a scratch. Sunrise that morning was the weirdest I have ever seen. There are over two thousand volcanic cones in the Galapagos Islands, and ap- parently we were in the midst of them. On all hands and at all distances were rugged peaks one hundred to two thousand feet high, rising sheer from a rose-pink sea into a crim- son sky. Sleek- headed seals broke water : alongside, peered at us tor a space with their fawn-like eves, barked softly, and were gone. Peli- cans soared above our truck and fell like a stone on their prey. Tiny birds, yellow and red, flitted about the deck or flew through the skylights and settled on the

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THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. = eS —s cabin fittings with the utmost unconcern. And down under, in the crystal-clear depths, vague shapes hovered constantly—sharks, dolphins, turtles, and ghastly devil-fish. All life seemed confined to water and air; never was dry land so desolate and sinister as those myriads of volcanic cones. Yet one of them was peopled with human beings. Which ? We were lost, if ever a ship was lost, in the labyrinths of an ash-heap. All we knew was that Cristobal was the easternmost of the group. We sailed east, only to be becalmed inside of an hour and to lose by current what we had gained by wind. Close to this same group a sailing vessel has been known to have her insurance paid before she reached port. The calms run in belts -of varying widths, and unless a ship can be towed or kedged to one side or the other, there is nothing to pre- vent herremaining in thesame spot for six months. Our water would not last half that time, and there is none The Dream-Ship becalhmed off the Galapagos Islands. Approaching the islands. 299 on any of the is- lands but Cristo- bal. We began to think. We con- tinued to think for four mortal days, until the fitful south-east ‘‘trade”’ revived as by a miracle and we went bowling along at a seven- knot clip. What a relief was the blessed motion of air! We hardly dared breathe lest it should drop. It held, and we -made what we took to be Cristo- bal. The dinghy was lowered, the ship cleaned up for port, and we began to discuss the possibilities of fresh milk, eggs, and bread. But it was not Cristobal Island. Neither were three others that we visited, all as alike as peas—a chain of ash-heaps, an iron-bound coast of volcanic rock, broken here and there by a dazzling powdered coral beach. I admit that to the professional seafarer our inability to find Cristobal must appear ridiculous. For their benefit 1 would point out that we were not professional seafarers, Note the half crater-cone in the foreground.

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300 but a party of inconsequent and no doubt over-optimistic land-lubbers engaged in the materialization of a dream—to cruise through the South Sea Islands in our own ship—that what navigation we knew had been learnt in three weeks, and that I would invite Pas es Island notables. anyone who fancies his bump of locality to test it in the Galapagos Islands. We had more than half decided to cut out Cristobal and its five hundred inhabitants and shape a course for the Society Islands, three thousand five hundred miles to the south-westward, when Steve gave a yelp like a wounded pup. “I see Dalrymple Rock,”’ he chanted, like one in a trance, with the binoculars to his eyes. “I see Wreck Point, and a bay be- tween ’em, with houses on the beach. What more do you want ?” How supremely simple it was to recognize each feature by the chart—when there was an unmistakable landmark to go by! What fools we had been not to! But we left further recriminations till a later date. At present it was necessary to enter Wreck Bay through a channel three hundred yards wide, without a mark on either side, in the teeth of a snorting ‘‘ trade,’’ and with a lee tide. At one time during the series of short tacks that were necessary to get a slant for the anchorage, we were not more than fifty yards from the giant, emerald-green rollers breaking on Lido Point to port with the roar of thunder. To starboard one could see the fangs of the coral reef, only waiting for us The figures on horseback are the Comisario, the owner, and the accountant of Cristobal. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to miss stays to rip the bottom out of us. But the Dream-Ship did not miss stays, and finally we shot through the channel into Wreck Bay, and anchored in three fathoms off a rickety landing-stage. While the agony of removing a three-weeks’ beard was in pro- §ress a crowd had assembled on the beach, and pre- sently a boatload of three put off to us, Steve, who had picked up some Spanish during three mis- spent years in Mexico, received them at the com- panion with a new-born elegance. that matched their own. They proved to be the owner of the island, a good- looking youth of about twenty-five; the chief of police (presumably “ chief,"’ because there is only one representative of the law in the Galapagos), a swarthy Ecuadorean in a becoming poncho ; and a little wrinkled old man with a finely- chiselled face and delicate hands. The owner of Cristobal informed us in excellent French (he had been four years in Paris previous to marooning himself on his equatorial possession) that the island was ours and the fullness thereof; that he also was ours to command, and would we dine with him that evening at the hacienda, it being New Year's eve ? The “chief” of police demanded our ship's papers, which, when placed in his hands, he gracefully returned without attempting to read, and gave his undivided attention to a “rum swizzle ”’ and a cigar. The little old man, whom we soon learnt to call ‘ Dad,” sat mum, with a dazed expression on his face, and his head at an angle after the fashion of the deaf. When he spoke, which he presently did with an unexpectedness that was startling, it was ina low, cultured voice—and in English! What about this Dutch war he had heard rumours of during the last year or two? With Germany, was it ? Well, now, and who was winning ? Over, eh ?—and with the Allies on top? That was good; that was good. He rubbed his wrinkled hands and glared round on the assembled company with an res oe

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THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. air of triumph, but without making any appreciable impression on the owner of Cristobal or the ‘‘ chief "’ of police. “ Dad "' was a type, if ever there was one, of the educated ne’er-do-well hidden away in the farthest corner of the earth to avoid those things that most of us deem so desirable. He had a split-bamboo house on the beach, a wife who could cook, freedom, and God's sunlight—what more did man desire? He had run away to sea at the age of seventeen, run away from sea two years later at the Galapagos Islands, and remained there ever since. This was the second time he had spoken English in fifty years, so we must excuse his halting diction. But the tales he could tell—the tales! He was here when the pirates of the South American coast murdered for money, even as they have a knack of doing to this day, and hid the loot at their headquarters mm the Galapagos Islands—silver and gold, boatloads of it. He had built a cutter with his own hands and sailed in search of this same loot, only to encounter the present owner, still guarding his ill-gotten gains, though reduced to naked- ness and hair. At adistance ‘‘ Dad "’ had seen him first and, mistaking him for a mountain goat, had shot him through the heart. It was the first man he had killed, and he could not stay on the island after that, especially at night. Afterwards, I asked the owner of Cristobal if one might believe half the old man said, and he nodded gravely. “There is much also that he does not say,” headded, with a smile. There is un- doubtedly treasure still lying hidden in the Galapagos Islands. Two caches have been unearthed, _ silver ingots and pieces of eight respect- ively. The finder of one built him- jor there is always a ‘‘ but ’’—the uncertainty of wind and current amongst the islands makes it impossible for a sailing ship to undertake the search, a motor auxiliary is too unreliable, and a small steamer is too large for the creeks and reef channels it would be necessary to negotiate. With a full-powered launch and diving apparatus, a parent ship in attendance, and unlimited time and money and patience—but these are dreams beyond the reach of a penniless world-wanderer. They are dreams, never- ss, that will assuredly one day be Situated a bare six hundred miles from the American cvast-line, in the direct trade route between the South Pacific Islands and the United States of America, this group is seldom visited more than twice a year, and then for the most part by Ecuadorean schooners. The veriest atoll in the South Pacific receives more attention, and with not a tithe of the cause. The cause? Well, come with us to the hacienda of the owner of Cristobal, and you shall see. For this purpose it is necessary to transfer one's activities from the heaving deck of the Dream-Ship to the equally heaving back of a mountain pony and lope for an hour up a self. a handsome hotel in Ecuador ; the other drank himself to death in short order. But there is definite proof that there is more. As a field for the treasure- hunter it is doubtful if any place in the world offers better chances of success to- day than the Galapagos Islands, but— “Dad,” the old islander who told the Author the buried treasure story. winding, boulder-strewn track, through a wilderness of low scrub and volcanic rock. “Still an ash-heap,” you think; “ nothing but an ash-heap.”” Then you surmount a ridge, the last of half-a-do: and rein in to breathe your pony and incidentally to marvel.

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302 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE = Fetching water in the dinghy. You remind yourself that you are precisely on the Equator, yet it is positively chilly up here. A green, gently undulating country, dotted with grazing cattle and horses, patches of sugar-cane, coffee bushes and lime trees, stretches away to a cloud-capped range of mountains. The soil is a rich red loam, almost stoneless, and scarcely touched by the plough. There are three thousand five hundred head of cattle at present on Cristobal Island, and it could support fifty thousand with ease. There is no disease, and no ad- verse climatic condition to contend with, and at three years old a steer fetches one hundred dollars (gold), live-weight, at Guaya- quil—when a steamer can be induced to call and take it there. There are a few hundred acres under cultivation where there might be thousands, and two hundred bone-lazy peones do the work of fifty ordinary farm- hands. Looking down on this fertile valley, it is hard to realize that one is standing on the lip of a long-extinct crater, that in reality Cristobal is a series of these, dour and un- inviting to a degree viewed from outside, but veritable gardens within. And_ there are four other islands in the Galapagos Group, some smaller, some larger than Cristobal, uninhabited and exactly similar in character. Nominally they belong to Ecuador—which accounts for their tardy development—but here, surely, is a new field for enterprise. In the midst of the valley, situated on a hillock and surrounded by the peones’ grass houses, is the owner's dwelling. Here we met at a dinner of strange but appetizing messes, the ac- countant and the comisario, the former a rotund little gentleman with very long thumb- nails (the insignia of the brain-worker), which he clicked together with gusto when ex- cited or amused ; the latter a tall, handsome youth and something of an exquisite, if one may judge by cream-coloured silk socks and an esthetic tie. It was a cheerful oc- casion, followed by the best coffee I have ever tasted, and songs to a guitar accompaniment. Out in the compound under the stars, the peones also indulged in a New Year fiesta, so that by midnight the place was a blur of tobacco smoke, oil flares, thrumming guitars, gyrating, brightly-hued ponchos, with their owners somewhere inside them, dogs, chickens, and children. Everyone seemed thoroughly happy and content, and after all, what else matters ? That is the Ecuadorean point of view, and who shall say it is a bad one ? A star-lit ride to the beach, a few strokes of the oars, which carved deep caverns of phosphorescent light in the inky waters, and we were again aboard. And herein lies one of the manifold joys of one’s own ship. One may travel at will over the highway of the earth, carrying his home and his banal but treasured belongings with him. Like the hermit crab, you may emerge where and when you will, take a glimpse at life, and return to the comfort of accustomed sur- roundings—a_ pipe-rack ready to hand, a favourite book or picture placed just so. Sheltered by a coral reef that broke the force of the Pacific rollers, and with holding- ground of firm, white sand, we made up arrears of sleep that night, and scattered after breakfast to explore the beach. There was a lagoon swarming with duck not half a mile inland that attracted Steve and his new twelve-bore gun like a magnet. Peter interviewed the lighthouse- keeper's wife anent cooking for us during our stay, and I—I lazed. I like lazing: it gives one time to notice things that escape the attention of the industrious. A steam engine was chugging somewhere

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THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. 303 behind the belt of stunted trees that fringed the beach, and I found it to be a coffee grinder, fuelled, if you please, with sawed lengths of lignum vite. A furnace of wood that costs something like five dollars a stick in most countries! I should like to have seen the face of a block-maker of my acquaintance at such vandal- ism. But here it is nothing of the sort. Little else in the way of indigenous scrub grows on Cristobal. Mechanically gravitating towards “‘ Dad’s”’ split bamboo abode, I came upon him seated on a log, staring meditatively at the crumbling skele- ton of what had been, or was at one time going to be, a ship. “Why didn’t you finish her?” I shouted into his best ear. He stared at me in a daze, then burst forth in Spanish until I suc- ceeded in convincing him that he might as well talk double Dutch. “ Of course, of course,’’ he mut- tered. ‘I forget; Lord, how I forget! It’s queer to me that I can speak English at all after all these years; but I can. That's something, isn’t it ?”’ “Sure thing,” I yelled; “keep it up. Tell me why you didn’t finish : ax The only lighthouse in the Galapagos Islands. your ship.” He pondered the matter, then spoke five minutes. Took the heart out of me for slowly. a bit, that did. Then I began to think of “I told you of the other I built—and that loot again. I do still, for that matter. why. Well, I ran her ona reef—splinters in Can’t helpit. You see, I think I know where it is. So I started on this one.” He nodded towards the hulk, silhou- . etted against the crimsoning sky. “I'd got to the | ‘ planking, when it occurred to me, at my age I’d want a partner for the job; and who could I trust? They'd slit your throat for ten dol- lars in those days. They murdered the present owner's father in cold blood. I wouldn’t put it beyond ‘em to do the same to this one if it Sse wasn’t that he’s a The peones’ quarters on the hacienda. smart lad and

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304 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, carries the only firearms on the island. No one’s come here since—no one that I'd trust. Then, too, what if I found the stuff ? What good would it do me—now?” He spread out his delicately-shaped hands in a deprecating gesture. ‘‘I should die in a month if I left here. F‘inest chmate on earth, this is.” Suddenly he laighed, a low, reminiscent cackle of mirth. ‘‘ But that wasn’t all that decided me. I'd got to the planking— Guayaquil oak it was—and I was steaming it on when a nail drew, and that plank caught me in the chest, knocked me six yards, and broke a rib. It’s broken yet, I guess; there was no one to mend it. Well, that finished it. I wasn’t meant to build that ship.” He stopped abruptly, and stared down at his battered, rawhide shoes. The inference was obvious. “Well, what about it ?’’ I suggested. He looked up at that. “ve been thinking about it ever since you came here,” he confessed. ‘ll go with you; but mind this, you mustn’t curse - me if nothing comes of it. I don’t promise anything. All I say is I think I know where the stuff is—if someone hasn't got it.” “Vl let you know to-morrow,” said I, and left him sitting there. Was the man senile ? There was nothing to make one think so. Was he a liar? There was equally nothing to prove it. At least half his story was a matter of island history. We of the Dream-Ship held a committee meeting on the subject of loot that evening. We discussed it from every angle, and came to the conclusion that with the present atrocity called a motor auxiliary and the weather conditions of the group, we might take three days over the business and we might take three months, that the chances of finding something were outweighed by the risk of losing the ship, and that we were in pursuit of something sufficiently evanescent anyway, so we had better get on with it. The voting went two to one against, and I leave you to guess who's was the deciding voice. I give this interview with “Dad” for what it is worth, and simply ‘because I see no prospect of undertaking the search, as it should be undertaken, myself. 1 am aware that it reads like the purest romance; but it is true in every particular, as anyone will soon discover on visiting Wreck Bay, Cris- tobal, Galapagos Islands. The old man still waits there on the beach for a ship and someone he can trust; and judging by his frail appearance—he is seventy-seven—he will not wait very much longer. Often during the days that followed I found myself standing at the Dream-Ship’s rail looking seaward to a dim outline of mountains against the blue, and wondering— but only the ash-heap knows | To-morrow the owner of Cristobal, the accountant of the elongated thumb-nails, and the exquisite comisario are to dine with us (on what, Heaven and our cook alone know !). The next day we hunt the wily duck among the lagoons and marshes of the island, and the day after that (D.V.) we continue the pursuit of our dream across three thousand miles of South Pacific Ocean, heading, to be exact, west-south-west. (To be continued.) A HOUSE BUILT OF COAL. THE photograph here re- produced shows a_ house the walls of which are built entirely of coal. This novel structure is situated on the wharves at Savannah, Georgia. U.S.A. and is the property of a coal company. It would be in- teresting to know whether such another dwelling ex- isted. The correspondent who sends the picture as- sures us that, no matter how hot the weather may be. this house is always “ coaled.”

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When théTire (Came OLAND L. TULLIS ‘Mustrated by DUDLEY TENNANT Most people know what a terrible scourge forest fires are in Canada and the Western States of America, but only those who have been caught in one can realize the full horror of such an experience. Here is a vivid account of what happened to a little household in a lonely canyon in California. URING many years of life in the mountainous regions of the Western : States of America I have observed many forest fires and fought several * battles against them. It is an established fact that these terrible visitations cause an annual loss of millions of dollars ; the aggre- gate loss over the entire country can hardly be estimated with accuracy. A number of years ago, while living on a mountain ranch at the head of Franklin Canyon, in the Santa Monica Mountains, I had some exciting experiences with forest fires. I was then a young man about eighteen years of age. My father had taken up a homestead of one hundred and sixty acres at the extreme head of Franklin Canyon, upon which we lived, together with my mother and two small children. We made a meagre living by tilling about fifty acres of the more level soil in the bottom of the canyon; the remainder of the land was utilized as pasturage for about thirty head of cattle. My father also kept some fifty hives of bees on a hillside a few hundred yards from the house. The house was nothing more than a five-roomed California shack, built of rough boards, but it was considered as good as the average in those days. One day we were all sitting at the dinner- table, enjoying our noonday meal, when my mother suddenly paused in the act of waiting on the children, and appeared to be listening for some intangible sound that she couldn’t quite place. “What is that queer, roaring noise?” she asked my father, nervously. ‘‘ It sounds “The story is true in every detail,” writes Mr. Tullis. like the booming of surf at a great distance, or the sighing of a strong wind.” My father laughed at her fears, and a men named Roamer, who was having dinner with us, but who lived on a homestead farther up the canyon, also chided her about her vivid imagination, saying that she must be “ hearing things.” However, my mother possessed wonder- fully sensitive ears, and her fears were not easily quieted. A few minutes later she stepped out on the front porch and gazed down the canyon. The ominous roaring had increased, and huge columns of smoke were rolling up the canyon. She turned and fled into the house, calling out in an excited, hysterical voice that the canyon was on fire and that she could see the flames and smoke coming up towards the house. Immediately everyone was startled into action. My father sprang from his seat at the head of the table and ran out of the house, shouting orders at me as he went. He had been through several forest fires previously and realized that quick action was necessary. We quickly gathered up all the gunny sacks we could find and soaked them in a tub of water. The only water available, I should explain, had to be drawn from a well about a hundred yards from the house. The house was set in a small clearing sur- rounded on all sides by an almost impene- trable thicket of brush and live oak trees, which would burn like tinder if they once got started. Already the sky was overcast with smoke,

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3c6 the sun appeared as a huge red ball of fire, and ashes were falling like snow upon the ground. My father advised me to take a few buckets of water and some wet sacks and climb up on top of the house, where I could extinguish the sparks and try to keep the roof from catching alight. He himself hurried away to the haystack on a similar mission. From my position on the roof I had a good view of the,approaching fire. As the flames roared and crackled, leaping from tree to tree and consuming the underbrush, it was an inspiring but terrible spectacle. There was a strong. west wind blowing up the canyon, carrying the fire toward us with amazing speed. It certainly appeared as if the doom of our home was sealed. The heat soon became unbearable, smoke filled the air, and burning sticks and glowing sparks showered about us. Once I glanced at my father, on top of the haystack. He was jumping about like a madman, vainly endeavouring to put out the sparks as they lighted on the loose hay. Meanwhile I beat at the glowing embers that fell on the roof of the house, doing my best to keep it from catching. The heat was now so intense that I could hardly breathe. The air burned my lungs like acid, and the perspiration that oozed from my pores dried on my skin as soon as the hot air struck it. A few minutes more, and the fire reached the brush and trees that surrounded the house. In an instant, as it seemed, the place became a roaring, seething inferno. The flames jumped from thirty to forty feet at a time, leaping from one tree to another. Red-hot glowing embers fell upon my back, my shirt and overalls caught fire, and all the water in my buckets was exhausted. The flames were now so close that they singed the hair on my head, burned my eyelashes, and blistered my skin, and I decided that it was time for a hasty retreat. Tearfully I gazed through the choking smoke at my father, on top of the haystack. The last I saw of him, he was enveloped in a swirling mass of flames as the haystack caught fire. Hurriedly I slid down off the roof, and gazed about like a trapped animal, looking for an avenue of escape. We had a number of chickens in a pen in the back yard. They were fluttering and squawking and flying about aimlessly. In mad haste I rushed to the pen and opened the gate, thinking that some of the fowls might be saved if they were allowed to flee before the flames, but most of the foolish creatures became bewildered and flew directly into the fire, where they disappeared im- mediately. A few minutes later my father appeared in the yard, searching for me and the rest THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of the family. head, most ‘of his clothing had been burnt from his body, and his face and arms were badly scorched. Together we hunted for The hair was singed off his my mother and the two small children. We went through the house and looked all round, but they had completely disappeared. All the time the fire roared, and hungry tongues of flame wrapped around us. Finally we decided that. to continue our fight would be nothing but suicide. There was nothing more that we could do. Destruction of all our property was inevitable. The fire had spread all around us now, and we were trapped in the small clearing, where, it seemed, we should be roasted alive. It was then that my father had an inspira- tion that probably saved our lives. “ Run for the well!” he yelled, and I instantly caught the meaning of his timely suggestion.

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Together we dashed for the well. one of the old-fashioned wells that could be found on nearly every farm or ranch in those days—just a square hole about forty or fifty feet deep, cased with timbers and It was boards. Slats were nailed on one side of the well-casing, serving as the rungs of a ladder that led down to the bottom of the well, Together we climbed down into its cool depths, out of danger of the fire that raged above us. For nearly an hour we clung to the ladder in the well, waiting for the conflagration to burn itself out and pass on, and worrying as to what had become of mother and the children. Occa- sionally a glowing ember would fall like a flaming meteor into the darkness of the pit, going out with a snarling sputter when it struck the water. At last we decided that the fire had WHEN THE “The last I saw of him, he was enveloped in a swirling mass of flames as the haystack caught fire.” subsided sufficiently to allow us to venture forth with safety to seek for mother and the children. When we climbed out of the well, the scene of desolation and destruction that met our eyes was well-nigh indescribable. Down the canyon, as far as one could see, there was nothing but a dreary waste of burnt and charred timber. Leafless, black- ened trunks stood like spectres, with barren stretches of ground all round, and the moun- tain sides swept clean. The haystack was a smouldering mass of ashes, but through some inexplicable caprice of fate our house was left standing, apparently unharmed. A_ few chickens, with tail feathers scorched and wings singed, were stalking around the yard as if unable to comprehend what had happened. The fire had passed on and was now burning furiously farther up the canyon.

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308 Father and I, after a consultation, finally decided to follow the fire and endeavour to find out what had become of mother and the youngsters, as it was pretty evident that they must have fled up the canyon. My father explained that he had - advised them to try to gain a clearing on the ridge before the fire reached there, thinking it was the only chance of escape for them. As we followed the narrow, uneven cattle trail up the canyon we passed many smoulder- ing tree trunks, still burning with a dull red glow. Even the surface of the earth and rocks was burnt to a dull brown colour, and the ground was uncomfortably warm to walk upon. Occasionally my father would stop and poke around in the smoking remains of some brush-heap. It was evident that he was searching for something that he prayed he wouldn’t find. We dreaded that we might come upon the charred remains of mother and the children where they had fallen by the wayside, overcome by the heat and smoke. When we eventually reached the summit of the ridge at the head of the canyon we were overjoyed to be greeted by the sight of the lost ones. They were perfectly safe on a large plateau on the ridge. This plateau was many acres in extent, with nothing growing upon it but short bunch-grass, and it had proved an insurmountable natural barrier to the fire, which had died out when it reached its edge. Mother explained that she had got a good start up the canyon ahead of the fire, and somehow, with the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. superhuman strength born of fear, she had kept ahead of the flames, despite the fact that she was compelled to carry the children: Some of the after-effects of the fire were interesting. My mother had carried most of the household furnishings, as well as all the blankets and clothing, out of the house, and had stacked them in a clearing in the yard before she started up the canyon, thinking that the house would inevitably be burnt, and desiring to save something at least. Falling cinders ignited the clothing and furnishings in the yard, while the house remained unharmed. Thus we found that the fire had left us with a home, but nothing to put in it, and no clothing except that on our backs, E We later learned that the man Roamer, who was eating dinner with us when the fire was first discovered, had jumped on his horse and galloped up the canyon, intent on saving some of the valuables in his shack. He had been surrounded by the fire when near his home, and had turned the horse loose to fare for itself, while he lay down in the centre of the road and buried his head in the dust. The fire swept over him, burning the straw hat off his head and setting his clothes on fire. The horse came through the fire alive, but was badly scorched. The writer fervently hopes that this humble narrative may serve as a warning to those who might, through carelessness or ignorance, cause a forest fire to be started. If it should be instrumental in the prevention of only one fire, its message will not be in vain. — 2? Ohare yen A CHURCH ON WHEELS. “Te they can’t go to church, their church must go to them,” was evidently the view taken by those responsible for the spiritual welfare of Roumanian _ soldiers belonging to the Greek Church who were fight- ing in the Great War. Our photograph, taken by a British V.A.D., shows a_ travelling church built to run on a_ railway line. Prior to the revolu- tion it was generally known that the Rus- sian soldiers had “bath - trains,” but this is probably the first “ church-train.”

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(urAdventures amons the CES WHITE ARABS | a CAPT: M-W:HILTON-SIMPSON . The fascinating story of a long-lost white race. Exclusively written for “The Wide World Magazine,” this narrative sets forth the Author’s experiences among a strange and little- known tribe—the Shawia Berbers of Algeria, the representatives of an ancient white people. Living in well-nigh cessible villages in the heart of the mountains, these “ White Arabs” have remained practically unknown and unvisited, and still practise many strange customs that have long since vanished elsewhere. Captain Hilton-Simpson, accompanied only by his wife and a native orderly, spent a long time among the Berbers, as the guest of the village sheikhs, and his articles and photographs will be found exceedingly totereetne. Il. E found so much to occupy our ungraceful movement of the abdominal attention at Beni Ferah that we revisited it when we resumed our researches after the war, and we were received with great cordiality by our Berber friends, who lavished upon us their simple hospitality and invited us to a number of cere- monies, including several weddings. Although, of course, among the Mohammedan Shawia no actual religious service takes place at a wedding, the event is made the occa- sion of much cere- mony and is marked by some old-time rites. The biggest wed- ding we attended commenced with a dance in which a couple of profes- sional dancers from a neighbouring vil- lage in the hills slowly moved tp and fro, with much muscles to the strains of a hautboy and a couple of tom-toms Instily played by male musicians. The whole scene, with its crowd of men and women clothed in all the gay colours of the rainbow, and its background Professional dancers at a Berber wedding.

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310 of rocky hills, made a picture to which the camera could do no justice. After much time spent in watching the dancers the crowd went off to a house in the village to bring the bride to her new home, my wife being admitted to witness the dressing up of the poor little twelve-year-old child in her new bridal robes. When dressed and veiled, the bride was placed upon a mule with a small boy (whose hooded burnous or cloak is visible in our photograph) seated upon the saddle before her, symbolic of hoped-for sons to be born, and con- veyed to her husband’s house amid the firing of guns to scare away any lurking demon which might care to “possess” her en route, her hus- band meantime being out with a few of his friends, for custom for- bids his taking a part in the public celebration of his own wedding ! Partly to ob- tain a com- parison between the Shawia of the hills and the tent-dwelling nomad Arabs of the desert, on leaving Beni Ferah we descended into the plains, crossing a ridge by means of an almost impassable track, whence we obtained a wonderful view of the desert and the foot-hills, with a large oasis of date palms, known as Djemora, stretched at our feet. Here we were most hospitably received by the chief, an old Arab aristocrat whose family has been of note in the desert for generations past and to whom hospitality comes very near indeed to godliness. A fine silver-hilted sword, the property of his father, which he presented to me during our last stay in his village, serves me as a lasting token of his generosity. Although the oasis of Djemora boasts a few hamlets of mud huts, the great majority of the owners of its date gardens spend their lives wandering over the desert to Bringing home the bride. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. enable their flocks of sheep and goats to subsist on the sparse herbage which their barren land affords; they are real tent- dwellers, living the life of Old Testament patriarchs beneath booths of woven goat’s- hair, such as must have sheltered Abraham from the scorching rays of the eastern sun thousands of years ago. These tents consist merely of _long strips of stout goat’s-hair cloth, woven—as will be seen from our illustration— by the women themselves upon an extremely primitive type of horizontal hand- loom, the strips being sewn together and propped up by means of a cen- tral pole and other sticks put in wherever head-room is re- quired. The tent accommodates not only an en- tire family, but a number of kids and lambs as well, so that its conditionis filthy in the extreme. Yet here the nomads pass their very simple lives, the women weaving beneath ‘the shadow of the tent, plying the distaff and spindle outside it, or attending to the preparation of the meals, the men meantime guarding their flocks or travelling to some distant market town to barter their wool for corn. Rs Being now in the midst of an Arab com- munity it was not to be expected that we should see so much of the women as we had done at Beni Ferah, and I found that the success or failure of our researches, especially in regard to superstitions, was generally in proportion to the luck we had in establishing friendly relations with the fair sex—if the dirt-begrimed ladies of Djemora can be termed “ fair.”’ It was entirely owing to the presence of my wife that these women- ever allowed themselves to become acquainted with us at all, a very feminine curiosity as to her clothes—so drab and dull compared to their

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OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE BERBERS. own bright head-dresses and shawls—eventu- ally leading them to take an interest in us. The bachelor can hope to sce but little of the women in a Mohammedan land. After observing as much as we could of the nomad woman’s daily life we were lucky enough to get into touch with an old professional sorceress, a hag who made quite a respectable in. come by the manufacture and sale of certain love-philtres, a description of which can have no place in the polite pages of THE WIDE Worip Macazrsr, and by fore telling the results of the illness, enterprises, and so on of her credu- lous neighbours of the tents. Her method of divination, which — is shown in one of our photos, consisted of drawing a white and a dark line, inter secting at right angles at thei centres, upon the bottom of an upturned wooden dish; she then hung a necklet of beads upon the hook of a spindle whorl and held the spindle whort aloft, sus- pended from a thread, so that the necklet rested upon the dish at the point of intersection of the two lines. Then, inquiring on behalf of her client whether or no a certain journey, let us say, would have a successful issue, she slowly raised the spindle so that the necklet was free to swing from side to side. If it swung along the white line the answer was that the journey would have a The Sheikh of Djemora, a typical Arab chieftain. A nomad woman weaving a tent-cloth. gir happy result; if along the black one its failure was foretold. The rle of prophet not the only one which the old sorceress is required to play in this land of demons and black magic. The Arabs of the tents, as well as the Berber dwellers in the hills, are ex- tremely superstitious, and in every ordinary occurrence of their daily lives they see the machinations of an invisible demon whose power for evil is unlimited, and to combat whom they have re- course either to a scribe, who can prepare for them some words of Holy Writ to be worn as an amulet around the neck, or—especially in the case of the women—to the sor- ceress, whose knowledge © of charms appears to be infinite. She it is who pro- the dried head of a chameleon to be attached to the person of an infant to pro- tect it from demons or the " evil or supplies little packets of asafcetida to be similarly worn in the hope that its evil smell will prevent the approach of the demon. She will also place the dead body of a scorpion i a reed to be carried by a prospective mother whose previous children have died at birth as a result of the evil spirits which beset her, for these spirits or demons have a very human dislike of unpleasant smells and dangerous reptiles. Everybody in eastern Algeria would be at the mercy of the host of invisible agents of the devil were it not for the presence of the scribe and the sorceress, who are always ready (for a fee) to safe- guard an = appli- cant by means of some _ infallible amulet or charm. Needless to say, the superstitions of a people such as the Arabs and Berbers are ex- tremely difficult to study in any detail, for no one cares to belaughed at, the native least vides eye,”

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332 THE WIDE WORLD. MAGAZINE. Sie cee of all, and no one will readily expose his own firm beliefs to the ridicule of a stranger. The only way to obtain an inner knowledge of these beliefs, therefore, is to attempt to share them and to express the greatest con- fidence in any charm which may be recom- mended by the wizard. In this way we have been enabled to amass a good collection of the various substances used in magic, with details of their employ- ment. Among the innumerable imaginary demons which infest the Sahara and the hills, however, there is one real one which appears to have made Djemora his special home—the Demon of Dirt Although the stream which waters the oasis is never dry even in the great heat of the summer, and although a plenti- ful spring of warm water rises from the ground amid its palm groves, the people are the dirtiest we have met with in Algeria. Pleasant enough in other respects, these Ouled Ziane nomads of Dje- mora, even those who remain in the oasis to guard the plantations beside the river while A nomad tent: Notice the loom inside. their families are away in the desert with their flocks, never think of washing their per- sons, though the washing of clothes is duly carried out, “What! In water?” was the astonished cry which, with roars of laughter, greeted my wife's suggestion that a child suffering from a skin disease should be bathed before we at- tempted to treat it; and the poor little wretch was hastily -removed and never brought back to us. The reason for this disinclination to wash the person, which undoubtedly has a great effect upon the health of the Ouled Ziane, is really quite comprehensible. The natives of the oasis of Djemora, though themselves living beside a stream, are sprung from a race of nomad tent-dwellers who for generations have passed their lives in wastes in which water for drinking, for cooking, and for their beasts is so precious that none can be spared for mere ablutions, and they have accordingly either lost or never acquired the habits of personal cleanliness which are as nature to the inhabitants of a well-watered land.

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, OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE BERBERS. 313 While on a later visit to Djemora ~~ Sia eal yl we had occasion to test the kind- PS ness of our host, the chief, in a very practical manner, for my wife be- came seriously ill with an attack of the Spanish influenza which had played great havoc in the village shortly before. Every day the old sheikh visited hertwice. Walking into the room in which she lay, with some brief inquiry as to her con- dition he would glance round the apartment, first at the hearth, then at the milk bowl, and so on, and after expressing the hope that she would be quite recovered in a day or two he would take his departure ; his sémewhat unconventional visit being invariably followed by the arrival of something which his keen old eye had noticed was lacking in the sick-room—for example, a donkey-load of faggots, which were extremely difficult to procure in the barren country round, or a bow! of milk fresh drawn from the dwarf cows, so rare in the defert, of which he owned a couple. In addition to this he kept a mounted man in instant readiness to hasten in to Biskra at any hour through a country none too safe for the On the march in the Aures. solitary traveller, especially at night, so that every litt'e help which he could give us during a very anxious period he always placed freely at our disposal with an un- ostentatious forethought which stamped him as one of Nature’s gentlemen, a type which is by no means uncommon both among the Arabs of the desert and the Shawia. Upon leaving the oasis of the Ouled Ziane we returned to the Berbers of the hills, ‘riding up the valley of the stream which waters the palm groves of Djemora, our sure-footed mules picking their way over the great smooth boulders of the river-bed some- times well up to their knees in the rushing water, for rain had fallen on the higher peaks of the Aurés. These rivers are sometimes extremely dangerous to the traveller, for after a storm in the hills a great volume of water may descend with the suddenness of a whirlwind, converting the merest trickle of a brook into a rushing torrent that will instantly sweep away the man and_ beast unlucky enough to be caught by its wild onrush. A sorceress foretelling the future. (To be continued.) Vol. xlvi.—22.

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A fine collection of heads. fluntin d Pig’: w Zea and | J. ACMACKAY of Ibliglon en aalond MWlustrated by AGSMALL During his first visit to New Zealand Captain Cook presented the Maori tribes with several pigs, which, no doubt, he fondly hoped would prove a useful substitute for the cannibal diet on which they then subsisted. The pigs increased mightily in numbers, but preferred the bush to the doubtful advantages of the Maori villages. To-day their descendants—wild pigs indeed—offer sport as exciting and dangerous as any hunter could wish for. The “thrills” of the game are vividly described in this article. H: that worthy explorer Captain Zealanders, he would indeed have felt cause Cook, in his endeavour to provide for extreme gratification. No one can prove, useful food for his Maori friends, — of course, that the seemingly numberless wild realized what wholesome sport he — porkers that thrive in the New Zealand bush was providing for future generations of New to-day are the actual descendants of the few

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HUNTING WILD the gallant Captain introduced, but the fact remains that, deep-planted in the mind of every pig-hunter, is the conviction that they are. At all events, to see the overfed domesticated porker is to gain but a remote idea of his wild fighting cousin of the New Zealand bush. In the latter's company he would be a veritable pigmy by comparison—- more out of place, in fact, than a single drone in an average beehive. Both are pigs, of course, but-the wild fellow has far out- grown any trait in his composition by which he could be associated with his tame ancestors. His head and body grow to a tremendous size; his snout, from his propensity for continually rooting for his livelihood, is elongated as a Tule to an extra- ordinary extent ; his shoulders are wide and power- ful ; and his hind- quarters taper in a manner which bespeaks his great speed. His tusks are deadly weapons of de- fence, which he can utilize with a suddenness and force that make him an adversary to be respected. He is a splendid animal fighting machine, requir- ing the best of sporting skill to “bail up” and dispatch, and in a charge as irre- sistible as a mountain tor- rent. He may or may not be the equal in this of his famous Indian brother, but any New Zealander would back the local animal. At any rate, there is no doubt that he as “wild; and the average Maoriland sportsman is mighty proud of him and the sport he affords. Picture for yourself the entry into the thick bush, which is the wild pig's home, in the sweet cool air, with the “ finding ” section of the dog-pack spread out in skirmish- ing order ahead; the long wind-and-limb trying climb up and over precipitous rock- Ready for the fray. The dogs play an important part in pig-hunting. PIG IN NEW ZEALAND. 315 faces and down gully after gully and creek after creek, through thickets of ‘‘ lawyers " and “ supple-jacks ’’ that seem to eat up one’s last ounce of energy. Then comes the sudden discovery of fresh ‘‘ rootings,’’ and, a moment later, the barking of the dogs, There follows a mad dash through the heavy undergrowth, with the insistent yelping of the pack growing louder and louder; and at last the pig—a big black boar—is bailed up beside a big tree, the “ holder ’’ dogs hanging on to him like grim death. Thrills follow in quick succession ere the coup de avace is given and a wild cheer raised for the first ‘ kill.’ It is strenuous sport, with enough danger about it to make it attractive to real men. There is no- thing of the coward about your New Zea- land wild boar. He will fight gamely against the most hope- less odds, and even to the hardened hunter there is always something at once pathetic and inspiring in the spectacle of his last stand— the bristles of his back erect; his war-worn head turning this way and that to fend off his canine foes; his eyes blazing with mingled hate and rage,accentuated by his champing, | foam-flecked jaws. He dies just as gamely. On the part of the hunter there is required a stout heart, plenty of energy and enterprise, a good knowledge of bush-craft and the general habits of the wild pig; and last, but not least, the ability to take bad luck with good. The necessity for being able to shoot straight and a knowledge of the mani- fold uses of the sheath-knife are, of course, absolute essentials. On one occasion we bailed up a young boar at the top of a steep slope. The veteran of

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316 the party moved round to the rear and, while the dogs kept the pig busy in front, grabbed a hind leg. Our quarry turned, with two dogs hanging to him, and lunged furiously at the hunter’s arm. The latter lost his footing and fell heavily. His grip, however, did not relax, and the next minute pig, dogs, and man were rolling in a series of confused somersaults down to the creek below. The rest of us watched with bated breath, for it was ‘impossible to shoot. A pool, fonr feet in depth, obligingly received them in a body, with a mighty — splash. The hunter lost his hold, but promptly re- gaincd it, fell on the exhausted porker in shallow water,and neatly knifed him. The tension over, the noise of our col- lective merri- ment drowned a family quarrel between a flock of kakas in an adjacent clump of puriris. ‘ T recall another little experience of much the same kind, which happened in the, thick scrub near the foot of Mount Tarawera (Rotorua). We surprised a comparatively big boar, and after a short passage-at-arms with the dogs, he made off up the ridge. The top ended sheer against a high bank. Promptly the quarry turned round and charged. A ‘‘ 44’ soft-nose bullet took him in the shoulder, and he swerved and, to our astonishment--and relief—dived over the side to a ledge below--a straight drop of ten feet. from our vantage- point above, but an eftectual shot was impossible. Without hesitation my companion pulled out his knife and actually jumped the ten feet on to the ledge! Though badly wounded, the pig immediately charged again, almost forcing him over the side. He avoided the rush, managed somehow to throw the enraged animal, bestraddled him while he got the knife into position, and a minute later the old boar’s life was spent. “A close go!” was my friend's careless remark, as he returned with the head, and I agreed with fervour. With the pig-hunter, the tusks, of course, A hunting-party in the Palliser Bay region. We could just see a small part of him, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. are the prized trophies of the chase. A certain well-known English writer has claimed to be the lucky possessor of a record tusk from a boar shot in Galicia. The length is given as thirteen inches, A sports- man in the South Island has two splendid specimens—thirteen and one-eighth inches and thirteen and a quarter inches respectively —while I have seen a single tusk from a pig shot in the Wai- Tarapa one-six- teenth of an inch over the “ stan- dard” length mentioned. Probably there are many other trophies in the homes of New Zealand sforts- men of similar dimensions. For the " record ” pig in this particular respect, however, 1 must go back to Waipu (Auck- land). On a cer- tain station there roamed ‘a_ big boar that had been hunted by the neighbouring settlers for years, but without suc- cess. He had a -happy knack of dodging the best pack of dogs ever got together, and to bail him up was an impossi- bility. Many bullets had been expended upon him, but though badly wounded at times he always managed to make a get-away. As the result of his depredations during the lambing season, a price of fifteen pounds was finally placed on his head. His end was an ignominious one—entirely out of keeping with his crowded career. In running from the hunters one day he fell into a deep watercourse and became firmly wedged between the steep rocky walls.’ His remains were found a week later. A peculi- arity of his tusks was that he had lost a grinder, presumably in his younger days. As a result, the tusk beneath had grown in an almost complete circle back through the jawbone and for over an inch under the tongue. We were denied the opportunity of arriving at even his approximate weight, but I can safely say that a well-grown nine- months calf could not have given him many points in that respect. We cut over a dozen pieces of lead out of his hide, and we also found the remains of three or four lambs which had formed his last meal—clear

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HUNTING WILD PIG IN NEW ZEALAND. 317

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318 evidence of the fact that a wild pig prefers meat to any other form of diet. There are few Wellington pig-hunters who have not heard of ‘“ Rimutaka Jack '’—the big white boar of the mountain range from which he took his name. In weight he was not a monster, but for sheer notoriety he stood unchallenged. Grown wise in his age and generation, he was more than a match for half-a-dozen good dogs. To get within easy range of him was the dream of scores of parties formed for the express purpose of running him down & The amount of lead he carried in his thick hide would hardly bear calculation ; the number of dogs he crippled could be more readily estimated. I once saw three “44” revolver _ bullets put into him at twenty paces without effect ere he made the final cut-and-run . which invariably left us lamenting. He could be dis- tinguished any- where by his prominent colour and by the fact that his right ear had been torn completely off in one of his earlier struggles with the dog-pack. A certain settler, while rounding up some sheep in the back part of his station, came on a sow with some young ones. He was engaged in catching one of the squealing litter when there was a crashing in the undergrowth above him, and a minute later he was racing for a tall punga which grew near by, hauling himself up just as “‘ Rimutaka Jack’ charged underneath him, narrowly missing his knees. He spent an uncomfort- able three hours in that position, with the enraged pig circling his vantage-point at intervals. On returning home he organized a big party, but though they combed the bush with good dogs for the whole of the next day, no sign of the outlaw could be found, and he was next heard of miles away. So far as I know, ‘‘ Jack’ was never killed, and he may yet be roaming through his favourite haunts, as unconquerable as of yore. The wild tusker is occasionally put to commercial use. I recently heard of two Teturned soldiers who felt unsettled and decided to seek a long holiday in the bush. They met a station owner, who after readily giving his permission for them to camp on the property, suggested that they should kill wild pigs ‘‘in their spare time.” He A redoubtable old warrior, with a fine pair of tusks. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, explained that he conscientiously believed a dual census of the wild pigs and sheep on the station would show little difference between the two. The soldiers agreed, and the owner “ found” them in guns, ammu- nition, dogs, and “ tucker.” Their first bag comprised seventeen pigs, while their second and third days yielded twenty-four and twenty-seven respectively. When, at the end of two months, that station owner willingly parted with a cheque for over one hundred and thirty pounds, the two war-worn heroes decided that their pre- war jobs were so much wasted time. I cannot say if theyare still following their highly profitable vocation. The “royalty’’on each defunct pig, I may state, was half a crown, so you can work out the total bag for yourself, and it will give some idea of the ‘num- bers in at least one part of the Dominion. It is on a par with the record of a certain sportsman in the South Island, who claims to have shot over fifteen thousand pigs in thirty odd years. A week’s pig-hunting can be heartily recommended for the tired business man— provided, of course, that he has six months’ solid muscular training to help him along. There is the usual consultation between the sportsmen, lasting for days, as to the most suitable spot, and the long tramp from the rendezvous with the heavy camp impedi- menta that generally takes half the next day to get over. As an alternative, of course, there is the pack-horse ; but here, with con- siderable emphasis, I should like to repeat the advice given to the would-be Benedict— “Don’t !"’ In other words, you will do well to eschew the pack-horse idea entirely. At the last camp of which I was a member we had a pack-horse of uncertain age and antecedents. which caused us more trouble, and more abject misery, than the average city-dweller experiences in a lifetime. Be- tween the horse and ourselves, in fact, a sort of armed truce prevailed. He had grown uncannily wise. He could get hope- lessly lost within a record time and within a record radius, and he possessed the awful low cunning of a well-developed bush rat. His favourite promenade included the fire-

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HUNTING WILD PIG IN NEW ZEALAND, place. In the middle of a dreadful mess of battered pots and pans he would deliberately turn round and look us up and down with a knowing and evil eye. Were a salvo of young logs hurled at him, his ridiculous bob tail would frisk his derision ere he careered off into the bush, to be subsequently lost for hours. The guy-ropes of the tent he regarded as the elements of an obstacle race prepared for his special benefit. I recall one cold and rainy night when he rubbed his stern against the tent door with a persistence that bespoke his determination to do yet further mischief. The back of a heavy frying-pan rapped him hard—through the tent wall—with a sound suggestive of a mammoth drum. Thereupon the brute took sudden fright and sat down—yes, actually sat down—on the tent, and when he rose and bolted the wreckage of the tent went with him for twenty yards down the adjacent 319 the bush was remarkable, and they were known in the nearest settlement as ‘' Romulus and Remus.’ One morning the latter took his turn at riding round the boundary. That evening he did not return. The other's fears were heightened by the appearance, near midnight, of his brother's horse—rider- less. Desperate, he saddled his own horse, and began a hopeless search in the pitch darkness through the heavy bush and along the wild fern ridge. All night long he hunted, his frantic ‘‘ coo-ees ’’ echoing through the hills. Wild-eyed and played-out, he reached the settlement next morning and spread the news: The people promptly formed a large search-party, and proceeded to comb the rough country of the little station from end to end. Late in the after- noon a settler who had been following a cattle track on the extreme left of the searchers gave a shout. All ran to the spot A splendid specimen shot in the Wairarapa (North Island). gully. From this moving story I am justi- fied in extracting a moral: Be your own pack-horse and thereby lessen your worries and the temptation to the use of wild profanity. There is an air of pathetic mystery about a lonely farmhouse, now rapidly tumbling to pieces, situated in a remote part of one of the North Island country districts. Years ago it was the home of two twin brothers. The natural affection which these two had cultivated during years of toil and trial in “Remus ”’ had been thrown from his horse and had broken his leg—but the wild pigs had got there first! They pulled his poor brother away a raving madman. Two weeks later, a little flat at the foot of the hill near the homestead formed the graveyard of both the twins. This is the only case I have ever come across showing that wild pigs will attack a human being in that manner. In view, however, of their costly raids in the lambing season, it is safe to assume that it is only a question of opportunity.

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MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE’ I.— POST No. 3. By E. CHASE. A soldicr’s story of an uncanny happening during the Boer War. T all happened quite a long while ago, while Lo was serving as a_ soldier during the Boer War. One mght my company had been placed on sentry duty. Everything around us was quiet, and not a sound could be heard from the enemy. Those of us who were not actually on guard were trying to refresh ourselves With a little sleep and rest after the hard fighting we had gone through during the day. The men detailed for ‘ sentry-go’’ were already in position, and as we were working on the “ chain system ”’ they were obliged to answer the ‘' All’s well”? every half-hour, called from post to post. The first half-hour went by, and all posts duly passed the welcome message. The second half-hour came round. No. 1 called “ All's well.” No. 2 replied, but No. 3 remained silent. The corporal summoned a couple of us, and we went out to see why No. 3 had not replied, half-fearing that the Boers were upon us in a stealthy night attack. I can assure you we did not welcome these diver- sions, living as we were on a daily ration of a pound of bully beef and some hard dry biscuits. We picked our way carefully to No. 3, and when we drew near the spot 1 saw the corporal cautiously raise himself from behind a rock. It was a pitch-black might, and it was some time before we discovered our comrade. He lay at the end of his beat, at the foot of a large black boulder—stone dead. But that did not end the tragedy, for on examining him we saw that his throat had been torn open in a dreadful fashion, I don't mind confessing that both of us were considerably unnerved by this discovery. No soldier really fears death in its ordinary forms, if he can meet it squarely and have “‘a run for his money,” but the mysterious- ness of this midmght tragedy made a great unpression upon us. Well, we carried our poor comrade into camp, and the corporal called upon one of the party to take the dead sentry's place. I think every man thanked his stars that he had not been chosen—I know I did! Careful instructions were given to the new sentry as to what he must do if taken by surprise by the enemy. Exactly the same thing happened as in the first case. The first halt-hour ‘ All's well ”’ was duly answered, but to the second call there was no reply. Alarmed, we went at once to the post. The sentry lay at the foot of the boulder, dead, with his throat torn open. Our nerves were now on edge. The super- natural does not particularly appeal to Tommy,” but all of us were conscious of a very creepy sensation. I think the person most affected was the corporal; he seemed quite beside himself as to what steps he shoukl take in the matter. Until he made up his mind what to do, however, someone had to take over the post. He cast his eyes over us as we stood around, a very subdued and scared-looking crew, and to my horror his glance lit on me. ‘ Chase,” he said, “take post on No. 3 picket, and look smart about it." I do not remember what else he said; my brain was dazed. I felt literally hot and cold all over. Was I going out to meet the same mysterious fate as those other two poor fellows? If I only knew what the cause was, I should be better prepared ; it was the uncertainty that was so trying. I awoke from my anxious thoughts to find that I had automatically obeyed orders and was now at my post, alone with the unknown death-dealer.

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*““MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” = 321 “We picked our way carefully to No. 3.” My beat took me from where I stood up to the boulder, a good forty yards, and back again. Was I ner- vous? I have never been so scared before or since in my life! My knees trembled, my hair seemed to be standing on end. After a bit, however, I pulled myself together, and decided that, in whatever form the danger came to me, I would at least meet it fighting I therefore pulled out a cartridge from my pouch and—al- though it was against regulations— rubbed the jacket of the bullet gently against a stone till I could feel the lead with my fingers. Then I ran a sulphur match over my foresight, so that I could see it better, should I have cause to use my rifle. Finally, instead of sloping arms, I again dis- obeyed regulations, and carried my rifle at the ‘' port '’ in both hands, ready to bring it up to my shoulder in a second I then started to walk to the end of my beat, but, somehow, when I arrived at the foot of the big boulder, I could not bring myself to turn my back to it and march back. I stood transfixed, staring at it, trying to dis- cover the secret it held. As I stared, I saw again in imagination the pitiful spectacle of my two comrades as they had Jain there with their throats torn out. So thinking, I moved backwards, and, step by step, still keeping my eyes riveted on that boulder, I re- turned to my starting-point, Just as [was about to)ré¢commence

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322 THE WIDE WORLD my solitary walk I fancied I detected a darker shadow against the dark sky on the summit of the rock. Slowly it raised itself, hovered there for an instant, and then suddenly dis- appeared. I thought at first that it was a mere hallucination, caused by my _ highly- strung nervous condition, but I finally de- cided to take no risks. Kneeling, I lay flat on the uneven, stony ground, resting my rifle barrel for support on a small rock in front of me. In this position I took careful aim at the top of the boulder, my foresight covering the place where I thought I had seen the shadow. I had not very long to wait. Slowly, very slowly, something darker than the sky loomed up before me, and remained there. I was cool enough now, with my rifle ready. Taking a long, steady aim, I pulled the trigger. Then, overcome by excitement, I leapt up and fired several rounds in the air. I badly needed companions round me at that moment. When 1 looked at the boulder the mysterious shadow had disappeared, but in its stead I saw welcome lights approaching and heard the MAGAZINE. murmur of voices. A moment later the cor- poral arrived, demanding explanations, and I told him as best I could what had occurred. Holding our lanterns aloft, we crept care- fully up to the boulder and round to the back of it. There we found the murderess of our comrades, her hands and chest still smeared with the blood of her victims—a large female baboon. My lucky shot had caught her clean in the head, blowing out the back. On making inquiries the following morning we discovered that the men of the company which had been quartered at that particular point the previous day had amused them- selves by hurling stones at the monkeys around their camp, and had accidentally killed one of the youngsters. We therefore came to the conclusion that our murderess was the mother of the little one, and had come down during the night to revenge her baby's death. Be that as 1t may, you will understand why, after that nerve-racking night, i have no love for monkeys, big or little. Il.—THE WEAKER VESSEL. By R. BATES. ILLUSTRATED BY G. SOPER. How a woman extricated herself from a nasty predicament. HE scene was New England, about forty miles from New York, the place a small poultry farm well off the high road, and a good ten minutes’ walk from the nearest neighbour. There were five poultry houses, each with its enclosure, and a big barn across the pad- dock provided with loft and underground cellars suitable for a limited amount of mushroom culture. The house itself was small, low, and un- pretending, and its only tenant a woman, still young, whom I will call Elsie Green. Her friends credited her with a quite unusual degree of courage, since she had no human companionship at night, and none all day on Sundays, except when a girl friend from New York came to spend the day with her. Usually a wizen-faced, sun-dried old man named Cook arrived every week-day to do the rough work of the place, but early one morning a message had come to say that he was prostrate with an attack of malaria, and might have to absent himself for an indefinite time. Old Cook was a character in many ways. Left to his own devices, he planted a bed of onions immediately under his em- ployer’s bedroom window, so that their sweet and enjovable scent might greet her first thing in the morning! The action was kindly meant, if mistaken; and after all, onions are wholesome. Elsie missed Cook, and wondered when he would be able to return to ns work. There was a dog, too, a mongrel, but a good beast, faithful and vigilant, a real friend and companion—but a week ago the milk-cart had run over poor Fan, and so damaged her that she was now lying between life and death on the hay in the barn-loft, whither she had managed to crawl after the accident. Elsie was standing under one of the three cherry trees on the green in front of the house, when she perceived a figure coming up the rough cart-track between two rail fences that led from the half-mile-distant high road. The figure was that of a.man with a pack on his back, and as he drew nearer it was easy to see~that he was a burly,

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“MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” See ee “Revolver on hip, she stood there calmly.” Digtized by GOO le 323

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324 THE WIDE WORLD rough-looking fellow, with sandy hair and an expression she did not like in his small shifty eyes. He was a travelling tinker, and asked civilly enough if she could give him a job. “ There is a hole in a big boiler I use for the chickens’ food,” she answered ;"‘‘ if you like to mend it out here I will bring it to you.” He assented, and she fetched the boiler, and asked his price. “Don’t you bother your head about that, miss,’’ he answered; “1 reckon it shall be cheap enough for you.’’ She flushed and said she did not want any favours. “I ain’t offering you none, either,” he responded. ‘' I shall charge you a fair price according to the time it takes me. I’ve been looking at them two animals,”’ he continued, pointing to the goat and a young pig loose on the green. They don’t seem to love each other over much.” “No,” she agreed; ‘ the pig is not often out, and she butts him cruelly. When he is a little bigger he will be able to take care of himself.” With that she turned away, and, going back to the house, busied herself with some household task in the kitchen. From the window the tinker was plainly visible. He had got out his tools, and his fire was burning. Perhaps, after all, the momentary distrust and dislike she had felt were un- reasonable—he seemed to be doing his work diligently and skilfully. She picked up a kettle that badly required repair and carried it out to him. When the articles appeared to be finished and lay beside his packed-up outfit, she missed him. Where had he gone? What right had he to be prowling round the place ? She went from window to window in a vain effort to see him. Then she slipped outside, and a feeble attempt at a bark that was half a whine fell on her ears. A moment later the tinker came out of the barn-door and advanced towards the house. Elsie felt nervous for a second, but she was braver than most women, and, stepping towards him, she asked what she owed him. Asmall sum she had placed in the deep pocket of her apron would be enough to meet his claim, she decided. He named his price—ten dollars ! “Ten dollars ?"’ repeated Elsie in in- dignant astonishment. “ Aye, ten dollars, not a cent less,” he said, ‘‘and as I happen to know you are quite alone here, with nobody to bother or interfere, you will give me a nice kiss into the bargain.” MAGAZINE, There was an evil leer on his face, and her heart quailed within her. The man was a muscular brute, and in his grip she would be helpless—and it was quite true she could look for no outside intervention. Neverthe- less, her cheeks flamed with indignation, and her anger drove out all fear. Her hand went quickly to the pocket in the back of her belt that held her pistol. By some evil chance, the revolver caught in the string of her apron—a second's delay only, but that second would have been fatal but for a strange and providential chance, if chance it can be called, The pig, feeding peacefully near them, was suddenly attacked by the goat, and with a loud snort of fear and anger bounded between them, pursued by hisenemy. As they passed, the startled tinker stepped back a pace or two, and so did she. When he looked at Elsie again, she had him covered. Revolver on hip, she stood there calmly, in the attitude of a practised shot. “You vile, cowardly rascal!’’ she said. “IT should just love to put a bullet through you! Come one step nearer, and I'll kill you.” Needless to say, the fellow was an arrant coward. The sight of her set face and that steadily-aimed revolver caused his knees to tremble and his face to blanch. “ Oh! good Lord ! I didn't mean no harm, miss,"’ he stammered, and retreated hastily to his pack, which he hurriedly hitched on his shoulders. As he did so Elsie spoke her mind again. “IT shall pay you a fair price for the work you have done,” she said, ‘‘ and leave the money at the stores in the village. But if ever you show your face anywhere near here again, I shall shoot you at sight, and think 1 am doing the world good service.” The weight of his pack did not prevent that tinker from making swift progress down the long track that led to the high road. When old Cook heard a greatly toned-down version of the affair he shook his head. “Waal, you're a terrible woman to be sure,” he said. ‘“ Ye hev got pluck; there’s no doubt of that. You one o’ the weaker vessels, as the Bible calls women? No sich thing, not much!” However that might be, the episode marked the end of Elsie’s country career. She closed with a neighbour’s offer to buy her establishment, and poultry farming and solitude knew her no more.

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. “MY STRANGEST EXPERIE CE.” 325 II.—MY AEROPLANE TRIP. By THIO CHAN BEE, of Singapore. An amusing account, by a young Chinese, of an odd experience that came his way while at school in Sumatra. IVE years ago I was studying in a school at Medan, the capital of Sumatra, and there I met with the strangest experience of my life. It came about in the following manner. Three new teachers had come from Singa- pore, and, in order to make friends with us schoolboys, they invited us to an evening party at their house. As a further attrac- tion, they gave out that they had brought with them a wonderful miniature aeroplane, and that they would permit us to have a short thght in it, one at a time. The prospect of a trip in an aeroplane swept away any trace of hesitation which we mught have had about accepting the teachers’ invitation, and we looked forward eagerly to the party. At last the day came, and most of us were at the housesome time beforethe appointed hour. It was decided that the aeroplane thightsshould be the first item of the evening’s programme. The teachers put us in a separate room and told us to remain there until called. They had already informed us that the aeroplane, being a very small one, could only rise to a height of about twelve feet or so; consequently the big dining-room would be Jarge enough for the flight: In the outer room we bu forthcoming exhibition claring that it was a“ fa believing in it. Having finished the preliminaries, the teachers called us one at a time into the dining-room. Soon it was my turn to go, and I was led in blindfolded, in spite of my protestations that I should not turn giddy during the flight. As soon as I entered the room I heard a curious buzzing noise, like that made by a rapidly-rotating wheel. IT was made to stand on what 1 took to be the bottom of the aeroplane ; and after being warned to keep still, I felt the machine begin to quiver and finally rise upwards. Suddenly I heard shouts of consternation from the teachers, and before I could make out what was amiss mvy head banged against something. “ Jump ! Jump! You'll collide with the ceiling!” they shouted from below. Now, when Iwas placed in the aeroplane I had expected to be able to sit on something, and I felt slightly suspicious when they left me standing. My doubts were increased a moment afterwards, for, though I stretched ily discussed the ome firmly de- * others partially my arms both ways, [ could not feel the sides of the machine. However, on hearing their anxious cries, Io was filled with fear, I thought to myself: ' No doubt this isn't an aeroplane, but it must be some sort of device which can rise up, or else I shouldn't have touched the ceiling.” At this point I received another bump on the head, and the aeroplane seemed to rock more heavily. [I was in a dilemma, for to remain in the machine would certainly mean more bumps, with a chance of falling head- long to the ground, while to jump down might result ina broken limb. After a great deal of hesitation, however, I decided to jump and risk the consequences. Accord- ingly I made a spring— and landed on a‘pile of cushions about two fret beneath me! This was so utterly unexpected that I almost lost my balance. I had imagined that I should have to jump froma height of ten feet or so. Yearing the bandage trom my eyes, I saw the teachers and those of my schoolmates who had already gone through the ordeal roaring with laughter, The “aeroplane,” I discovered, was nothing more than a plank held by two persons ; the buzzing sound was produced by means of a revolving wheel placed under’ a tin; and the “ ceiling ’’ was a piece of boarding held by a boy above the heads of those standing on the plank. The boys waiting in the other room went through the same experience, and I greatly enjoyed studying their faces while they were bumping against the “ ceiling.” Their ways of jumping were funnier still. Some threw themselves wildly backwards, while others flung themselves forward, landing on the cushions in all sorts of attitudes. This “aeroplane tip” is the strangest experience IT have ever encountered, and if the readers of THe Wipk WorLb MAGAZINE like to try the same joke on their friends they will be certain of having some fun. This is the final batch of narratives selected for publication in connection with our competition, Several hundreds of stories were sent in, from all parts of the world, and a cheque for ten pounds has been sent to Mr. Harry C. Jouxsoy, of San Francisco, California, U.S.A., for “ Run Over by a Ship.” which has been adjudged to be the best received. THE Epitor.

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Cee a ee Part of a coco-nut plantation. T is said that if the islands large and small of the Solomon Group, British and ex-German, were counted, they would tally the extraordinary number of one million. In travelling through them it seems possible that the number may not be an exaggeration, for many of the straits and bays are clustered with innumerable islets. There are also several very large islands, such as Ysabel, Choiseul, Guadal- canal, and Malaita, which contain mountain ranges of great height. The island of Ysabel, for instance, is about two thousand square miles in extent, and the total area of the British Solomons would be easily over twelve thousand square miles, and the group extends in a north-westerly and south- easterly direction for a thousand miles. The Solomons pos: the advantage of being safely outside the region of hurricanes, which at certain times of the year are so by Tuos. J. CMAHONERGS An interesting account of the Solomon Islands, one of the most beautiful groups in the Pacific. Mr. McMahon illustrates his descriptions with some very striking photographs. The islanders pierce the obes of their ears when young, andegradually enlarge the openings until they are able to carry large objects in them. destructive to native life, shipping, and cultivation in some of the island groups. The history of the Solomons is without doubt most interesting. Long before Aus- tralia was discovered these islands were known to daring voyagers. In 1567 a famous Spanish navigator named Alvare de Mendana sailed from Peru to discover a great south continent. Three months’ cruis- ing brought him to the Solomons and Ysabel Island, which he named, as his log states, “after. his _much-lovedy | wife.” Mendana

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JEWELS ofite PACIFIC cruised for six months in the group, and was so impressed with the richness and fertility of these tropic lands that he named them the Solomons, in the hope that on his return his countrymen would believe they were the source from which King Solomon obtained the gold for his great temple. This story, he thought, would encourage the colonization of the islands, and he conceived the vain- glorious ambition of becoming the king of a new Spain. On his return home, so brightly did he paint the prospects that he was soon able to prepare an expedition of many hun- dreds of settlers, including his wife and her three brothers. In the party were also two sailors afterwards known to fame, as con- nected with the discovery of Australia— Fernandez de Quiros and Fuis Vaes de Torres. The expedition failed through sickness and bad management; in fact, it never reached the Solomons at all, but instead—owing to faulty navigation—arrived at the northern islands of the New Hebrides group. Here after a few months, Men- dana died, a disappointed and broken-hearted man. Galvanized iron huts erected for native labourers on a coco-nut plantation. The natives, however, refused to live in them, preferring their own Pi m-leaf dwellings, e

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328 For a hundred years or more nothing was heard of the Solomons, and then Dutch and Portuguese ships passed through them, re- porting nothing to their advantage. A long period again went by, and it was not until British and French ships, some eighty years ago, began to call at the islands that the The decorated prow of a war-canoe. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. wonderful commercial possibilities of the group were gradually realized. British and French missionaries began to find their way to the islands, and following the missionaries came traders and planters. Conflicts with the natives, however, were frequent, and massacres were by no means uncommon. On one occasion the whole of the French Mission, including the bishop, was wiped out, and it was many years before this mission opened again. At present it is flourishing and doing a great work. In 1893 a British Protectorate was de- clared and British officials landed. After this the natives became less aggressive and the commercial development of the group began, This has gone on steadily, and many thousands of acres are now well laid out in coco-nut plantations, while modern settle- ments are springing up> Messrs. Lever Brothers, of ‘Sunlight Soap” fame, have invested millions of money in coco-nut plan- tations in various islands, and have a most complete and up-to-date settlement at Guvuta, Other great firms have also shown remarkable enterprise. Messrs. Burns, Philp, The curious structures here shown contain preserved puddings made of almonds, of which the islanders are very fond. Ie

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THE JEWELS OF THE PACIFIC. 329 le Coco-nut-hunters. These men go round the smaller islands and collect the nuts that have fallen from the trees. e and Co., an Australian trading and shipping company, have plantations and trading stations throughout the group, and have done much for the progress and commercial development of the Solomons. From the point of view of trade prospects the British Solomons are recognized as by far the most important of the South Pacific Islands. Without exaggeration they may be said to be a series of vast coco-nut planta- tions, with breaks here and there for the cultivation of the remarkable ivory-nut palm, a very profitable commodity. This ivory-nut is peculiar to the Solomons, and is unknown in any other part of the world. The nut of this palm takes years to mature, is about the size of an apple, and hard like ivory. When the nut falls the palm dies. Before the war the Germans bought large quantities of these nuts for button making. Of late the development of the islands has had a set-back, owing to the insufficiency of native labour. This is mainly due to the decline in the number of natives in the islands. Sickness, lack of spirit, idleness, and indif- ference to the rearing of families are the causes, but the administration is grappling with the matter, and the heavy death-rate is being checked in some measure. The natives of the Solomons are—or were —interesting from many points of view. There is a great variety of languages among them, and within any five-mile radius it is possible to find forty to fifty different dia- lects. The Polynesian type ig, pronounced ; they are slight of build, with good features, and of a light chocolate colour. They show decided intelligence, and live in communal settlements. These natives understand a crude agriculture, admit the rule of chiéfs and wise men, and have strict moral laws. Among other interesting features are the tribal rights to certain crafts or trades. For instance, one tribe, and one only in the An odd native band on a plantation. Vol. xlvi.— 25.

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330 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. whole group, make finely-woven and artisti- cally-designed war shields, which are bartered to all other tribes by native commercial travellers. Another tribe makes spears, another stone axes, and so on. Unfortu- nately, the crafts are losing in ability as native weapons give way to the white man’s axes and trading knives. The excellent british official administration prevents tribal warfare, which was very common up to a few years ago, when the white man’s weapons were much in use—generally bought from German traders. While on every other island of the group the natives have decreased in numbers, the island of Malaita offers the finest example of the secret of vigorous and increasing native life. Malaita is the land of the head-hunters, a most active, vicious, aggressive, and ener- getic people. They repulse every effort of the white man to overcome them, and carry on an unceasing strife among themselves. For this reason every native village is a fort surrounded by high stone walls, manned and guarded like the English castles of old. Many have decp ditches or moats to stay the invasion of hostile tribes. The present administrator, Mr. Charles Workman, has been successful in getting in touch with some of the inland natives, and with such good results that planters on the coast are less molested than they were. The Malaita people are living examples of the fact that only an active, energetic existence can keep native folk healthy and progressive, and this theory, if put info practice by the encouraging of civil- ized natives to work on plantations and not to roam in idleness, as so many do, d more quickly regene- Occasionally e the races Malait ys are always found exceptionally intelligent and good workers. It ts to be hoped that, when civilization is brought to Malaita, native vigour will find its outlet in some profitable employment. The people of Malaita are great hunters, their national sport being porpoise-driving. During the breeding season these fish abound in the shallow waters round the island, and the natives drive: them in mobs into the shallow water, where they soon smother in the mud. The teeth of this fish supply the native money, and the Malaita money market is “ tight ” or otherwise according to the season’s hauls, The Solomons are remarkable for some strange creatures. A bird called the mega- pode, for instance, about the size of a pigeon, lays an enormous egg, much larger than that of a goose. The natives do not attempt to tame this bird, though it is useful to them in supplying in aburflance a palatable food. Beds of finely-graded sand are prepared for them in which the birds like to make their nests. When laying, the birds are so fearless that natives walking about do not -disturb them in the least. The giant rat of the Solomons is another remarkable animal —a great, fierce creature, much bigger than a rabbit, and causing endless mischief in plantations and stores. Another Solomons giant is a bull-frog, seldom found less than two and a half to three pounds in weight, and with a croak as mighty in volume as its size. Another giant is an oyster, a tough, but still edible, mollusc that covers a large- size dinner plate. One is quite enough for a meal, and it is eaten with a knife and fork, like a steak, Animals are not plentiful, but fish and birds abound in great varieties, There are many kinds of pigeons, including one of great beauty of plumage with a long tail, and un- known in any other part of the world. On some islands during the breeding season the cooing of myriads of small pigeons can be heard miles away, sounding like the dashing of great The British staff of a ceco-nut plantation.

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A—tThe “Festival of the Coco-nut,”” which is held once a year. B.—A_ coco-nut planter’s home in the British Solo- mons. C—A group of keenly- int new readers ! THE JEWELS OF THE PACIFIC. ote . 33

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332 THE WIDE WORLD waves upon a reef. Edible fish abound, and are so numerous in some places that the natives simply wade out a few feet from the shore and scoop them up in shallow hand-nets or with long sticks. The fish are not in the least disturbed by the sweeping of the net through the water. The Solomons can also boast of an almond nut which is not only delicious to the taste, but has medicinal quahties of special value. This nut is already a commercial asset. The natives collect great quantities and make large puddings with them. These puddings are smoked and then enclosed or wrapped in wicker baskets, and will keep for years. The puddings make a very sweet yet palatable and nourishing tood. The climate of the Solomons varies from excessive heat on the coasts to almost ex- treme cold on the mountain tops. Unfortu- nately, malarial fever is common, the Anopheles mosquito, the cause, being found in most low-lying places. Methods for com- bating this disease are now well known, and intelligent precautions can ward off attacks. In time, it is expected, the mosquito will be banished, and then the Solomons will offer attractive living conditions to white settlers. British administration is at present pro- gressive, though undoubtedly in the past it somewhat hampered commercial develop- MAGAZINE. ment. The fact that the group is a mere “ protectorate ” is the chief cause of trouble, and there is a demand amongst the settlers that the territory should become a definite British possession with a proper Government. At present the administration is purely official, Communication with the group is chiefly from Australia, and there is a powerful wire- less which keeps in direct touch with the outer world. Tulagai, the seat of govern- ment, is an exceedingly pretty but unhealthy settlement. There are other settlements at Gize and Faisi. To the tourist the Solomons present many attractions, and a trip round the group on the mail-boat is very delightful. The Solo- mons, besides the wonderful development now going on, are a great commercial asset as one of the half-way houses between Aus- tralia and Asia. It is anticipated that in another ten years this shipping route will bring into being many flourishing ports in the Solomon Islands, and thus enhance their importance. The commercial promise of the British Solomons is such that it justly en- titles them to be known as the ‘ Jewels of the Pacific.” They will certainly be—and that very soon—a very ‘valuable commercial asset of the British Empire. The ambition of the settlers is that they remain in British porsession, THE TRAGEDY OF THE AIGRETTE. “ | WONDER,” writes a reader, “ how many ladies would continue to wear aigrettes in their hats if they could see, as I have done, the heart-rending results of killing the Lesser White Heron? Mere is a picture of one of these birds killed on its nest, but this does not represent the whole of the tragedy which is enacted when a so-called ‘ sportsman " goes forth with his gun and kills one of these lovely creatures. In this par- ticular case you do not see the young birds waiting on their nest for the return of the mother, but there they remain, day after day, gradually growing weaker and weaker, until they die of hunger. The young birds, of course, until they are fully fledged, are unable to feed themselves without the aid of their parent, and so the slaughter of the adult Iesser White Heron results in the loss of two or three other lives as well. I wish you would make this known to your readers, so that they will protest against the use of the feathers of these birds for the adornment of feminine millinery.”

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BOUT 1892 there sprang up through- out South- ern Mississippi and Louisiana a_ secret organization known as the ‘' White Caps.” This was claimed to be similar to the famous ‘ Klu Klux Klan,” which in 1870 was instrumental in ridding the South of the gang of political adventurers known as ‘‘scalawags’’ and “carpet-baggers,” who, with the aid of newly - freed slaves, were trying to im- pose Negro rule on the white people of the South. The avowed object of the “White Caps’ was ta stop thievery and Wi Srdeal Darvis W:O-PERRY ‘LLUSTRATED BY WR CATOIV WOODW/L LE bad to worse, and soon there was some- thing like a reign of terror in parts of South Mississippi and Louisiana. It took a man of courage and determination to openly oppose the doings of the ‘‘ White Caps,’ for anybody who spoke his mind was likely to have his home burnt or be shot from ambush by some of the more desperate members. The state of affairs finally became so * bad that the Press and leading men all over the countryside denounced the out- rages, and a strin- gent law was passed by the State of Mississippi making lam wy petty crime among “ white-capping’’ a the Negroes and to force them to show more respect to the whites. Many young men, as well as a sprinkling of older ones, joined this organization. The young men, who had heard their fathers and friends speak of the “Klu Klux Klan,” thought the Sentenced to be hanged for the crime of another, William Purvis's life was saved on the gallows itself by what many eye-wit- messes believe to this day to have been the direct interposition of Providence. Once again doomed to the scaffold, the young man was rescued by sympathizers and remained at liberty until the death- sentence was commuted to life im- Pprisonment. Years went by, a death-bed confession established his complete in- nocence, and now the State has voted Purvis a large sum of money as com- pensation for his sufferings. felony punishable by not less than five years’ imprisonment. One night in June, 1893, a band of “White Caps”’ visited the farm of Will Buckley, a prosper- ous farmer, some twelve miles north of Columbia, in Mar- ion County, Missis- sippi. They severely “White Caps’ would whipped one or two be a great benefit to the rural districts. The idea may have been good in theory, but in practice it worked out as a lawless band trying to correct law-breakers by breaking the law themselves. They had their officers, secret signs, passwords, and hidden meeting-places. The society soon fell under the control of unscrupulous individuals who did not hesitate to use it for their own ends, and the best men, seeing how things were going, quietly dropped out of it. The lawless crowd left in then began to whip and kill the Negroes, and to burn the barns and houses of law-abiding whites who opposed such methods. Things went from of his Negro tenants and threatened the rest, telling them if they did not leave the country the ‘‘ White Caps ’ would return and hang every one of them. This latest outrage greatly stirred the law- abiding citizens, and Will Buckley, who was a man entirely without fear, openly declared that he intended going before the grand jury and indicting the members of the gang, as he claimed that he had recognized all of them. One day not long afterwards a young man about twenty years old, named Will Purvis, met Buckley and told him he had better not bring the matter before the Court. If he did, Purvis added, and the gang was indicted,

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334 THE WIDE WORLD Buckley would never live to testify against them. Buckley, . undismayed by this warning, replied that he was determined to go to the Court, come what might. The Circuit Court duly met at Columbia in July, 1863, with Judge Terell, a very able and fearless man, on the bench, Judge Terell gave a very ‘scathing charge to the grand jury conccrning “ white-capping,”’ and told them to indict anyone connected with it. If convicted, he said, he would give the guilty men a long term of imprison- ment. On the first Monday of Court Will Buckley and his brother, Jim Buckley, with a Negro who had been whipped, rode into town and appeared before the grand jury. About 5 p.m, they mounted their horses and started for home again. When about eight nules from Columbia, while riding along a road bordered on either side by undergrowth so thick that one could not see twenty feet away, a sharp report rang out and Will Buckley pitched trom his horse dead, riddled with buckshot. The horses of Jim Buckley and the Negro immediately bolted. When Jim Buckley was able to stop his frightened stecd he wheeled round and drew his revolver, but had no oppor- tunity of using it. He stated that he saw Will Purvis in the edge of the thicket, trying to reload a shot-gun, but that Purvis ran away before he could fire at him. This cold-blooded murder shocked Marion County frem end to end, and also stirred up Governor J. M. Stone, who denounced the assassins and called on the Court to ferret out and punish the guilty party. Two days afterwards Jim Buckley appeared before the grand jury, and Will Purvis was formally indicted for the murder of Will Buckley. That night Sheriff Magee and three depu- ties called at the home of Purvis’s aged father, arrested Will, and carried him off to Meridian, Mississipp, for sate keeping, When the January, 1804, term of the Court was held Will Parvis was brought to trial. He was defended by Mr. D. M. Watkins, a leading attorney of Hattisburg, who afterwards Lecame State Senator. The State's attorney was Mr. J. H. Neville, a brilhant young lawyer, ‘The State based its case on the testimony of Jim Buckley and the Negro who was with him. Jim Buckley swore that he saw Purvis trying to reload his shot-gun, and was positive as to his identity. The Negro said he saw someone, but could not say who it was. The defence tried to prove an alibi, and introduced Louis Newson and his wite, whose veracity had never been questioned, to prove that Will Purvis was at their home, two miles from the scene of the murder, at about the time the State claimed MAGAZINE. the crime was committed. The State did not deny this, but said the accused would have had time to get from the spot to New- son’s home, as there was no clock or watch on the place, and the people only reckoned approximately by the height of the sun in the heavens. Purvis was found guilty, and the judge sentenced him to be hanged. His attorney appealed to the Supreme Court, but this Court affirmed the decision of the lower Court. The defence then applied to Governor Stone to commute the sentence to life - imprisonment, which the Governor tefused to do, There was nothing left but to carry out the sentence of the Court, On June 20th, the day before the execu- tion, Will Purvis was brought from Meridian, where he had been held for safe keeping, to Columbia, thirty-two miles from the nearest tailroad point. He was heavily shackled and guarded by six deputies, and was put in the little local jail to wait the hour for his execution, Mississippi permits public hang- ing at the option of the Board of Supervisors, and they had decided that the execution should take place in ‘public. A gallows was erected in the Court-house square, and next day people began to pour into the little town on foot or horscback, in buggies and wagons, till long before the hour of twelve the crowd numbered several thousands. Just an hour before the time set for the hanging young Purvis made a statement to the sheriff and several others—the first he had made since his arrest. He said he was a member of the ‘‘ White Caps,” and that he had been present at a meeting at which they decided to kill Will Buckley if he reported them to the Court. Realizing to what desperate means the gang were prepared to resort to gain their ends, he then and there resolved to sever his connection with them. He never attended another meeting, with the result that he did not learn who had been selected to kill Buckley at the next meeting of the band. It was never known how this man was chosen, but the gang were sup- posed to have drawn lots. As the clock struck twelve Sheriff Magee led the prisoner out of the jail, surrounded by forty deputies. A few steps brought them to the gallows, which Purvis mounted with a firm and steady step; he was apya- rently the coolest man in the party. When asked if he had anything to say, he raised his hand and said, solemnly : ‘‘ As God is my witness, vou are hanging an innocent boy. I see men in this crowd who know, and if they would speak they could name the guilty farty, but I forgive them: Good-bye to all my friends!” The sheriff quickly polled the black cap over the prisoner’s head, shook him by the hand, stepped back, and with one stroke of

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THE ORDEAL OF WILLIAM PURVIS. — 335 “A sharp report rang out and Will Buckley pitched from his horse dead.”

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336 an axe cut the rope that held the trap. The -body shot swiftly downwards through the opening, and many people in the crowd turned their faces away, expecting that when they again looked round they would see the lifeless figure of Purvis swinging in the air. To the amazement of the onlookers, however, the noose came untied, and Will Purvis lay on the ground unhurt, though unconscious from his fall! The vast crowd was literally struck dumb. Not a sound was heard for several minutes, and then the sheriff and his deputy broke the spell by picking Purvis up and climbing up on the gallows again to finish their disagree- able work. At this moment Dr. Ford, who was present to certify the prisoner's death, intervened dramatically,“ Don’t hang this boy again he cried. “He is innocent. The Lord has worked a miracle!” The crowd caught up the cry, and—led by Purvis's friends, no doubt—began shouting “Don’t hang him!” till all present were worked up to a high pitch of excitement. The sheriff, raising his voice, told the people that he had no alternative but to carry out the sentence of the Court, especially as the Supreme Court had passed it and the Governor had refused to interfere. If he failed in his duty—hateful though it was— he would very likely be impeached and probably punished. But the crowd had made up its mind, and even the sheriff's deputies began to throw down their guns, declaring they would not serve any longer if Purvis was to be hanged again. Brother Scharbro, a Baptist preacher, then said that the prisoner’s escape was plainly due to the hand of God, stretched out to save an innocent man. Sheriff Magee, he sug- gested, could take the risk of putting Purvis back into jail if the people would stand by him. A vote was then taken at the very foot of the gallows, and the crowd voted unanimously to have Purvis returned to jail. The sheriff, bowing to the will of the people, accordingly conducted his” prisoner back to his cell, The crowd then dispersed quictly, and to this dav many people who were present firmly believe that the slipping of the noose was a miracle worked by God. Purvis was kept in jail for two months until the Court met again. The judge then ordered the lad to be brought before him, and once again he was sentenced to be hanged, An appeal was promptly made to sovernor Stone, signed by thousands of people, to commute his sentence to life im- prisonment, but once again the Governor refused to do so, Will Purvis was little jail at Purvis, at this time confined in a Mississippi, a small town THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. on the N.O.E.R.R., thirty-two miles from Columbia. There,’ vet again, he waited for the coming of the fatal day. About three weeks before the date set for his death several of his old ‘‘White Cap” friends slipped quietly into the sleepy town one dark night, surrounded the jail—which was not even guarded—broke the locks, and in thirty minutes had ridden out into the forest, taking Purvis with them. By day- light they were many miles away. No one had heard a sound, and you can judge of the surprise of the jailer next morning when he found the door of the “ pen” open and his prisoner gone. Governor Stone’s term of office expired on January 5th, 1895, and he was succeeded by Governor A. H. McLauren, About thirty days after the new Governor had assumed office a delegation of citizens called on him and made him the following proposition : If the Governor would commute the death sentence on Will Purvis the fugitive would come in from the woods, where he had been hiding, and surrender himself. To this suggestion the Governor agreed. A few days later Purvis appeared alone at the Governor's mansion in Jackson, and = an- nounced that he was ready to begin his life- sentence, He served for three years, and made a model prisoner. Then, one day, Governor McLauren rode out to the penal farm and handed him a pardon. Purvis returned to his old home, married, and is living near there to-day. About the time Purvis was sent to prison several men were convicted and imprisoned for ‘“ white-capping.’’” Other suspects, find- ing the law too much for them, moved to various States. This finally broke the power of the “White Caps” in Mississippi and Louisiana. In 1917 Joe Beard, one of the men who had been away for twenty-three vears, re- turned to Marion County. Soon afterwards he fell il], and on his death-bed he confessed that it was he, and nobody else, who had killed the unfortunate Will Buckley. The Legislature of Mississippi which closed its session on March Ist, To20, voted a sum of five thousand dollars to be given to Will Purvis as some compensation for his sufferings, and this amount has been paid to him. All the facts in this remarkable story are absolutely true. The sheriff concerned, Mr. QO. FF. Magee, now lives in Tylertown, Missis- sippi; Mr. D. M. Watkins, the attorney, resides at Hattisburg; and hundreds of the spectators who witnessed the hanging are living to-day to vouch for what occurred.

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THE LIFTED VEIL THE STORY OF AN AMAZING DECEPTION By LIEUT-E-H-JONES INDIAN ARMY RESERVE OF OFFICERS Mlustrated hy HOWARD ELCOCK Ses a=) Two British officers, prisoners of war in Turkey, took up Spiritualism, and interested the Turkish Commandant and his interpreter in the uncanny business. The idea of escape by means of the “Spook” took shape -in the Author’s mind, and the Commandant of the camp—egged on by the hope of discovering a mythical “treasure ’—fell into the artful trap arranged by the two conspirators. After feigning madness, the pair got themselves certified as lunatics and sent to Constantinople. This enetelant describes the startling things that happened on the way. VII. HOW THE “ SPOOK" CORRESPONDED WITH THE TURKISH WAR OFFICE. WOKE at sunset to find Doc. O'Farrell bending over me. “Doctors been here?” a hoarse whisper. I nodded. “And what's the result ? ” “Did you see the sentry at the door?” I asked. “Don't tell me you're found out,” moaned, “ or I'll never forgive myself!” ‘All right, Doc. dear. The sentry’s there to prevent us committing suicide ! ”” Doc. stared a moment, and then doubled up with laughter that had to be silent because of the Turk outside. “Like to see the medical reports ? ” I asked, handing him the Pimple's translation. “Think we've a chance?” Hill asked, as he finrshed. “Ye're a pair of unmitigated blackguards,”” said the Doc., “ an’ I'm sorry for the leech that’s up against you. There’s only one thing needed to beat the best specialist in Berlin or anywhere else, but as you both aim at getting to England you can’t do it.” “ What is that ? ” we asked. “One of ye commit suicide!” said the Doc., laughing. “ By Jove, that’s a good idea!” I cried. “ We'll both try it.” “ Don’t be a fool!” he began, sharply ; then, seeing the merriment in our eyes: “ Oh, be he asked, in Doc. natural! Be natural an’ you'll bamboozle /Esculapius himself.” He dodged the pillow Hill threw at him and clattered down the stairs, chuckling to himself. Within five minutes of his going we decided to hang ourselves—" within limits ’"—on the way to Constantinople. A little later the Pimple arrived, with the compliments and thanks of the Commandant to the Spook, and would the Spook be so kind as to dictate a telegram about us to the War Office ? The Spook was most obliging, and somewhere amongst the Turkish archives at Constantinople the following telegram reposes :— “ For over a year two officer prisoners here have spent much time in study of Spiritualism and telepathy, and have shown increasing signs of mental derangement which recently have become very noticeable. I therefore summoned our military doctors, Major Osman and Captain Suhbi Fahri, who, after examination, diagnosed melancholia in the case of Hill and fixed delusion in the case of Jones, and advised their dispatch to Constantinople for observation and treatment. Doctors warn me these two officers may commit suicide or violence. I respectfully request I may be allowed to send them as soon as possible. Transport will be available in a few days, when prisoners from Changri arrive. If permitted, T shall send them with necessary escort under charge of my Interpreter, who can watch and look after them en route and give any further information required by the specialists. Until his return, may I have the services of the Changri The Author's book, “On the Road to En-Dor,” is published by Mrii\John Lane.

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338 Interpreter? My _ report, report of the doctors, follows by post. for favour of urgent orders.” This Spook-telegram was sent by the Com- mandant on April 14th, 1918, at 5 p.m. On the 16th the Commandant received from Constantinople the following telegram in answer to the Spook's wire :— “Number 887. 15th April. Urgent. Very important. Answer to your cipher wire No. 77. Under your proposed arrangement send to the together with the Submitted. Hospital of Haidar Pasha the two English officers who have to be under observation. Communicate with the Commandant Changri.— KEMAL.” “ Hurrah!” said Moise, when he brought us the news, ‘‘ the Spook has controlled Constanti- nople !” COACHING THE "PIMPLE." The telegram from Kemal Pasha arrived on April 16th. The prisoners from Changri, bring- ing with them the Interpreter who was to take the place of the Pimple, reached Yozgad on the 24th. Hill and I left for Angora on the 26th. The Spook explained that, though we would probably read ‘‘ AAA's” thoughts and discover the position of the third clue to the treasure as soon as we got to Constantinople, it was essential for our safety that the Constantinople specialists should for a time think us slightly deranged and in need of a course of treatment. There- fore it behoved Moise to endeavour to bring this about by reporting to the Constantinople authori- ties the things which the Spook would tell him to report, and learning his lesson carefully. “ What will happen to the mediums,” the Pimple asked, “ if the specialists do not think them slightly deranged ? “ Jail, mon petit chéri chou!” said the Spook. “ Jail for malingering, and they will not return to Yozgad to continue our experiments. You must play your part.” The Pimple’s part, the Spook explained, was to observe and note carcfully everything the mediums said and did. At the request of the Spook, as soon as the Yozgad doctors had declared us mad, the Commandant publicly ordered Moise to make notes of our behaviour, for the benefit of the doctors at the Haidar Pasha hospital. The Spook declared that from now on the mediums would be kept ‘ under control,”’ so as to appear mad. Thus, while the Turks thought the Spook was practising on us, we were really practising our madness on the Turks. Doc. O'Farrell visited us every day. The Turks thought he, too, was “ under control” and that he was puzzled by our symptoms. In point of fact he was coaching us very carefully in what things were fit and proper for a ‘‘ melan- cholic ’”* and a “ furious ’’ to do and say. What he secretly taught us each morning, the Spook made us do “under control” each evening, when it was duly noted down by the Pimple. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. These notes were revised and corrected by the Spook at regular intervals. In this way we piled up a goodly store of evidence as to our insanity. Every evening, after the rest of the camp had been locked up, we held séances, and at every séance the poor Pimple was put through his lesson. Over and over again he was made to recite to the Spook-board what he had to say to the Constantinople doctors. It made a strange picture; Moise, leaning over the piece of tin that was his Delphic oracle, told his tale as he would tell it at Haidar Pasha. His face used to be lined with anxicty lest he should go wrong and incur the wrath of the Unknown. Hill and I, pale and thin with starvation and the strain of our long deception, sat motionless (and, as Moise thought, unconscious), with our fingers resting on the glass and every sense strained to detect the slightest error in the Pimple’s story, or in his tone or manner of telling it. When at last, by dint of ceaseless tuition, Moise had thoroughly grasped the situation and the nature of the story he was to tell, the Spook held an examination, and asked every con- ccivable question we and O'Farrell thought the Constantinople doctors might set. Moise passed the test with great credit; and we felt we were ready for the road. The Pimple was justly unpopular with the camp. Everybody knew he took toll of our parcels before they were delivered to us; and in addition to his thieving he had an objection- able habit of coming round to the recipients of parcels after delivery, and begging here some tea and there some chocolate, and so on. Had he chosen, he could have done much to render our imprisonment less irksome, but he knew he was “ top dog ”’ for the time being, and took advan- tage of his position. The Spook therefore set about permanently ridding the camp of its pet aversion, and it did so by fanning the flame of ambition that was consuming the poor fool. ‘‘ You are wasting time in Yozgad,” it said; ‘ nothing comes to him who does not ask. You are clever! Do not stagnate in Yozgad while great careers are being made elsewhere. Why don't you try to get to the heart of things? I am taking you to Con- stantinople. I have arranged for a man in your place here. Mind you stay there.” Moise thanked the Spook warmly, and begged for instructions as to how he could stay at the capital. He was ordered, on arrival at Con- stantinople, to go to the War Office, say he knew Turkey was being hard pressed by its enemies, and demand to be sent to the fighting line. This, the Spook assured him, would obtain him his commission. The unhappy Pimple was horror-stricken at the idea of having to fight, but the Spook promised that he would be quite safe, and as soon as he got to Constantinople the little ass did as we desired. The Turkish. War Ottice was 90

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astonished at obtaining a volunteer at this stage in the war that they gave him a commission straight off, granted him a month’s leave to wind up his affairs, and then clapped him into the officers’ training school, where he was fed on skilly and drilled for eight hours a day. He utilized his first afternoon off duty to come to me in the mad ward of Haidar Pasha hospital, where he literally wept out his sufferings into my unsympathetic ear, and implored the Spook to get him better treatment. The Spook re- minded him he had offered to share the starvation of the mediums, and informed him that he was now ‘doing his bit’’; and it is fair to the Pimple to record that when he heard the verdict he dried his tears, held his head high, and announced that he was proud to do his duty by * our great cause.”” OUR MAD JOURNEY TO MARDEEN. Ever since Major Osman and Captain Suhbi Fahri had certified us insane we had feigned madness whenever any Turk was near. We had found no great difficulty in maintaining our veles as occasion arose ; and indeed it was rather amusing to be able to heave a brazier of charcoal at a sentry, or try to steal his rifle, without fear of punishment, for the strain of acting was only temporary. We contrived to give the special sentry who was detailed to prevent us doing harm to ourselves or others such a very hot time that he preferred to do his turn of duty outside our room, For most of the hours of the twenty-four, therefore, we were alone, and could be rational. But we realized that from the moment we left our sanctuary and started on our journey to Constantinople our simulation must be kept up night and day. As soon as we reached Haidar Pasha our escort would probably be questioned about our behaviour en route, and it was well they should corroborate the Pimple’s report of our actions. We agreed there must be no half-measures. Alone or together, in sick- ness or health, to friend and foe, at all times and in all circumstances, we must appear mad. O'Farrell warned us that the strain would be terrible; but not even he, doctor as he was, guessed half what it really meant. A merciful Providence has decreed that the future shall be hidden from man; so though at Yozgad we guessed a little of the horror to come, it did not unduly oppress us. When, at 10 a.m. on April 26th, the two best carts and the four best horses in the Changri transport were brought to our door, we made merry with Moise about this theft from the Afion party. Then we went out into the street. In a mad sort of way T superintended the loading of our belongings on to the carts, getting into everybody's way and flustering still further the already flustered Turks. Hill stood by, perfectly heedless of the tumult that was going on round him, reading his Bible and looking miserable. By way of giving our escort an example of how to humour us, THE LIFTED VEIL. — 339 Kiazim Bey came to the door of his office and told us in Turkish that he was our very good friend, that he was sending us to Constantinople for a holiday, and that the soldiers who accom- panied us were there to guard us against the enmity of Baylay and our other English foes. (All this, of course, by order of the Spook.) 1 bade him a florid and affectionate farewell and mounted the cart. Hill went on reading the Bible, and had to be pushed up beside me. The driver struck the horses with his whip. I cheered, and—my imitative mania asserting itself—struck the driver with my fly-flap. This caused a delay. The driver pulled up, expostu- lating in angry Turkish, and my fly-flap was taken away from me. By this time there was a biggish crowd in the street. We started again. I hugged the driver, got up another cheer, and began distributing bank-notes among the on- lookers. Moise, who had been warned by the Spook what to do if 1 was “ controlled ” into wasting my money, jumped off his cart and collected them again. He had hard work ex- plaining to the ragged mob that I was mad and they must not keep the money, but his fear of the wrath of the Spook if he failed lent a new boldness to his speech and authority to his manner. Thus, in the two best carts obtainable, with Moise and two selected ‘“ gamekeepers in charge of us, and the blessings of the Com- mandant on our heads, we started forth to face the world as lunatics. It was good fun getting out into the open after nearly two years of dismal prison life, and I was not a little sorry for Hill. As a religious melancholic he must do nothing but weep or pray or read his Bible, while his heart, if it was anything like mine, was thumping with joy at being quit of Yozgad and moving westwards towards Europe, England, and Liberty! The time was to come when, with hope near dead within me and the stress of an enforced cheerful idiocy weighing me down, I would long to change places with Hill so that I might pray a little—aye, and weep too! But for this one day I was in luck. The Turks put down my happiness to the fact that I was leaving behind the English who were so intent on murdering me, and going to Stamboul to see the Sultan and Enver Pasha and become a great man in the Turkish Government. So it was quite in keeping with my type of insanity to be light-hearted, and to let off my high spirits in any old act of lunacy that came to my mind: to set the carts racing against one another, howl Turkish songs in imitation of the drivers, shout mad grectings and make faces and throw money (to the annoyance of the Pimple) at the amazed passers-by. The first three days of our journey were very happy. In my réle of “ cheerful idiot " I rapidly got on good terms with Bekir and Sabit, the two sentries, and with the drivers of our carts. Beyond insisting on praying before he would do

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» 340 anything they wanted him to do, Hill gave them no trouble at all. Doc. O’Farrell’s hint that a ‘ suicide ” would complete the downfall of the Constantinople doctors had not been lost upon us, and on the second day out from Yozgad the Spook began to prepare Moise for the " tragedy.”’ It was, of course, out of the question to use the Spook- board, or to hold regular séances, because privacy was impossible, and we did not wish the sentries to see Moise in his rdle of “ sitter,” lest they should report the fact to the Constantinople authorities. The Spook had therefore announced at one of our last séances in Yozyad that we were now so well in tune and so amenable to “ con- trol’ that the use of the board could be dis- pensed with (though we were to take it with us), and after leaving Yozgad messages would be delivered through either Hill or myself, as Moise desired. Moise suggested that the mes- sages should be delivered through me, and asked for some sign by which he might know “whether it is Jones himself who is talking or whether it is the Control speaking through his voice.” The Spook said that the sign of my being under control would be that I would start twisting my coat-button. Whatever was said while I twisted the button emanated from the Spook, and not from myself, and neither Hill nor I would be conscious of it or remember any- thing about it. The Pimple was overjoyed at this advance to more speedy means of communica- tion, for the glass and board method had been painfully slow, a séance taking anything up to six hours. Early in the morning on the second day the drivers asked us to lighten the load by walking. The Pimple, Hill, myself, and the two sentries took a short cut up the hillside, while the carts followed the winding road. The Pimple began giving us a lesson in French, for the Spook had told him to teach us some French words and a few simple phrases in order to enable us to ask for things in hospital. Ever since Constantinople had been fixed upon as our destination Moise had spent an hour a day in giving us a French or Turkish lesson. He was an excellent teacher, but he found us rather slow pupils. “You are lazy and forgetful, both in French and Turkish,” he said, and began to “ Try je suis again and see if you can Suddenly his voice broke. “Sir,” he said, excitedly, fixing his eyes on my fingers. I was twisting my coat-button ! The Spook began to speak through me, and Moise was at once all ears. The Spook reminded him that both Hill and I were now in a trance and knew nothing of what was being. said. Moise was to keep it secret, lest we got frightened. In order to justify, in the eyes of the authorities, the diagnosis and fears of the Yozgad dectors, we were to be controlled into hanging ourselves. “Oh, mon Diew!" said the Pimple. He was genuinely shocked THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ Tais-toi!" said the Spook, angrily, and began abusing him in French. The Pimple made a most abject apology in the same language, which the Spook was graciously pleased to accept. It then went on in English to describe the Pimple’s part in the coming suicide, and to impress upon him the importance of carrying out his orders exactly, for on that alone the lives of the mediums would depend. The hanging, the Spook explained, would take place at night, at Mardeen, which was a little country town some sixty miles from Yozgad. The signal that the hanging had begun would be the extinguishing of the candle in the mediums’ room. As soon as he saw the room was in darkness, Moise was to call out and ask why the light was put out. He would get no answer, and would enter the room to sce what was the matter. He would find Hill and Jones hanging by the neck, close together, and must at once do his best to lift them up so as to take some of their weight off the rope, and shout at the top of his voice for assistance, holding them thus till help arrived and they could be cut down. Any carelessness on his part would mean the death of the mediums and loss of the treasure. The Spook made Moise repeat his instructions over and over again, until there was no doubt that he knew exactly what to do. Then I gave a sigh, let go of the button, and said :— “All right, I think I can remember it now ! Je suis, tu es, il est, nous sommes, vous étes, ils ont.” Moise stared at me open-mouthed. He was a little shaken. “Yes,” he said, “that’s right, except the third plural. But do you know you've been in a trance?” “ Has he ?”’ said Hill. “ I never noticed.” “And in your trance,’’ Moise went on, “ you spoke French—well, fluently, with argot in it!“ “You don't say so! What did I say?” “You abused me for saying ‘mon Diew’!"" “ Nothing else ? ”” “No,” Moise lied.‘ Nothingelse. But surely that is wonderful enough? Oliver Lodge says it is practically unknown for mediums to speak in a tongue they don’t know. You've beaten Lodge.” “ But you've been teaching us French,” I expostulated. “ Pah!" said the Pimple. you never heard in your life!” You used words HOW WE HANGED OURSELVES. On April 29th, 1918, we drove into the little town of Mardeen, and went to one of the few caravanserais of which the town boasted. These Turkish serais are built on a regular model. A big gateway leads into an open courtyard surrounded on all four sides by buildings. These are usually two-storeyed. The lower storey con- sists of stables forthe horses, |the upper of rooms

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THE LIFTED VEIL. 3 “I began distributing bank-notes among the onlookers.”

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342 for the men. Round the upper storey runs a fairly broad veranda, which overlooks the court- yard and gives access to the rooms. The veranda is reached by a staircase leading up from the courtyard. Somewhere in the building there is usually a cotfee-stall, kept by the care- taker, where light refreshment can be obtained. As we entered the courtyard the caretaker bustled forward with his bunch of great keys. He opened room after room for our inspection, They were all stone-floored, low-ceilinged, and devoid of all furniture. Nowhere could we see a place to tie a rope about five feet from the floor. The building seemed to have been specially designed to prevent suicide by hanging. Hill was mooning along with us, reading his Bible as he went and pretending to take no interest in the proceedings, but I knew that the mournful look he bestowed on each room as we entered had taken in every detail. I glanced at him, and he gave the tiniest shake of the head. I turned on Moise. “ Is this the accommodation you offer me—me, a friend of the Sultan?” I said, in simulated rage, twisting my coat-button as I spoke. “This is an insult! Take us where we shall find worthy lodging, or you shall suffer!” The Pimple translated to the caretaker, and asked if he had no better rooms. That worthy closed his eyes, tossed back his head, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Then he pocketed his keys and walked away. We went down into the courtyard. The drivers had already unharnessed. Bekir and Sabit had taken the luggage off the carts, and as the Pimple’s belongings included five hundred pounds of butter, which he was taking to Con- stantinople in the hope of selling it at a profit, unloading was no light task. When the Pimple told them we had refused to stay there, sentries and drivers alike were furious. I added to the hubbub by dancing about the yard in a frenzy and ordering them to harness up at once. Bekir, his face red with anger, took me roughly by the shoulder and growled at me in Turkish. [ pushed him off, and, foaming with rage, informed him that he was reduced from licutenant-colonel (to which rank I had promoted him that very morning) to a common private again, and if he didn't load up at once I[’d have him shot. It was a very pretty little scene, and quite a crowd gathered in the gateway. In the end we had our way. The horses were harnessed, the carts were loaded, and we bumped over the cobbles to the best caravanserai in Mardeen. The sen- tries and drivers began unloading as soon as they got into the courtyard. Their patience was at an end and it was obvious they would humour us no longer. Besides, there was nowhere else to gu. The hotel-keeper told us he had only one room unoccupied. Everything looked very hopeless as we watched him fumble at the lock. Then he threw open the door. It was a narrow room, about fifteen feet long by ten wide, and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. contained two beds. In the wall opposite the door was a small barred window, too low down to be of any use. I glanced at the ceiling. It was high—a good eleven feet above ground-level —and directly overhead, close to the door and about three feet apart from one another, were four solid rings, fastened by staples to the woodwork, that looked strong enough to hold an ox. Our luck had changed. Things could not have been better had we ordered them specially. Bekir and Sabit brought up the luggage and proceeded to make themselves comfortable. An attempt to get them to take up their quarters on the veranda failed. My simulated rage at the first hotel had frightened them; they thought I was in one of my dangerous moods, and stuck to their posts. But there was still plenty of time, as it was not yet sunset. Opposite the door of our room, on the other side of a small narrow passage, was the coffee- shop of the hotel. It was full of a motley crowd of drovers and shepherds. At my suggestion, Bekir, Moise, and I entered it, leaving Hu’ at his religious duties in the corner, and Sabi te watch him. Before Moise could stop me 1 had ordered and paid for coffee all round—it cost a shilling a cup! While this was being drunk I went amongst the drovers and asked confidentially if there were any English in the town, and if any of them knew Major Baylay. There were no English in Mardeen, and Baylay was utterly unknown. In my joy at the news I ordered ten cups of coffee for each guest, and threw a pile of bank-notes on the counter. Moise grabbed it, explained to the crowd that I was mad, and amid much sympathetic murmur- ing from the drovers I was hustled back into my own room. In preparation for what was coming later, the hotel Aubitues had been given a hint of our mental state, and I had seen in the coffee- room what we wanted—a small table, by stand- ing on which we could reach the rings. As an excuse for getting it brought in we ordered a meal, The next problem was to get rid of the sen- tries. While Moise was out of the room ordering our dinner, Hill (pretending to be reading his Bible aloud) suggested that after the meal I should invite the sentries and Moise to step across the passage-way and have a cup of coffee with me. They would probably accept the invitation because they regarded Hill as harmless. While they were away Hill would fix the ropes to the rings, and [I would excuse myself for a moment and return to the room, the door of which they could see from the coffee-room. We would jam the table against the door, stand on it, get the nooses round our necks, blow out the light, and swing off. I agreed. Moise came back with the table and food, and we all had dinner. Under pretence of doing something to the luggage, Hill tied nooses on our two ropes. Tihé sentries did not notice what

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he was doing. Then he began to read his Bible agea:n. I invited the party to coffee. All accepted, except Hill, who paid no attention. We opened the door ; the coffee-room was shut. Our plan had failed! Bekir offered to get a bottle of cognac if we would provide the money. I had a momentary idea of making the men drunk enough to sleep soundly, but it would be too dangerous. Besides, the Turks would expect us to drink level, and we needed clear heads if we were to make no mistakes. So we vetoed the cognac, and I voted for tea. Sabit went out and boiled some water over a fire in the yard. I tried to get Bekir to go and see why he was so long about it, but Bekir had taken his boots off and couldn’t be bothered. Sabit came back with the hot water. I had failed again. As we drank the tea I began to make myself as interesting as I could, and told tales current among Welsh country folk that appealed to the bucolic minds of our escort. I spoke of things seen in the East, and especially of crops and harvests in ant lands. Moise interpreted. The sentries listened intently, for they were small farmers themselves, and asked intelligent and endless questions. Thus they forgot their fears about us, and ten o'clock arrived. But we were no nearer our objective. Sabit began to spread his bedding in his customary place— across the door. “ Before Sabit lies down,” I said, “ I want to be taken to the lavatory.’’ I signalled secretly to Hill to come with us. Bekir and Sabit got their rifles and marched us into the outer dark- ness. The Pimple remained behind. After we had gone a few paces, I slipped an Indian rupee and a Turkish gold lira into Hill's palm and began singing. This is what I sang :-— ** It's up to you to show them some tricks. I'll say it’s magic. You get them keen, Then offer to show them one still more won- derful If they'll stand outside the door while you prepare.” Hill squeezed my arm to show that he under- stood, and I turned to Sabit and asked for a Turkish song. He complied readily enough. By the time we got back to the room we were all singing together, except Hill. He went back to his corner and his Bible. ‘' That last tune of Bekir’s reminds me of one J heard from a witch-doctor in Togoland,”’ I said to the Pimple. “ He was a great magician and held converse with djinns. Ask Bekir if he has ever seen magic.” > Bekir had often heard of magic and djinns, but had never seen any. Yes, he would like very much to see some, but where ? I pointed to Hill, huddled up in his corner, and told them he knew all the magic of the aborngines of Australia. I’d make him show us some, if they wished it. They were delighted at the idea. THE LIFTED VEIL. 343 But Hill refused to oblige. He said magic was “wicked ”’ and he had given it up. “Shall I force him to do it ?”’ I asked. Bekir and Sabit nodded. They were very keen already, and knew Hill usually obeyed me —it was a feature in his insanity that he gave in to me more readily than to anyone else. But to-night he simulated great reluctance. Finally he stood up, the picture of mournful despondency, and slowly rolled up his sleeves. We lit a second candle and placed it on the table. We moved the table to the spot we wanted it—not directly under the rings, but slightly to one side, so that we would swing clear when we stepped off. Then Hill began. It was a very wonderful little performance. He showed his empty hand to the sentries, then closed it slowly under their noses (his audience was never more than three feet away). When he opened it a rupee lay shining in his palm. The sentries gasped—here was a man turning thin air into silver! Could he make gold too? Hill took the rupee in his right hand and threw it into his left three times. The third time it turned into a Turkish gold lira. The sentries, dumb with surprise, took it from his palm, examined it closely by the candlelight, bit it, rang it on the table. ‘It is good,”’ said Bekir, handing it back. ‘‘ Make more, many more.” Hill smiled a little sourly and threw the lira back into his left hand, and it turned back into a rupee. Sabit gave a short, very nervous bark of a laugh. Bekir was disappointed—he wanted more gold. With a look of utter boredom on his face Hill began extracting gold coins from the air, from under the table, from the back of his knee, slipping his harvest into his pocket as he garnered it. The sentries gaped in open-mouthed astonishment. Hill picked up his Bible and made to sit in his corner again. ““More!’’ said Bekir. ‘‘ Show us magic.” Hill turned back. ‘ Would you like to see the table float about the room ? "’ he asked. They would like it very much. “ Then step outside the door while I speak to the djinns.” We all rose to go out, I with the rest. “You'll be out there about fifteen minutes,’ Hill went on; “ better take a candle with you. And if you value your lives don't come in till IT call you. But I want one of you to stay and help me.” I suggested that Moise should stay, and in the same breath twisted my button and told him to leave me behind. It ended by the sentnes going out with Moise quite happily. We closed the door. It fitted badly, and Moise had but to watch the space between the lintel and door to see when our light went out. Darkness was to be his signal for breaking in. The moment the door closed, Hill handed me my rope, and we mounted the small table to- gether. My hands shook so from excitement more

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344 that the ring rattled against the staple with a noise like castanets, and I could scarcely control my fingers to knot the rope. “ Steady,” said Hill in a low voice, “ they'll hear you s already standing with the rope round his neck. His ring and staple had not made a sound. His voice pulled me together, and next moment my task was done. “ Ready 2.” T whispered. “Tm O.K.,” he replied. We shook hands. “Take the strain,” I said. Holding the rope above my head in my right hand, I bent my knees till it was taut about my neck. I could not see Hill, but knew he was doing the same. We did not want an inch of “drop” if we could avoid it. The candle was ready in my left hand. it out, and we swung off into space. T blew A TERRIBLE ORDEAL. To anyone desirous of quitting this mortal coil we can offer one picce of sound advice— don’t try strangulation. Than hanging by the neck nothing more agonizing can be imagined. In the hope of finding a comfortable way of placing the noose we had both experimented before leaving Yozgad, but no matter how we placed it we could never bear the pain for more than a fraction of a second. When we stepped off our table in the dark at Mardeen we simply had to bear it, and though we had arranged to grip the rope with one hand so as to take as much weight as possible off our necks until we heard Moise at the door, the pain was excruciating. Moise did not at once notice that our light had gone out. I revolved slowly on the end of my trope. My right arm began to give out and the rope bit deeper into my throat. My ears were singing. I wondered if I was going deaf, if I could hear him try the door in time to get my hand away, if he was ever going to open the door at all. It was impossible to say how long we hung thus, revolving in the dark. I suppose it was about ninety seconds, but it seemed like ten years. “Hill, Jones, are you ready?” Pimple had seen the signal ! We instantly let go of our ropes and hung solidly by the neck. It was awful. “Hill, Jones!” The Pimple was shouting now. We could not have answered had we tried. The door crashed open. The Pimple saw us, yelled at the top of his voice, and kept on yelling. Somebody rushed past (I was next the door), bumping against me so that my body swung violently, and the rope tightened unbearably round my throat. Then a pair of strong arms clasped my legs and—oh, blessed relief !—lifted me a little. (I found out afterwards it was Sabit, the sentry. The Pimple was doing the same for Hill.) There was soon pandemonium in the room; in answer to the Pimple’s cries At last the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE people came rushing in from all over the hotel. The place was in darkness; everybody was shouting, while the Pimple’s shrieks sounded clear above the din. Then somebody took me by the waist and threw all his weight on me. Through my closed eyelids I saw a whole firma- ment of shooting stars. I don’t quite know what happened after that until I found myself on the floor. I don’t think either Hill or I ever quite lost consciousness, but for a time everything was very confused. At last somebody poured a bucketful of extraordinarily cold water over me, and I half opened my eyes. The first person I saw was Hill. He lay on a bed still feigning unconsciousness, with dropped jaw and = pro- truding tongue. The local expert in anatomy was practising on him the same abominable treatment as I had just undergone. Another gentleman was pouring water impartially over Hill and the bed. The hotel-keeper, in a vain effort to save his mattresses, was tugging at Hill's head so as to bring it over the edge of the bed and let the water fall on thé floor. Hill opened his eyes and began to cry, as Doc. O'Farrell had warned him to do. They con- tinued to pour water over us both until the floor was an inch deep in it. 4 Doc.’s orders to me on “‘ coming to ” had been to be as abusive and noisy as possible, and to curse everybody for cutting me down. It was the only unfortunate bit of advice he ever gave us. As soon as I felt up to it, I tried to struggle to my feet, shook my fist at the Pimple, and added to the general din by roaring out, “ Terju- man chok fena! Terjuman chok fena!” (Inter- preter very bad.) Bekir, who had a firm grip on my collar, thrust me back to a sitting position on the floor and relieved his feelings at finding me so much alive by striking me a heavy blow with his fist under the ear. I paid no heed to him, though my head was singing, and continued to roar, “Terjuman chok fena!’”’ at the top of my voice, but Bekir’s action was the signal for a general assault by everyone within reach. Sabit from behind drove his rifle-butt into my back, a shepherd in front smote me on the head with a coil of rope, and a gentleman in wooden clogs kicked me hard in the stomach. The rope and the rifle had been just endurable, but the clogs were the last straw. An overwhelming nausea came over me, and everything swam in a giddy mist. Meanwhile my melancholic companion in crime was weeping and wailing on the bed. He was a most distressful figure, with his pale con- torted face and streaming eyes and the great red weal round his neck where the rope had been, His shirt was torn half off, and everything about him, from his hair to his socks, was as wet as water could make it. Nobody paid the least attention to him and he wailed on in solitude. The whole population of Mardeen seemed to

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“The candle was ready in my left hand. I blew it out, and we swung off; into space.” Vol. xlvi—24,

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346 THE WIDE WORLD be in the room or in the passage outside trying to get in. Gentlemen with swords, gentlemen with daggers, gentlemen with rifles and blunder- busses and knobkerries ; shepherds and drovers with long sticks, a shoemaker with a hammer, and a resplendent gendarme with a long shining chain. On the table the hotel-keeper was stand- ing; he held a torch in one hand, and with the other exhibited a clasp-knife he had broken in cutting us down. Everyone was talking at once. The Pimple, with fresh marks of tears on his cheeks (he had shricked himself into hysterical weeping), waved his arms and ex- plained over and over again about Hill’s gold trick and how we had fooled them into leaving the room. The mention of the gold fired the mob to search us. They did it very thoroughly, but found nothing but notes. Hill kept the gold out of sight by the aid of his sleight-of-hand, but let them find the rupee. This caused a fresh discussion—the rupee was evidence of the truth of what Moise and the sentries had said, and it must be that the gold was magic gold, and had disappeared into the thin air whence it came. They looked at Hill’s weeping figure with some- thing of awe in their glances. After about half an hour, when Hill and I had begun to quieten down, Moise questioned MAGAZINE, us for the benefit of the crowd, as the Spook had previously ordered him to do. I admitted having attempted suicide, and said I did it because twenty English prisoners were chasing us, and Major Baylay was going to kill me. I managed to work myself up into a great state of terror. It was easy enough todo. I had only to let my body “‘ go,” as it were, and as a result of our drenching, the extreme cold of the night, and the rough treatment we had just come through, it did all that was necessary for a perfect simulation of fear. My teeth chattered and I shook all over as if with ague. The sentries were quite alarmed at the sight, and assured me for the hundredth time that no Englishman could come near me. Then Hill, questioned in the same way, sobbed out that he knew suicide was a yery wicked thing, but I had told him to do it. Moise told him angrily that he was a fool to take any notice of me. Hill turned his face to the wall and went on weeping. His acting was wonderful. Next day Moise told us the “ control ” had been marvellous. My throat was too sore to let me sleep, so I saw that all six of our guards remained awake all night, with their weapons ready in their hands. (To be concluded.) THE DISAPPEARING RIVER. Ws here reproduce a photograph showing one of the curious holes to be seen in the ground of the northern part of the State of Arizona, U.S.A., where scientists have come across the most remarkable volcanic regions ever discovered. Here the great lava fields, with their strange formations, are said to be even more wonderful than those of Southern France. ‘ This region,” writes a correspondent, “‘ embraces hundreds of square miles and includes the Mogollon Buttes on the Painted Desert, the beautiful snow-capped San Francisco Peaks, Mounts Elden, Sitgreaves, Williams, and Sunset Crater, and while all indications of activity date back to prehistoric ages, convincing evidence remains that this region has been at some time nothing short of a boiling, seething inferno. In the vicinitv of Mount Elden is the ‘ Bottomless Pit,’ a rougl fissure in the earth's surface into which the River De Flag disappears by way of an underground passage in the lava strata. here this river reappears no one is able to say. The pit is about fifty feet in depth and, with the small channels leading into it, covers at least half an acre of ground. During the dry season the river ceases to flow, and tourists may, if they choose, go down into this uncanny hole and explore it. A few years ago two men, attempting to investigate one of the subterranean passages in the hole,.underwent the horrifyingexperience of being lost underground for three days and nights. Friends missed the men and sent a searchlight party into the cavern, and they were rescued just in time. Thesé strange caverns and underground Passages of Arizona’s volcanic region are visited yearly by thousands of tourists.”

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©feCaves rn of th ec - Haman piders ao OISE ROORBACH An account of a remarkable hill in Japan which is honeycombed with caves believed to have been made thousands of years ago iby a mysterious race of people known as the “ Earth Spiders.” Scientists can tell us nothing about these rock- dwellers, and the caves themselves are practically unknown and unvisited. HE Matsuyama hills, in the province cf Saitama, near Tokio, Japan, are honeycombed with curious caves. Their origin is shrouded in mystery, though distinguished scholars have —— hazarded many a shrewd guess. Some think they are the homes of an ancient race, called. the Tuschiguma, or ‘‘ Earth Spiders '"— people who lived long before the ancient Ainos. Others think them to be tombs, while yet others are convinced that they are merely shelters used by primitive man when pursued by enemies or ferocious beasts. The caves are all on the southern slope of the hills, and command an extended view of a wide and fertile valley, watered by a winding stream. ‘This strategic position is a strong argument in favour of those who believe the caves to have been the habita- tions, and not the tombs, of a prehistoric race. About two hundred of the caves have been unearthed by the Imperial University of Japan, and doubtless many others still remain beneath the grass and trees which cover the hills. Seen from a distance, they resemble a huge swallow-bank. They are so close together that the inner walls almost touch, and are entered through a long, low, narrow passage-way—so low, in fact, that a man cannot stand upright even in the largest one, while if he wishes to enter the smaller ones he is obliged to crawl on hands and knees, or even worm his way in, inch by inch, on his stomach. Each room is about six by nine feet in size, the ceiling is domed, and along one side is a ledge raised about nine inches from the ground. This was doubtless covered with leaves and used as a bed. The marks of the tool which scraped away the stone walls are still visible. Most Seen from a distance, the caves look like a gigaritic swallow-bank!

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348 THE CAVES OF THE ‘‘*HUMAN SPIDERS.” of the caves are in a remarkable state of preservation, though a few have fallen in since excavation. Though the modern Japanese is not a big man, even he must lay down his burden before entering the caves. I photographed one who was passing a short distance away, just to give an idea of the relative size of man and cave. I also took a photograph of a woman, with her baby on her back, to show how steep is the slope permeated with the caves. No tools, weapons, or household utensils have been unearthed, and there are no drawings on the walls, nor any sign of a pathway outside. The only light comes from the passage-way. The’surrounding hills are still covered with thick forest, and when examining the caves one cannot but think that one is stand- ing on the site of a rock city so old that it was forgotten before even the ancient Ainos, the primitive inhabitants of Japan, hunted and fished in the valley. These caves are practically un- known, except to a few scholars, and are never visited by tourists. 1 excited as much interest among the people as though I had dropped from the moon, and the news of my presence brought the natives from far and near to look at me. ef x0 z pied ; These two photographs show the doorways of the caves. Notice the steepness of the hill and the small size of the openings.

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* about a mile from shore. Rn Stunted 1LLUSTRATEO BY GEORGE SOPER Very few men have come through such an appalling ordeal as that related by the Author and lived to tell the story. Mr. Hoffman can count himself a very lucky man. March 6th, 1898. There seemed to be nothing to greet the traveller but snow. There were four in my party, and we disembarked from our schooner on to the ice, Each man grasped a sled, loaded up with the first goods that came to hand, and started for the beach. Once ashore, we proceeded to haul our belongings up to the foot of the Valdez glacier, a distance of five miles. Our real trials began in crossing this glacier. It was very laborious work dragging a year’s supplics over the twenty-nine miles of ice and snow that lay between us and the valley beyond. The summit of the glacier has an altitude of over five thousand feet, and in several places we had to use block and tackle to haul our sleds up the pre- cipitous faces of the benches or ice terraces. We could get no ‘water on the glacier, except by melting snow or ice, and no fuel save what we brought up from the valley near the beach. It took us nearly six weeks to get over into the Copper River valley, where the travelling was comparatively easy. In May we built boats to get to the lower Copper River country. After an exciting trip of fifteen miles, LASKA looked very bleak and in- A hospitable when I reached it on The Author as he appeared some weeks after his terrible battle with the bear. during which we were swamped twice and stuck on snags and gravel-bars times without number, we reached a sheet of water, thirty miles long by six wide, known as Lake Klutina. We rowed down this lake and camped at the foot of it. On Thursday, July 28th, with a friend, I rowed across the lake, a distance of about three miles ; and, after pulling our boat up on the beach, we proceeded cautiously up the salmon stream, rifles in hand, hoping to get a shot at some of the bears which had been repeat- edly seen by the fishermen. Leaving the stream, we wandered off through the dense spruce timber for two or three miles, until, feeling wearied, we sat down on a fallen tree to eat our meagre lunch. About the middle of the afternoon we turned our steps in the direction of our boat, but had not gone far when we came on the tracks of a bear, along the edge of a piece of swampy ground. We examined the foot- prints closely, and judged that Bruin had been there only a few hours before. As a party of three fishermen had shot at a large light-coloured bear only two evenings before, and claimed that they had wounded him, we thought that this might be his trail, so we proceeded cautiously, with eyes and ears alert, but failed ,to;see anything

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350 of him. We reached our boat an hour before sundown and, grasping our oars with a will, were soon back in camp. Arrived in camp, I missed my clasp- knife, and came to the conclusion that I had left it on the fallen tree in the forest where we had eaten our lunch. I valued that knife, and determined I would go back for it at the first opportunity. On Saturday night I retired pretty early, and awoke next morning about two o'clock, just as dawn was breaking. I rolled over and tried to go to sleep again, but finding I could not, I got up quietly, strapped on my revolver, and, rifle in hand, stepped into my boat and pushed off. There was little or no wind that morning, so I didn’t hoist my sail, but sculled slowly over to the mouth of the salmon stream, where I made the boat fast to some willows, Then I headed into the woods, feeling confident I would soon have my lost knife in my hand again. Try as I would, however, I could not locate that fallen tree. The sun was now well up in the heavens, and the mosquitoes were painfully active. 1 pushed my way through some dense brush from six to eight feet in height, expecting any moment to reach a clearing, when I suddenly heard a crashing sound among the bushes, thirty or forty yards to my right, accompanied by two or three short, angry growls. I realized at once that the noise was caused by a bear, but the thought that it might attack me never entered my mind. Shooting in such a place was out of the question, so I touk a firmer grip of my rifle and made a dash for a clearing which I could see a few yards ahead, I had just gained it, when the bear gave a terrifying growl, and it dawned upon me for the first time that he was doing the hunting, and that I was in for a fight. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see by the swaying of the brush that the animal was coming straight towards me, and was not more than fifteen yards away. I promptly sprang for the opposite side of the narrow clearing, thinking I would get a shot at him as he came out. Just as I was in the act of wheeling around to fire at him, with my finger on the trigger, my foot caught in a root, and I fell backward. I recovered myself quickly, and had gained my feet when, looking up, I saw a monstrous bear, on his hind legs, towering over me like some great giant nine or ten feet in height. I attempted to throw up my rifle for a shot, but the bear made a lightning swing with one of his mighty paws, which tore my scalp and knocked the rifle out of my hands. The terrific force of the blow sent me sprawling » my back—somewhat dazed but by no THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. means knocked out. As I lay there collecting my wits, the bear stood over me and growled ; his hair stood up as stiff as bristles, and there was a wicked look in his eyes. Presently 1 put my hand under me to get at my revolver, thinking I still had a fair fighting chance, but the tips of my fingers had barely touched the butt of the weapon when the animal thrust his jaws into my breast. Failing to get a hold there, he took the whole of the lower part of my face into his huge mouth, and I heard my bones crack as his powerful jaws came together. Somehow | kept my senses, though I realized that the end had come. The bear glared at me like a fiend as I lay there helpless. His nose was within a few inches of my eyes, and his hot breath almost caused me to collapse. I seemed to feel no pain, however, and lay there quietly, wondering what his next move would be. Suddenly he backed off a step or two, as if to leave me. My left arm was in a cramped position, and I rolled over on my left side, at the same time laying my right arm over my face. Like a flash the bear sprang at me again, and, seizing me under the arm with his awful jaws, picked me up and shook me as a terrier would a rat, finally letting me drop in a heap. How many times have I lived it over again, and felt the horrible sensations ! Strange to say, I kept my wits about me through it all, and noted the animal’s every movement. I realized fully that if I moved or showed any further evidence of life, the brute would surely kill me, so I lay there without moving a muscle for perhaps a full minute, while the bear stood over me watchfully. Then, seeing no further signs of life, he turned round and marched slowly away through the brushes, growling as he went. What passed through my mind during the next few minutes I shall never be able to put on paper. My past life seemed to flit before me like a panorama. Finally I awoke to the necessities of the present. No one would ever come to my assistance, I knew, so I must be up and doing while my strength lasted. At least two miles of pathless woods lay between me and my boat, and, even if I reached it, I still had three miles of water to cross ere I could receive any assistance. So, summoning all my resolution, I staggered to my feet, grasped my rifle for a last shot if need be, and headed for the salmon stream as nearly as I could locate it. I toiled along through the brush until I began to feel faint, and then the welcome sound of the stream burst upon my ears, and in a few minutes I stood upon its nearer bank. Seeing my reflection in a pool, I

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HUNTED BY A BEAR. 3st “The hear made a lightning swing with one of his mighty paws.

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352 realized for the first time how badly I was injured. I could see my scalp hanging down over my ear, my chin ripped open, and the lower part of my face, below the eyes, crushed and bleeding. I was quite unable to make any attempt at drinking, but I bathed my hands in the cool water, and that revived me a little. There was a rough footpath leading to the mouth of the stream, where lay my boat—my last hope. I made up my mind that I was going to reach it, and that nothing short of another encounter with the bear should stop me. I started down stream and was pretty well fagged out ere I reached my boat. But I could see the white canvas tents of the camp on the other side of the lake, and that put new life into me. I also observed to my joy that a favourable wind was blowing across the lake. The pain of my wounds was by this time intense, but 1 determined I would cross the lake somehow, and with a last effort I got mv sail up and pushed off from shore. Then I sat down in the stern of the boat and tried my best to reach camp. It seemed as if I should never get there, as the wind was slight and not quite in the direction I THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, needed, but all things come to an end, and I finally made the shore about one hundred yards above our camp. I was only just able to get out of the boat ; than I sank on the bank exhausted. Ina few minutes a man came up to me, and at first he thought I had met with a shot-gun accident. He brought assistance, and one of the men whom he brought recognized me. I was promptly placed in the boat and rowed down to my tent. Two doctors who hap- pened to be in the camp were soon at work on me, and it took over sixty stitches to patch me up. They could not use any anesthetic, so I had to endure the pain as best I could. The condition of the interior of my mouth was the worst feature, as I was almost unable to swallow anything. Suffice it to say that, after six weeks of the most careful nursing, I was able to leave the country by way of the Copper River, in company with a doctor and two others. I reached Seattle about the middle of Novem- ber, and New York a week later. Here I immediately went to a hospital, where I got patched up in such shape that, though I never expect to take a prize at a beauty show, 1 am able to earn a good living. A KOREAN PASSENGER WHEELBARROW. THE queer-looking conveyance seen in the above picture, with a European passenger about to pav a ceremonial cal]. was photographed in Korea. It can best be described, perhaps, as a glorified wheelbarrow, requiring five men for its propulsion Very few such ornate specimens are believed to exist nowadays. The novel construction of this odd vehicle enables it to run quite easily over the narrow paths between the paddy- fields of rice : and readers of a mechanical turn of mind will be interested in the suspension of the seat on super- imposed poles blocked up at the ends. This odd one wheeled conveyance was undoubtedly considered highly impressive and ingenious in its day, but we pre- fer, and should appreciate, our present; mode of travel.

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THE WIDE WORLD M.IGAZINE How to Play Any Musical Instrument A Modern Method (of Proven Phenomenal Success Which Makes Music Intensely Interesting, Easy to Understand, Studied at Home and Quickly Mastered. Positive Results Guaranteed. HROUGH this re- markable Method, without musical edu- cation or special training, without long-drawn-out study, or without learning any complicated “num- ber” or “ear” systems, or “trick-music” or any other makeshifts, you can posi- tively, rapidly, economi- cally, and without, waste of time or energy, learn to play any kind of music by note in your own home. This system of instruction is adapted either to the beginner who does not know one note from another or to the pupil who is already familiar with the fundamentals of musie. This unique and up-to-date system is a startling improvement and advancement over the old- fashioned, long-drawn-out methods employed by private teachers. You are taught with surprising directness and simplicity, making every point so clear and easy to understand that it is utterly im- possible for any one to make the mistakes so common in musical education. Mere children as well as men and women up to the age of seventy have become acromplished players by taking these highly interesting, inspiring and illuminating instructions. The method is thorough, so complete, so comprehensive, so carefully planned and exe- cuted that you will learn to play with ease. Would you be interested in learning: How to multiply and unfold your natural mu- sical gifts? How to increase your appreciation of music? How to promote your intellectual powers? How to teach others to play? How to make money by your playing? How to have true musical skill and knowledge? How to increase your power of enjoyment and happiness? How to win friends through your playing? Cheek. Instrument You Wish to Play Piano Guitar Cornet "Cello Organ Hawaiian Piccolo Harmony and Violin Steel Trombone Composition Banjo Guitar Clarinet Sight Singing Tenor BanjoUkelele Flate Dram and Mandolin Harp Saxophone “Traps Then send for further particulars. This method is time- tried and proven, and tested during the past twenty-two years. Over 250,000 successful, sat- isfied pupils in all parts of the world—and in- cluding all ages, from boys and girls to men and women of seventy —are the proof. Read the enthusiastic letters from some of them, which yow will find printed at the right. Our files contain thou- sands of such letters. When learning to play or sing is so easy, why continue to deny yourself the pleasure of music? Why deny yourself all of the splendid advantages that this method can give you? Just now we are making a special TUITION OFFER to help advertise the school in your neighborhood. No obligation—simply use the coupon or send in your name and ad- dress in a letter or on a postcard. Instruments supplied when needed— cash or credit. U.S. SCHOOL OF MUSIC PROOF I have found your school just what it has me a student's enroll- ment blank for my wife, who wants to learn to play the piano.—H. E. Dantz, 304 Glenside Ave., W. S., Pittsburgh, Pa. MORE PROOF I would not take $100 r the instructions which I have received from your school. been teaching ever since. And now, as I have tried your piano and organ lessons and found them best of all, I want to take violin lessons from you.—Bessie _Rhiddleho- ver, Route 5, Box 95, Carthage, Tex. 1863 Brunswick Building, New York City. FREE U. 8. SCHOOL OF MUSIC, 2 eS a a TUITION OFFER COUPON 1863 Brunswick Building, New York. Please send your free book, “Music Lessons at Home,” and particulars of your Free Tuition offer. ‘Name the pioneer a _ is ool_employing Home Study Methods in ~ Established 1893, 22 years of leader-

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“TWO MEHARIS DASHED TOWARDS ME, AND I RUSHED FORWARD TO MEET THEM.” (SEE PAGE 363.)

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. lost ip the Sahara Told by MARCEL VASLIN AND SET DOWN BY eS ET ONE. LUNES ILLUSTRATED BY é EWE NICOLSON The satel of aviation contain no more thrilling or poignant story than this. Last February the distinguished French General Laperrine set out to fly across the Sahara in an aeroplane, accom- ease Wr two young soldiers. The machine crashed in the heart of the great desert, and there began for the three hapless men a veritable Odyssey of suffering. After seventeen days of agony, gallantly borne, the injured General died. The two survivors, starving and athirst, gave up hope after twenty-six days and attempted to commit suicide, but failed. Rescue came at the very last moment, when they had resolved to shoot themselves to end their misery. ‘T= story of the tragic death in the chapters not only in the annals of the great Sahara Desert of General Laperrine colonial empire that France is building up and the terrible experiences of the in Northern Africa, but in the history of the two young French soldiers who French Army and the brief but splendid accompanied him on his aeroplane flight records of aviation. to Timbuctoo form one of the most moving Laperrine was one of the great figures of Vol. xlvi.—25.

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356 the war, although he was less known than many others from the fact that most of his work was done in the Sahara, among whose sands he died. In accordance with her policy everywhere, Germany incited the Arabs of the French Sahara to revolt in order to weaken the French Army on the Western Front. In 1917 Laperrine, who was commanding a division on the Somme, was transferred to Africa to restore order in the desert, where the Senous: who had been secretly armed by the Germans and Turks, had assassinated the famous Pére de Foucault. Laperrine took up the duty of recon- quering the desert with such energy that, long before the Armistice, he had tamed the savage Touregs and the.rest of the tribes inhabiting the Sahara and brought it back to more or less civilized conditions. He was then appointed to command at Algiers. Before leaving the desert Laperrine, who pinned his faith to the civilizing mission of the motor-car and the aeroplane, initiated plans for the organization of transport ser- vices of this kind, with a view particularly to facilitating the inspection of the various flying squadrons of French troops operating throughout the desert for police purposes. Thorough in everything he undertook, Laperrine decided, although no longer directly concerned in the matter, that he would him- self make a journey by air across the desert from Algiers to Timbuctoo, in order to test in person the possibilities of this form of transport. It was on this journey that he lost his life—as much a victim to duty as any soldier who fell on the stricken field. Laperrine arrived on February 15th last year at Tamanrasset, an advanced French post in the desert, whence the most risky portion of the flight was to be taken across the wastes to Timbuctoo on the Niger, and thence to Dakar, the French port on the Gambia coast. From Tamanrasset to Tim- buctoo—the name of which was for genera- tions a synonym for inaccessibility and remoteness—is a distance of between six and seven hundred miles across absolutely treeless and waterless country. In view of the undoubted dangers of the journey, owing to possible forced landings, two acroplanes were employed, one flown by Commandant (Major) Vuillemin and carrying Lieutenant Chalus and a mechanic; the other piloted by Adjutant Bernard, a French non-commissioned — officer, and — General Laperrine, who acted as his own observer. In the General's machine there also went a young air mechanic named Marcel Vaslin, a lad of twenty, belonging to the 1919 class of conscripts, who had been brought across country from Constantine by motor lorry with other men belonging to the military THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. aviation department to help fit out the machines to be used on the Algiers-Dakar flight. Vaslin had not been originally included in the party that was to undertake the adventure. Shortly before the start on February 18th, however, it was decided to take an extra mechanic, and young Vaslin came forward with all the ardour of youth, and was accepted. Four hours after the start General Laper- rine’s aeroplane, which had lost sight of the one piloted by Vuillemin, crashed in the open desert at a spot three hundred and fifty miles from Tamanrasset, and remote from all likelihood of rescue. The General, whe sustained fractures of the ribs and collar-bone as well as severe internal injuries, lingered for seventeen days in agony, stoically endured, and then expired in heroic silence. His comrades in misfortune buried him in the sand near the wreck of their aeroplane. On the twenty-sixth day after their crasb, a few hours after they had made a v attempt to end their sufferings by suicide, Vaslin and the pilot, Bernard, had_ the miraculous good fortune to be found by a wandering patrol of French native troofs, who came upon them by accident soon after dawn at the moment when they were plan- ning to make a second effort to end their lives. I have had several chats with Marcel Vaslin, and have also been able, through the courtesy of the French War Office, to have access to the military report which he made to his superiors after his rescue. I give below Vaslin’s own story of his terrible experience, compiled from the conversations I have had with him, his military report, and the notes he made in his diary while in the desert. In January, 1920, when I was stationed at Constantine, in Algeria, as mechanic in our aviation section there, I was sent across the Sahara to Tamanrasset, with several comrades to receive the aeroplanes that were to arrive there for the flight to Timbuctco and Dakar. After a frightfully uncomfort- able journey of several hundred miles in motor lorries we reached Tamanrasset on January 31St. Tamanrasset is one of our posts on the edge of the Hoggar Plateau, on the borders of the Sahara proper. General Laperrine’s programme was to cover in a single flight the distance of seven hundred miles between Tamanrasset and Timbuctoo. We were to follow the camel- track for the first part of the journey from Tamanrasset to Tin Rharo at the foot of the Adrar Mountains, which were between us and Timbuctoo, skirt these mountains, and then make a bee-line for our destination. By this plan the extent of absolute desert

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that would have to be crossed was substan- tially diminished, together with the risks, . as we should have been within comparatively easy distance of settlements at three suc- cessive points on our journey. Unfortunately, by a chain of unforeseen circumstances, we failed almost from the start to follow the plan laid down. I had no idea that I should be included in the party until a few minutes before the start early on the morning of February 18th, but when General Laperrine asked for a volunteer to act as his mechanic I jumped at the op- portunity to go. The motors of the two aeroplanes were al- ready running when my offer was ac- cepted, and on the General’s order I immediately sprang into his machine. There was no time to arrange an extra seat, so the General sat on my knees. A crowd of Touregs, or native Arabs, came up to watch us start, together with Lieu- tenant Pruvost, the French Resident in the district, and the great Arab chief, Moussa ag Amas- tane. At 7.30 a.m. the General gave the word to “ Let go!” and both aeroplanes Tose into the air al- most together. It had been arranged that the machines should travel as nearly together as possible, and that, if either of them had to come down, the other should come to its aid. For a few minutes we circled round, in order to get well up into the air; then we went off ina south-south-westerly direction, — fol- lowing the camel-track that led to Tin Rharo. We lost sight of this track, how- ever, when we had gone about ten miles, and then we followed the course of a small stream that appeared to run in the same direction, Major Vuillemin leading, as had been arranged. We soon found ourselves well out in the desert, far away from all landmarks, and had to rely upon the compass alone to guide us. At 11.30, however, the General, who Marcel Vaslin, who tells this remarkable story. He is seen wearing the Cross of the Legion of Honour, awarded to him by the French Govern- ment for his part in the affair. LOST IN THE SAHARA. 357 had been unable to pick up any landmarks since we started, began to get anxious, as we ought by this time to have been within sight of Tin Zaouaten, the next settlement beyond Tin Rharo, and there was no indica- tion that we were anywhere near it. Bernard decided to use our wireless apparatus and call up Major Vuillemin on our companion aeroplane, which was then about a mile ahead of us, to our left. At the same moment we discovered that we had only enough petrol left for another twenty minutes’ flight, and Bernard decided that the only prudent course would be to come down and wait until the other aeroplane came back to find us. The ground below was excessively flat and soft, and was bordered on the north by sand dunes, so that landing should have been easy. There was a steady wind at the six- thousand - feet level when Bernard circled round for a landing facing south, so as to avoid running out on to the sand dunes ; but when we had dropped to about fifty feet from the ground we were hit by a very sharp gust, which almost up- ended the machine on its left wing. A moment later the wind on the ground- level, which was blowing strongly from north to south, caught us and turned the aeroplane completely over. We came to earth with a crash. General Laperrine, who was Lot strapped in, owing to the fact that he was sitting on my knees, was crushed between the wind-screen and my own body and pinned down under the aeroplane. Bernard, who had fastened him- self in when we started, was able to crawl out unhurt. I came to a stop myself with my head buried in the sand, but got off with a few bruises only. When Bernard and I were able to extricate the General, we found that he had broken his collar-bone and apparently some of his ribs, while he had also sustained very painful internal injuries. Everything had occurred so quickly that

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The ill-fated General Laperrine talking to Arab chiefs prior to "the flight. we had had no time to call up the other aeroplane, and now, when we pulled our- selves together sufficiently to look round and see what had become of Major Vuillemin, we found to our horror that he was no longer in sight. We were in absolutely waterless, desert country, covered with soft sand that rolled away as far as the eye could reach, without a sign of a tree or any other kind of vegeta- tion, and only broken here and there in the distance by low hills of the same lifeless sand. Our first thought was to see if our reserve tins of water were safe. We had with us in the aeroplane about five gallons of water for use in case of accident—six half-gallon tins and two of a gallon each. These we found scattered about in the loose sand surrounding the wreck of the aeroplane, where they had been pitched when we crashed, with our tins of preserved meat, tools, spare parts, and other things. But for this water we must, of course, have speedily perished. The heat was frightful when we came down, and it got worse later. I happened to look at the thermometer as we were searching round for our scattered belongings. It was then almost exactly midday, and it registered 45° Centigrade (113° Fahrenheit). When you remember that in France or England go° Fahr. represents a sweltering hot day, you can imagine what 113° meant to us. Our only shelter was the overturned wing of the aeroplane, under which we all crept. ‘The General, who was suffering great pain from his fall, although he hid it from us as much as possible, did not appear to be at all anxious as to our situation, and we, knowing his long experience of the desert, took our cue from him. ‘ Mes enfants,” he said, “let us all try and eat something, and then we will take it easy until to-morrow, and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, consider what is the best thing to do.’’ We accord- ingly ate a few slices of gazelle meat and some bread, which formed part of a luncheon-basket that had been put into the aero- plane for the use of the General, and washed this down with a little of our water. We were all too stiff and knocked about to eat much, however, and when we lay down after- wards and tried to sleep we found it impossible to do so. Towards evening it became cooler, and we took off most of our clothes and lay on the bare sand, under the gentle night wind, but even then our sleep was only fitful. We were all three awake before daybreak, and the General, after consulting his map, decided that our best course would be to start off on foot towards the north-west, in the hope of reaching the Adrar Mountains and Tin Zaouaten. This town was really situated between a hundred and fifty and two hundred miles from where we were, but the General, although without know- ledge as to our actual whereabouts, estimated it to be much nearer, or we should never have started on any attempt to reach it. He calculated that, supposing we had come down anywhere near the point he believed we had reached, we must be about three days’ march from Tin Zaouaten. We accordingly got together what the General considered would be the indispens- able minimum for such a journey, including ten eleven-ounce tins of meat, twenty army biscuits, four ounces of sugar, a pint of arquebuse, six two-litre tins of water and two of four litres, a cavalry carbine, a blanket, a tent canvas, and our personal belongings. At the first streak of daylight we started, and Bernard and I soon found that we had no picnic before us. It was exactly like taking a walk along the soft sand of the seashore above the tide-mark—with this difference, that we were each-carrying two and a half gallons of water and a heavy weight of other stuff. At every step our feet sank four or five inches deep into the sand. We were both as fit as fiddles, or we could not have covered half the distance we did. For the General, with his broken ribs and collar-bone, every step was agony. After marching for five hours the General called a halt for a rest until the worst heat of the day was over. We rigged up our tent with the aid of the carbine, and used

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the water tins to hold down the comers of the canvas. Beneath it we waited for the evening. Water was rationed, it being agreed that we should limit ourgelves to a litre (1} pints) every twenty-four hours. The heat tempted us strongly to exceed this allowance, but somehow we resisted. On the other hand, we had very little desire for food, and a ten-ounce tin of meat proved more than enough for all three of us that ° evening. The General told us he calculated we must be about thirty miles from the nearest camel- track, which encouraged us to think that in a couple of days we might perhaps reach a point where there was a chance of our meeting help. On his orders we gathered together, after a lot of searching, a small heap of dry grass and made a fire that lasted for about ten minutes for the purpose of attracting the attention of any human beings that might be in the neighbourhood. During the night, for the same reason, we fired three shots from the carbine, but without result. By theevening of the next day our shoulders were raw from the chafing of the baggage- straps, and further progress became agonizing. From time to time the General halted and searched the horizon with his glasses, but always in vain—nothing but a flat, dreary, empty waste of sand spread out round us on every hand, without bush or tree or any other living thing in sight. Just before sunset on this second day we reached some rising ground, from which we hoped to catch sight of the longed-for Adrar Mountains ; instead of this we found before us an immense stretch of sand dunes, going back for perhaps twenty miles in depth and running to the horizon on our right and left. All hope vanished of finding a way out of our difficulties in this direction, and our hearts sank into our boots. The General tried once more to find out where we were from his map, bat a glance at his face as he looked up LOST IN THE SAHARA. 359 our march. That night the General showed such signs of weakness that he was barely able to put one foot before the other. He complained continually of his back, and was evidently in a very bad state. Bernard massaged his back with some of the arque- buse water, and as he was no longer able to eat solid food, we gave him some cocoa and condensed milk. When we prepared to start at four o’clock the next morning—the fourth since we left the aeroplane on our fruitless effort to reach help—the General was too weak to stand without help, and could only stagger along with the greatest difficulty. We had to make long halts every half hour, and even then, when we arrived within five hundred yards of the wreck of the aeroplane, his strength gave out entirely, and he could go no farther. Half carried by Bernard, how- ever, he managed to creep along very slowly, and by nine o'clock we got back to the aeroplane, after our fruitless four days’ journey through the sand. We immediately made an inspection to see if the radiator had leaked, and found to our joy that it was still practically full of water, so that for the moment the worst could not happen. We had also brought back one out of the twenty litres we took with us on our journey. With the aid of the antennz of our wireless outfit we managed to fix a blanket to the body of the aeroplane to form a shelter from the worst of the heat. Under this we laid the poor General, and sat beside him to keep him company. He now suffered severely at the slightest movement. This was our fifth day in the desert. That evening, after the sun went down, we drew off eighteen of the twenty-two litres of water left in the radiator and filled our eight tins, which we buried in the sand to keep cool. We calculated that we had a minute or two later showed us clearly that he had failed. There was nothing to be done, he told us, but to turn in for the night and then get back to the wreck of the aero- plane as quickly as we could, before our water gave out. Soon after we began our backward marchnext morn- ing we discovered marks of old camel tracks, but these gave out within a fewyards, and after leaving a note written in Arabic between two stones, we resumed The aeroplane after the crash in the desert, hundreds of miles from any possible help.

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360 enough, by rationing ourselves to one and three-quarters pints a day, to last another six days. As a matter of fact, we managed to make it hold out for another twenty days, and did not drink our last drop until the day before help reached us. How we re- strained ourselves is a mystery ! The days that followed were worse than purgatory, and were filled with nothing but apparently hopeless waiting—waiting—wait- ing for help that never came. One morning I saw a gazelle about a hundred yards off and fired nine shots at it with the carbine, but missed every time. Next day Bernard had a similar failure. Several times we were certain we saw figures moving on the horizon, but had to admit we had deceived ourselves. One night 1 dreamed I had been rescued, and nearly cried with disappointment when J awoke. At intervals we were nearly buried by sand-storms,. On February 28th Bernard was so depressed that he began to make his will, That day, 1 remember, we tried to eat some of our tooth- paste, but found that although it refreshed us for the moment it made us more thirsty than ever afterwards, and so we gave it up— only to return to it again time after time when it tempted us too much, Next day I was convinced that our pros- “pects were so hopeless that 1 wrote a farewell :letter to my. mother and made my own will. Both Bernard and myself were more hopeful on March 1st, however, and busied ourselves ‘in gathering together, one by one, the ther- jmometers and other scientific instruments -attached to the aeruplane. The following “day we tried to attract attention to ourselves by burning a rubber tyre belonging to the “aeroplane and a dust-cover from the motor, »in the hope. that the smoke would be seen ;from a distance. At night and morning also we fired three shots from the carbine with the same object. On March 3rd—the fifteenth day of our ordeal—the General's condition was evidently much worse. His breathing became more difficult, and we began to be very anxious ‘about him, Another sandstorm caused him great distress, and again depressed both Bernard and myself. Bernard on this day fell to studying the General's maps, and eventually came to the conclusion that we must be about seventy- five miles from Tin Zaouaten. We decided that we would make an effort to get to that post, if the General consented, in the hope that we might come across help on the way. On hearing our proposal the General freely gave us permission to make the attempt. “ But, mes enfants,” he said, “if vou go, you will certainly not be able to get back again, if vou fail to reach Tin Zaouaten.” We decided, however, in THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. view of our desperate situation, to make the attempt. After eating a larger meal than usual, to the extent, of two extra biscuits, we prepared to set off, placing the General’s rations near him before leaving. We took with us what we estimated would be enough food and water for four days, and made straight for the sand dunes that bordered the plain in which we came down. We were both pretty far gone, as may be imagined, after our fort- night's privations, and when we had at last succeeded, after strenuous efforts, in reaching the top of the third line of dunes, Bernard collapsed in a heap, saying, ‘‘ I can’t go any farther—I shall have to stay here!’ I was nearly as bad myself, but 1 managed to make Bernard realize that it would be foclish to remain where we were, and that if we went back to the wreck of the aeroplane there was a possibility that, sooner or later, either alive or dead, some traces of us would be found. With enormous difficulty, owing to our weakness, and holding our arms round each other for support, we staggered back tou the aeroplane. When we arrived we found the General so far gone that he had not even had the strength to drink since we had left him. The next day he was unable to eat at all, and could only take a little chocolate with extreme difficulty. It Was only téo apparent that he might die at any moment. If any other evidence were needed we had only to glance up into the sky where, for the first time since we had come down, we saw vultures hovering above us, and heard from time to time the raucous croaks that signified their impatience for Death to intervene. The sight of those accursed. birds filled Bernard and myself with helpless rage. They seemed to know our doom was sealed. When we awoke the next morning, we found the General lying on the sand some yards from his usual place, with blood oozirig. from his mouth. We tried to force ‘some chocolate between his lips; but he could no longer swallow anything. . He. evidently felt his end approaching, for after. a while be said, almost in a whisper, .:‘ Mes enfants, people think I know the desert—but nobody knows it—— It is through my fault that you have been brought to this I have crossed the Sahara ten times. This time I shall stay here.” We had the impression that he would hold out for another day or two, but the end came sooner than we anticipated. Towards midday he asked for water. I held him up and Bernard put it to his mouth. We both lay down again. About three o’clock, when 1 was speaking to Bernard, he said to me suddenly : ‘* It's curious the General hasn't asked for another drink!" We both turned

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LOST IN THE SAHARA. “The days that followed were worse than purgatory, filled with hopeless waiting for help that never came.

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362: our eyes towards his motionless figure, and Bernard, who was lying nearer to him, touched his leg. He had passed away without even a sigh. Both Bernard and myself were now in a very weak state, and the General’s death made us realize that our own end must also be near. We had got to that stage where, if we attempted to stand up, we were seized with such attacks of giddiness that we had to lie down again immediately. We were also seized with fits of violent shivering when the temperature fell during the night, and when daybreak came we remained in a half- frozen state until the sun rose sufficiently to bring back heat to our bodies. Then we again lost all hépe when the heat once more becaine insupportable. When night came we had to face the task of disposing of the General's remains. For the time being we removed the body to the other side of the aeroplane and laid it on the wing, covered with canvas. In the morning we awoke with a terrible sense of loss on realizing that our leader was no longer in his accustomed place. After talking the problem over Bernard and I decided not to bury the body immediately as we had intended, but to leave this sad duty until nightfall, in the hope that help might arrive in the interval. We had now got down to only sufficient water for another six days and food for four days, both calcu- lated on a very much _ reduced basis. We decided to reduce our scanty rations still further, and brought our- selves down to a pint of water each perday. On this particular day following the death of the General Bernard was seized with a terrible thirst, and in his need, determined not to entrench on his water-ration, he smashed open the compass cases and drank the liquid contained in them. When the sun went down we began to discuss, over our evening meal of a single Army biscuit each, how best tu dispose of the General’s body. We had already noted a fairly deep furrow that had been made in the sand by one of the aeroplane wheels just before we capsized on landing, and we came to the conclusion that it would be easier for A stretch of typical Saharan desert, showing the hopeless nature of the country which surrounded the wrecked aeroplane. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. us, in our weakened condition, to deepen this hole with our hands rather than to begin a fresh one. We accordingly scraped away the sand with our hands for about an hour, by which time the grave was sufficiently deep to contain the body, and then we laid the remains of the General in it. In order that the site of the grave, which was situated about a dozen yards from the aeroplane, might not be obliterated by sand- storms, we heaped up the sand over it and placed on top of the mound a spare wheel belonging to the aeroplane. On top of this we put the General's kepi with its wreath of oak leaves in gold, which we transfixed with a wire stay from the wings of the aeroplane to keep it in place. On March 8th, three days after the General's death, we began to give up all hope of rescue. and decided to make our final preparations for death. We gathered together our per- sonal belongings, and each made them up into a little package which we addressed to our families. We attached to these parcels a sufficient amount in cash to cover the postage. The two parcels were placed in the General’s valise, which was deposited for greater safety within the body of the aeroplane. We woke on the following morning with- out further hope of rescue. Bernard wrote the following on the back of an envelope, which he attached to the General’s valise :— “The General is buried a dozen yards in front of the aeroplane. A kepi and a spare wheel have been placed on the grave. Please open this valise. There are letters inside and some parcels to be sent to our families. Everything is ready for posting, including money for the stamps. Many thanks to whoever will do this for us. March gth, 10 a.m. We hope to be able to hold out until the 12th.—BERNARD.” We remained lying down the whole of the following day, ceaselessly searching the hori- zon with our eyes, but finding nothing. We had now used up our last scraps of food, but there was still a small quantity of water left, and so long as this lasted we always cherished a faint hope that we should be found and saved. Bernard swallowed

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some glycerine that he had found in the General’s bag, and I ate part of the tooth- paste, which made me frightfully thirsty. We also chewed some medicinal pastilles we had included in our supplies. By this time we scarcely knew what we were doing. On March 11th matters were still worse. We had eaten no food for two days, and we began to look forward to the relief that death would bring. We reduced our con- sumption of LOST IN THE SAHARA. 363 Bernard flew into a rage and threw the razor blade away into the sand in disgust. I did the same. ‘ We'll finish ourselves to- morrow morning,” he said, ‘‘ with our last three cartridges!’ Soon after we fell asleep. The next morning, the 14th, a strong sand wind began to get up before the light came. I heard Bernard say: “‘ Are you ready ? We'll finish it at midday. I’m still hoping As he said this I threw off the blanket we had over water to less than one and a half pints between us for the twenty - four hours. On the fol- lowing day Bernardgave in and pro- posed that we should make an end to ourselves. I tried to per- suade him not to give up just yet, as we still had a little water left, but he urged that if we did not take the matter into our own hands the end would be terrible. Eventually I told him I thought he was right. That night, at nine o’clock, Bernard got out an electric pocket-lamp belonging to the General, and by its light wrote the following farewell letter :— “This evening, March 12th, at nine o'clock, having no more food or water, we have voluntarily taken our lives, as we cannot understand how it is that, after we have been missing for twenty- three days, we have not been found, if any search has been made for us. Good- bye to the world!” Nevertheless, I succeeded in preventing Bernard from taking the fatal step, and on the following morning we were still alive. This day passed still more wretchedly than its predecessors. We were no longer able to stand. In the evening the thought of suicide came back to us more strongly than ever. We drank our last half-pint of water and then came to a decision to “ do it.” Bernard found in his bag two safet y-razor blades, and we each took one of them. Bernard, who had more courage than I, began first, and made a deepish cut in the artery of his left wrist. I also began to try and cut the corresponding artery, but on noticing that no blood came from Bernard’s arm, I ceased my effort. General Laperrine’s lonely grave in the desert, surmounted by a spare wheel and his gold-laced kepi. us. We did not go to sleep again, but lay thinking. Barely an hour after- wards I heard the grum- bling voice of a camel in the distance. Instantly—I don’t know how—I re- covered strength in some extra- ordinary manner, sprang to my feet, and seized the carbine. Scarcely knowing what I was doing, I fired off the last three cartridges we had in rapid succession. A moment later two méharis dashed to- wards me, and I rushed forward to meet them. I must have run about twenty yards before I collapsed in a heap in front of our rescuers, one of whom was already holding out a water bottle to me. Shortly after- wards Lieutenant Pruvost and two French non-commissioned officers came up. In a few minutes they had pitched a tent and Bernard and I were receiving all the care and attention they could give us, During the day we drank thirty-four lots of tea, with plenty of sugar in it, and two large plates of soup. Our joy at being saved prevented us from sleeping, and Lernard and I chattered together all night like a couple of magpies. The lieutenant told us the next day that he had come across us entirely by accident, as he had not been sent out to look for us, but was on his way to fetch supplies. More- over, from reports that had reached Taman- rasset, he understood we had been found nearly a fortnight before. After marching for between six and nine hours a day for six days, we reached the nearest wells, and six days later we came to Tamaya, which is situated in the midst of a fertile stretch of country, where we rested

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364 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. for twelve days. At the end of that period we returned to the spot. where our aeroplane came down, exhumed the body of General Laper- rine, and set out with it for Tamanrasset, which wereached after a fort- night’s journey on camel-back. difficult duties ; volunteered to take part in a flight across the Sahara, in the course of which he showed proofs of sound tech- nical knowledge, unlimited devo- tion,and unusual energy. Com- pelled to land in the open desert, he suffered the greatest possible physical and moral suflering without allowing himself to be overcome. He On his return to France Marcel Vaslin was awarded, like Bernard, the displayed a spirit coveted insignia of self-sacrifice of a Chevalier up totheextreme of the Legion of A map of the portion of the Sahara where the tragedy limit of depriv- ~ Honour, accom- occurred. The cross indicates the approximate position ing himself, in panied bythe fol- of the wrecked ’plane. spite of the tor- lowing citation :— tures of hunger “* Soldier-mechanic attached to the aviation —_ and thirst, of that which was indispensable for service,a model of conscientiousness and devo- _ his own existence, in order to try and save the tion, always ready to take part in the most life of his injured leader, General Laperrine.”’ A COLLEGE SIGN ON A MOUNTAIN SIDE. On the slope of the Wasatch Mountains, east of | The symbol is whitewashed every year, April 16th Salt Lake City, U.S.A., can be seen an enormous white being set aside as“ U” day. All boy students of the letter “U” that is visible from every part of the Salt University turn out to whitewash their letter, and Lake Valley. It stands for the University of Utah. after the work is done the “ co-eds" serve luncheon The letter was erected in 1907 and is made of concrete. on the lawns. The afternoon is then given up to It measures 123ft. by 123ft. and is ten feet in breadth. sports.

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ur Oravelling Comparon , © Deciding to steal a ride on a freight train, two boys met a particularly ugly-looking foreigner. happened afterwards is now local history. HEN my brother Clifford and I decided to go to Nampa, a junction city in Idaho, about thirty-five miles west of our home, we discovered that the daily local passenger train had left several hours before. How- ever, this did not interfere with our plans, for freight trains ran at all times of the night, and Orchard Station being an inspection point, the freights stopped there for a short time. This fact assured us a ride, providing we were clever enough to elude the train crew. This we found to be exceedingly easy. A west-bound train pulled in about eight o'clock and duly stopped. It was the zoth of November, and one of those bitterly cold, moonlit nights when the frost resembles glistening diamonds. The wheels and brakes groaned with the intense cold as the train stopped. We promptly began to search for a car that would afford us shelter and warmth, for, as you will have surmised already, we meant to steal a ride. After searching the whole train, we came to a box-car with one door ajar. Just then the engine whistled, and my brother climbed hastily up the slats which held the load of coal. As the car was more than half full, he had some difficulty in reaching the top, and just as he was about to enter, a voice within called out in broken English, ‘‘ Where you go?” “Nampa,” he replied, and at the same Oricnak RICHARD HIGBY (LLUSTRATED By E-PRATER What \ y Sir 8S’ moment he caught me by the hands and hoisted me in. We were all close to the door, by now, and I could dimly see the stranger in the shadows. He forced himself in between us, as though ready for some violent act, but on second thoughts he appa- tently decided to postpone it until he had questioned us further. “Where you come from ? ” he asked. “Right here,” answered my _ brother. “This is our home.” ““ What you do ? ” demanded the stranger. “Oh,” laughed Clifford, “we're just riding.” At that moment the train jerked ahead, and the man mumbled something, as though not satisfied, and crawled over the coal to one end of the car. Instinctively we made for the opposite end. Neither Clifford nor I regarded the incident very seriously, but I had already taken a dislike to the stranger’s looks. After going about eight miles or so, we were startled by the sudden blazing up of a match held in the stranger’s hand. We were both considerably surprised, for he had silently crept within a few feet of us, and his appearance in such close proximity made

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366 our pulses beat quicker. Owing to the light being closer to him than to us, we had the advantage of him from an inspection stand- point. I don't believe I have ever gazed into a more villainous face, and Clifford later agreed with me. After peering at us for a moment in silence, he extinguished the match; coal began to tumble as he moved back to his nest, and then all was quiet save for the roar of the train, Soon the freight ran into the siding at Owyhee to allow “ No. 6,” the local east- bound passenger, to pass. We decided to get out, and, while we waited, paced back- wards and forwards beside the cars in order to warm up a trifle before continuing the journey.” Presently " No. 6” passed, and our train began to get ready to move. The car we had ridden in was the most satis- factory, and so naturally we dashed for the door again. Clifford clutched recklessly at the slats, climbed up, and was in the act of poking his head in, when our villainous- looking friend barred the way. “You stay out,” he commanded, gruffly. “ T go alone in this car.” But Clifford thought we had just as much right there as the man had, and I felt the same. Clifford had started to push his way into the car, when I saw the reflection of the moonlight on a revolver directly beside his head. “You stay out ! desperado again. I begged him not to shoot, and persuaded Clifford to come down and let the fellow have the car to himself. We finally had to creep into an open car loaded with rails, and how we kept from freezing is a miracle. Arriving at Nampa, we were almost too cold to climb out of the car. No sooner had we hit the ground when one of the brakemen of the train came along. He saw that there were two of us, and, coming across the tracks, he accosted us, “Come in with us ?”” he asked, “ From Orchard,” I said. “Where did you ride?” “Well,” said Clifford, ‘we came from Orchard to Owyhee in a box-car, with a fellow who wanted to shoot me. The rest of the way we came in a gondola of rails.” a Well, boys, it’s a wonder you didn’t freeze stiff, and a greater wonder you're alive,” said the brakeman. ‘ Kids,”” he continued, “you sure got off easy. Why, do you know it was only back at Mountain Home that that same guy took a couple of shots at me for trving to put him off, and one shot nearly’ got my ear, but 1 figured on getting him at Nampa. I told the rest in which car he was, I shoot |” growled the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and I also told them to steer clear of the train until we reached Nampa.” We had a few more words with him, and then departed down the track towards the town and the nearest lunch-counter for a cup of hot coffee. The brakeman made straight for the yard-office, where the night watchman, or railroad policeman, was sitting by a warm fire after making his usual rounds through the yards. We had hardly drunk our coffee when we heard a shot ring out in the clear night air. Somehow we connected the shot with the desperado and the police, but, being very sleepy, we did not go out to investigate. Instead we engaged a room and were soon in dreamland. About ten o’clock next morning we heard what had befallen Fleming, the unfortunate watchman. When he attempted to arrest the desperado in the box-car, the latter fired at him, and poor Fleming fell between the tracks badly wounded. .The desperado made good his escape. Fleming lay for several hours where he had fallen, but was eventu- ally discovered and picked up more dead than alive. Late in the afternoon word reached police headquarters that a desperate character had entered the home of the Garrett brothers, some three miles north of Nampa, and de- manded food at the point of a revolver. The two Garrett boys were alone at the ranch and were unable to offer resistance. They prepared some food for the unwelcome visitor, and by some means, unnoticed by the desperado, the eldest brother managed to send word to the police. Upon the arrival of the sheriff and his posse, the stranger suddenly realized his position, and, seizing the younger Garrett, ‘compelled him to enter an upstairs room with him. Once there, he quietly locked the door and awaited the posse. The sheriff commanded the desperado to give up and surrender his weapons, adding that the law would deal more leniently with him if he did so. The man, in reply, claimed that he could not understand English, An interpreter was accordingly brought, and it was then discovered that the stranger was a Finlander. “ The sheriff says that if you will give up and surrender your weapons the law will deal more leniently with you,” said the interpreter, The Finlander, however, could not be brought to believe he had not killed the watchman. They .were iying to him, he said, in order to trick him into surrendering. ““T will never surrender,’’ he cried, ‘‘ and if you shoot through the house at me you will hit young Garrett.” The man, though apparently crazed, was

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OUR TRAVELLING COMPANION. “With a crash, he dived through the window, glass and all.”

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368 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. by no means a fool. He could plainly see that if he kept Garrett with him he would be fed along with his prisoner, and he could also compel the besiegers to send up ammu- nition under the threat of death to the boy and suicide for himself. He did actually secure food and ammunition by these means, the articles being sent up through a stove- pipe hole in the floor. The boy was always forced forward to receive the food, and was made to eat the first morsels to insure against poison or narcotics. The members of the posse laid all sorts of traps for the desperado, but the cunning Vinn always outwitted them—at the expense of young Garrett. For four days this odd watching and wait- ing game went on. Once the man turned his back to the boy for a short time, and. Harry stole quietly to the window. He was in the act of opening it when he.was ob- served by the Finn. With a yell of rage the man grabbed him and told him in bad English that sudden death would befall him if he attempted to bolt again. Spite of his threats, the man seemed to have taken a sort of liking to the boy, for he presented him with a ring from his own finger, and told him never to dispose of it. This state of affairs could not last long, and the Finn was soon to meet his fate through a cause that he might have thought of at first. On the fourth day of the siege the des- perado, who had hitherto fought down the impulse to sleep, fully realizing what sleep would mean, became so exhausted that he lay down, and finally went off into a deep slumber. Harry watched him long and patiently until all seemed well; then, with a crash, he dived through the window, glass and all, to the ground, fourteen feet below. Hardly had he struck the sash when the startled outlaw leapt up and dashed to the- window after him. Scarcely had he ap peared at the opening when a dozen shots were fired at him. Though taken at a disadvantage, the Finn was still full of fight, and managed to fire a couple of shots at the posse before disappear- ing. It is surmised that he was wounded in several places. Several of the sheriff's men went into the room below and told him, by shouting, that so far, as he had not killed anybody, it would pay him to surrender peacefully, otherwise they would fire a volley of bullets through the thin floor from below. The Finn, however, persisted in holding his ground, though the men could hear him groaning. After pleading with him for some time, entirely without effect, the besiegers fired several shots through the ceiling. This en- raged the desperado, and, cursing and shout- ing, he leapt through the window, firing at the sheriff's men meanwhile as fast as he could pull trigger. But the end had come. Before he struck the ground the wretched man’s body was literally riddled with bullets. He was picked up still living, placed in an automobile, and the car was headed at once for the county seat, seven miles away, travel- ling at a break-neck speed. Five of those seven miles were never done, however, for the man died on the way. The body of the desperado was placed in the morgue at Nampa, where the public was allowed to view the remains with a view to identification. Nearly forty wounds were found on him, but no one was able to say who he was, and he was finally buried as unknown. All things considered, I think my brother and I had a narrow escape ! _— A Sicilian merchant and his tiny cart, to which is attached a Sardinian donkey—the smallest Photo. by) breed in existence. {A.W Cutler,

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The crater of Mont Pelee, the volcano that overwhelmed St. Pierre and killed many thousands of people. VOLCANOES of MANY LANDS Bernaro SY Lawrence The world’s greatest authority on volcanoes was probably the late Dr. Tempest Anderson. During the greater part of a long life this scientist spent his leisure time in exploring volcanic regions in all parts of the globe, and secured a unique series of photographs, in the taking of which he had many narrow escapes from death. Permission to reproduce some of these impressive pictures has been obtained by “The Wide World Magazine” from the Yorkshire Philosophical Society and Mr. John ‘Murray, the publisher of Dr. Anderson’s work, “Volcanic Studies in Many Lands.” OLCANOLOGY is a branch of science which, in a pecuniary sense, does not pay. However many lava-clad slopes you may climb at the peril of your life in order to peer into the burning depths of craters, you will gain nothing save scientific data and photographic records, the com- mercial value of which is quite inadequate to the tremendous risks to life and limb you have run. Tempest Anderson, the former secretary and President of the Yorkshire Philosophical Society, once confessed that, being a doctor, ‘*a clinical or bedside study of volcanoes ” became his passion simply because it was interesting and had the additional advantage Vol. xlvi,—26. of offering exercise in the open air, and in districts often remote and picturesque. And he certainly went far enough afield. Annually, for eighteen vears previous to November, 1902, he spent the greater part of his holidays in exploring the most out-of- the-way volcanic regions, including Vesu- vius, Etna, the Lipari Islands, the Canary Islands, Iceland, the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, the Snake River and Columbia Basalts, the Crater Lake in the Cascade Mountains in Oregon, and the Yellowstone Park. In 1902 he visited the Soufriére and Mont Pelée as the accredited representative of the Royal Society in conjunction with Dr. Flett, returning to them yin>1907, and

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370 examining, during the same journey, the volcanoes of Mexico and Guatemala. In 1909 we find him among the volcanoes of Matavana in Savaii, Hawaii, and New Zealand. His last journey—in 1913—was to the volcanoes of Java, Kraka- tau, and the Philippines. In his study of volcanoes Dr. Anderson found the greatest as- sistance from photography, and the more he practised the art the more scope he saw for skill in that direction. There need be no hesitation in saying that Dr. Anderson was the greatest photographer of volcanoes who ever lived. In his first series of photographic studies he gave remarkable pictures of Vesuvius during the eruption of 1898, in- cluding one of the‘ cindery ” lava flowing down the hillside at the rate of about a foot or two a minute, ‘the moving rocks making a very characteristic rattling noise”; another of part.of the crater from which red-hot stones were continually ejected, some fall- ing unpleasantly near him and his camera, and a third showing an explosion from near the observatory. Whilst on this journey he also obtained a valuable _pic- torial record of the curious Grotto del Cane, an artificial grotto in the side of a hill forming part of the crater of Lago Agnano, one of the extinct volcanoes near Pozzuoli, west of Naples. Carbonic acid gas escapes The volcanic ridges of the Soufriére, St. Vincent. Dr. Tempest Anderson. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. copiously in this grotto and flows over the threshold. Up to a well-defined line at this level the rock is stained a different colour and a lighted candle held below the line is extinguished. A dog held with its head below it becomes _insensible, though on being taken outside the animal quickly recovers, Two other remarkable photo- graphs of the explorer’s first series were those representing the Rozeau Dry River, at St. Vincent, West Indies, flowing with boiling mud, and Mont Pelée in eruption, a view taken from a slope off St. Pierre on the afternoon of July 9th, 1902. Mont Pelée, in Martinique, naturally had a great fascination for Dr. Anderson, in spite of the fact that in 1902, with Dr. Flett, he had a narrow escape from death owing to an outburst very similar to that which destroyed St. Pierre. He returned there in 1907 and obtained the remarkable picture at the head of this article. In the interval between the two visits Mont Pelée had exhibited a very sin- gular phenomenon, which has been fully described by Professor A. Lacroix. “First, as far as can be ascertained, a dome-like mass of lava formed in the crater, from the middle of which a kind of tower or ‘spine’ of similar material was protruded. It made its first appearance during the night of November 3rd, and grew at an average rate of about thirty- three feet a day till the 24th, when its height is given as seven hundred and sixty-one feet (five thousand one hundred and sixty- seven feet above the sea). Then it began to decrease, not by sinking down, but from theconstant break- ing away of large fragments, till its height was dimin- ished by almost five hundred feet. On February 7th, 1903, anew, though less rapid, period of protrusion be- gan, and by July 4th it had reached one thousand nine hundred and sixty- nine feet above the

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VOLCANOES OF MANY LANDS. 37t Soufritre in St. Vincent, They found that the crater was about fourteen hundred feet deep and con- tained three lakes of greenish-tinted water, one of them boiling vigorously and throwing up jets of steam and mud, Rising steam and drifting mists prevented the tak- ing of satisfactory photographs, but when Dr, Ander- son visited the volcano again in March, 1907, in order to study the The Mexican volcano of Iztaccihuatl. old crater-lake, or five thousand two hundred and sixty-seven fect above the sea ; and then it gradually collapsed, till at the time of Dr. Anderson’s visit only a stump of it was left in the middle of a heap of ruins.” Our first photograph, said another vol- canologist, Professor Bonney, commenting on his fellow-scientist’s photographic docu- ments, shows this stump rising as a dark boss on the right-hand side, and beyond it, seen through drifting clouds, is part of the wall of the crater which was formed on that tragic summer day of 1902 when the top of Mont Pelée split and St. Pierre, a flourishing seaport with nearly thirty thousand inhabit- ants, was practi- cally wiped out of existence. This picture was the clearest view the intrepid photo- grapher could ob- tain, though he twice ascended the mountain. What is the ap- pearance of the very bottom of the crater of an active volcano ? Dr, An- derson and _ his friend, Professor Flett, solved this interesting ques- tion when they ascended to the summit of the The advanced stage of an explosion of Stromboli, further effects of “denudation” and the return of vegetation, he succeeded in getting a most satisfactory negative. His pictures showed very plainly that the walls of the great crater were in most places nearly vertical and formed of beds of tuff and lava, occasionally intersected by dykes. The bottom was still a lake of greenish water, half a mile in diameter, but it was no longer boiling. For the time being the strength of the volcano was exhausted. Vegetation, during this pause, had begun to assert itself once more by clothing the flanks of the mountain up to fifteen hundred feet

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372 with luxurious grass, herbaceous creepers, shrubs, and tree-ferns. The dangers that have to be faced by vol- cano photographers are well exemplified by a picture—unfortunately crowded out—of Dr. Anderson’s fellow-traveller, Mr. Yeld, cau- tiously advancing to the rim of the crater of Vesuvius in order to test its solidity. On the occasion of this visit—in April, 1906, shortly after the eruption of that year—the crater was heart-shaped and had about doubled in size since 1872. ‘‘ Fumaroles ” were noticed near the rim, rumblings were heard, and clouds of smoky steam were occasionally discharged. As a matter of faet, the eruption was still in progress, and Dr. Anderson succeeded in photographing explosions from the principal cone. One of the most interesting volcanoes in the world is Stromboli on the Lipari Islands, which Dr. Anderson first visited in 1888 and afterwards in 1904. Stromboli, like its companion, Vulcano, is hardly ever at rest ; ever since prehistoric days it has been ejecting torrents of stones, lava, and smoke. Both Stromboli and Vulcano—which, Pro- fessor Bonney points out, is the traditional site of the lame god’s forge and the mouth of hell in some Christian legends—are dangerous neighbours to those who are obliged to live near them, or who havea fancy to explore their molten depths. The manager of the sulphur works, who lived with his family in a pleasant villa a few hundred yards from the base of the cone of Vulcano, was surprised one night by an eruption and had to seek shelter in the recesses of the crags near the seashore. plants, Popocatepetl, another well-known Mexican peak. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Vuicano’s heavy artillery opened fire upon them unexpectedly, and rocks a yard in diameter fell on the roof and crashed through into the rooms below. One glowing mass actually fell before them on the floor of the dining-room as they opened the door in order to pass through to the back of the house. This eruption continued for at least a year. Stromboli behaves every bit as badly during its spells of activity, and Dr. Anderson was fortunate on more than one occasion in obtaining actual photographs of terrific explosions. A very remarkable picture of the “‘advanced ” stages of an explosion is also reproduced. Professor Sollas in his book, “The Age of the Earth,” has graphically described similar explosions, which can be watched from quite near the vent of Stromboli. But, as he points out, there is no telling how violent the next out- burst may be, and the observer must keep a sharp look-out for falling fragments of half-cooled lava. One large mass—a block of lava now on view in the Geographical Museum of Trinity College, Dublin—actually fell between him and his companion. A small eruption from Etna was witnessed by Dr. Anderson, Professor Bonney, and Mr. Yeld, in April, 1908. Sounds resembling the firing of distant artillery could be heard and dense clouds of smoke were seen to rise from the Val del Bove. Débris was evidently falling from these clouds—many of them of curious shape —and the force of the explosion was sufficient to project bits of scoria, as large as nuts, toa distance of three miles. On the occasion of this eruption—which was from only one “bocco” in the Val del Bove—the lava stream, ac- cording to the description of an eye-witness, was between a_ mile and a mile and a half long, with an average breadth of about a quarter of a mile. Dr. Anderson’s experiences among the volcanoes of Mexico were ex- tremely _ interest- ing. He went there, and thence to Guatemala, late —in the summer of 1906. He was unable to reack the actual sum- mit of Popoca- tepetl (seventeen

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VOLCANOES OF thousand eight hundred and six- teen feet), but got sufficiently near to take the very interesting photo- graph reproduced on the previous page. No eruption of this volcano is on record, but great jets of hissing steam shoot up in places and deposit layers of pure sul- phur on the flanks of the ice-clad vol-, cano. The local industry in sul- phur is said to be the most elevated in the world. About fifty tons per annum are collected. Avalanches of rock and ice are also con- stantly falling from the mountain. Barely ten miles from the summit of Popocatepet! rises Iztaccihuatl (seventeen thousand three hundred and eighteen feet), or the ‘ White Lady.” In his ascension of Xinantecatl—the " Naked Lord ’—Dr. Anderson had better luck. He succeeded in reaching a point (about fifteen thousand feet above sea-level) whence he could obtain good photographs of this extinct volcano. Colima, on the other hand, is still active ; it rises some forty miles from the Pacific coast to a height of about five thousand five hundred feet. Here a minor adventure occurred to Dr. Anderson and his two Mexican guides. They were overtaken by darkness on some crags, and though they could communicate with their camp by shouting, they had to pass the night in the open. Sleep was almost impossible, and though they returned to shelter early next morning they had to spend the remainder of the day in rest. The following day was spent exploring the neighbourhood of the craters, in one of which they witnessed an explosion, accompanied by clouds of steam and volcanic dust. The volcanoes of Guatemala, which form a series of cones from ten thousand feet to twelve thousand feet in height parallel with the Pacific coast, supplied Dr. Anderson with an abundance of notes and some exceedingly fine photographs. One of his- most interesting pictures is that of a “* bread-crust ’’’ bomb in the crater of Cerro Quemado, a volcano which has been’ in- active, apart from a small eruption im 1891, since 1785. The peculiar structure of the MANY LANDS. 373 The crater of Xinantecatl. * bread-crust "" bombs shown on the next page is not easily explained. Thirty-five mules south-east of Cerro Quemado 1s Atitlan (eleven thousand five hundred and seventy feet), which emits steam only. A few miles to the south of Cerro Quemado is Santa Maria, which was supposed to be extinct until October, 1902, when a lateral outburst took place and partially destroyed the luxuriant vegetation on its more northern slopés. In 1909 Dr. Anderson visited and photo- graphed the extensive belt of crater-cones, mud volcanoes, fumaroles, geysers, and hot springs in New Zealand. He then pro- ceeded to Savaii, the westernmost and largest of the Samoan Islands, and there spent several weeks, studying the lava fields, etc., of Matavana, approaching as nearly as possible to places where the liquid material was still flowing, and actually visiting the crater from which it was issuing. He watched the glowing streams as they plunged into the sea, and the sight, witnessed from the deck of a vessel, was, as will be realized from his description, truly wonderful and awe-in- spiring. “ The glare from the incandescent lava in the crater, reflected on the clouds, is visible for a distance of fifty miles or more, while on nearer approach the spectacle of a number of streams of red-hot lava descending into the sea and raising columns of illuminated vapour is very remarkable. “As to the crater of this volcano, the surface is in a constant state of ebullition, though not always to the same degree in different parts. Some of the boultings rise in veritable fountains of incandescent liquid basalt ten, twenty, or even possibly at times fifty feet high. The whole mass~of the lava is at a

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374 brilliant white heat, visible as such even in bright sunlight, but a darker scum is con- tinually forming on the surface, especially when the trade wind blows strongly on it. These pieces of scum, like ice-floes, break up and flow down to the north-eastern end of the crater, where they and the liquid lava disappear down a hole, or rather tunnel, at the foot of the cliff. The tunnel is perhaps Guatemala. thirty feet wide ; its roof rather low, and is nearly touched by the surface of the lava, which rushes under it at a steep slope with the velocity of a cataract. Truly an awe- inspiring sight!” During this and previous eruptions the lava flow, covering the coast for a distance of nine miles, destroyed four villages and the town of Saleaula, filling up the shallow sea until it reached the reef and pouring over the cliffs into the deeper water at their base. Dr. Anderson watched the molten material from a boat and studied the strange forms which the lava assumed on being rapidly cooled by contact with the water. When the discharges were more active, explosions were almost continuous, and the whole was obscured by clouds of steam from which fragments of red-hot lava and showers of black sand were seen to fall. When the lava was flowing in smaller quantities, explosions were much less frequent, and it extended itself, as the surface cooled, into buds or lobes with a narrow neck, like a prickly pear, one of which would rapidly increase in size until it became as large as a sack or pillow, or perhaps stopped short at the size An extraordinary “bread-crust bomb” in the crater of Cerro Quemado, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, of an Indian club or a large Florence flask. Sometimes the neck supplying a new lobe would be several feet long and as thick as a man’s arm, before it expanded into a full- sized lobe; more commonly it would be shorter, so that the fresh-formed lobes were heaped together. They looked red-hot, even in daylight. Dr. Anderson’s words reminds one of another _ thrilling and famous de- scription of an encounter between red-hot lava and the sea—that given by J. D. Dana in_ his “‘ Characteristics of Volcanoes.” Writing of the lava flow of Ki- lauea, in Hawaii, he says that the molten material flowed a distance of eleven miles, sweeping away forests and de- stroying vegeta- tion, after which it plunged into the ocean ‘with loud detonations. The burning lava, on meeting the waters, was shiv- ered like melted glass into millions of particles, which were thrown up in clouds that darkened the sky and fell like a storm of hail over the sur- rounding country. The light was visible for over a hundred miles at sea, and at the distance of forty miles fine print could be read at midnight.” One of Dr. Anderson’s most remarkable photographs shows the crater of Kilauea, which has the enormous circumference of about fifteen miles. Shallow for its size, it is a veritable cauldron of lava, commonly “ frozen’ in most parts, which at times rises till it threatens to overflow and then falls again. Two pools of molten lava—one called Halemaumau, the other the New Lake —are to be seen in this gigantic crater. In the case of the latter, that depicted by Dr. Anderson, a large part of the surface is usually covered with a black crust, which is con- stantly cracking and breaking up, to be immediately engulfed in the seething mass below. This particular photograph—a night view—was taken by the light of the crater itself. In 1913 Dr. Anderson spent six weeks visiting the volcanoes of Java. He took

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VOLCANOES most interesting photographs of Guntar and Pap- andayana, of Te- laga Bodas—the White Lake—a crater on the volcanic mass of Galunggung, Tenga, Bromo and Tangkuban Prahu. Galunggung bears an evil name, for it was this volcano which caused such frightful havoc in 1822, The catas trophe came with frightful = sudden- ness — without a warning of any kind, in fact. Suddenly, says an eye-witness, a frightful thundering was heard, and from the top of this apparently extinct volcano a dark dense mass was seen rising higher and higher into the air, and spreading itself out over the clear sky with such appalling rapidity that in a few moments the whole landscape was shrouded in the darkness of night. Then a deluge of hot water and mud shot up from the crater like a waterspout and poured down the mountain sides, sweeping away trees and beasts and human beings in its seething tide. At the same moment stones, ashes, and sand were projected to an enormous height into the air, and, as they fell, destroyed everything This remarkable photograph, taken at Savaii, shows the immense clouds of steam caused by a stream of molten lava flowing into the sea. OF MANY LANDS. 375 within a radius of twenty miles, while quantities of the ejecta fell even beyond the river Tandoi, forty miles off. A second eruption followed four days later, even more violent than the first. Hot water and mud were again vomited forth, and great blocks of basalt were thrown to a distance of seven miles from the volcano. The rivers bore down to the sea the dead bodies of men and the carcasses of deer, rhinoceroses, tigers, and other animals. The official accounts state that a hundred and fourteen villages were destroyed and forty thousand people killed. From Java Dr. Anderson travelled to Krakatau, the largest of a group of islands in the Strait of Sunda, between Java and Sumatra. There he photographed the celebrated Rakata volcano, which in the summer of 1883 erupted and com- pletely destroyed two-thirds of the island. This _ eruption was so stupendous that its effects were observed even in England. The materials of the dust-cloud were shot twenty-five miles above the surface of the Cloud effects on the Guatemalan volcano of Atitlan. earth, and the

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376 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. finer particles are believed, according to thousand miles away, and the waves of scientific authorities, to have made more atmospheric disturbances were proved to than one circuit of the globe. Their have travelled round the earth four times out and thrice back. Before returning to England the in- defatigable Doctor went to Luzon, the most northern is- land in the Philip- pines, and there visited the volcanic masses of Cami- guan and Babuyan Claro, both of which are occa- sionally active, The grand isolaten voleano of Mayod (eight thousand nine hundred and seventy feet) pos- sesses, perhaps, the most perfect cones of that elevation in the world. It was this voleano which was-tesponsible, on for one of the most appalling volcanic catastrophes on The floor of the crater of Kilauea, Hawaii, photographed at night. record, The rain of ashes was presence, it was supposed, caused the won- such as to bury whole villages and derful after-glows which characterized the their coco-nut groves to a depth of months of November and December in over a hundred and twenty feet, and England. The reports of the explosions more than twelve thousand people lost their were heard at places more than two __ lives. PA Ban a | F you are interested in psychology and the uncanny, don't miss a remarkable story that will appear in our next issue. It is entitled “WAS IT COINCIDENCE?” and deals with a white man’s encounter with a Zulu witch- doctor and the tragedy that followed. February rst, 1914, |

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Told by and set down by W. F. GITCHELL. .,a Forest Tire MARGARET HOLCOMB, JA Girl in, ILLUSTRATED BY W. G. WHITAKER Uncommon experiences are not infrequent in the lives of trained nurses, but very few of them, luckily, are called upon to face such an ordeal as that here described. But for Miss Holcomb’s pluck the story might have had a very different ending. practising in the City of Seattle, Washington. The population at that time was much less than at the present day, and the surrounding districts-—which are now cleared of forest growth and have been transformed into populous communities— were then, in some direc- tions, still heavily wooded. In certain localities, in fact, the virgin forest still retained all its primitive characteristics. One day in September I received a call for my ser- vices from a Mr. Parsons, who requested me_ to attend his wife at their home, which was situated in an outlying forest dis- trict known as West Seattle, about six miles from the city itself. It so happened that I was disengaged at the time Mr. Parsons called, so 1 quickly made pre- parations to accompany him back to his home, and it was not long before we were on the way. To reach the house it was necessary for us to take an electric car to a certain point on a railway line that had but recently been constructed. T the year 1909 I’was a trained nurse, Miss Margaret Holcomb, the nurse who tells this exciting story. From the place where we left the car we had to walk a distance of about two miles through the forest, over a rough road which was bordered on each side by wild thickets of trees and undergrowth. To add to the discomforts of this trip, a smoke-haze coming from forest fires at points not far distant beclouded the woods and overcast the roadway, the acrid fumes making our eves smart. Mr. Parsons told me that on several occasions the forest fires had come near his home, but he and his brother had been fighting them for a week, and had kept them under control so far as their own locality was con- cerned, A number of families living farther out, however, had been obliged to leave their homes and seek safety elsewhere, and in some instances their houses had been burned, The circumstances did not scem very assuring, for Ir oned. that such a condition of affairs was likely to prove harmful to my patient, but I said nothing further at the moment. At the end of our journey we came to the residence of the Parsons family, which

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378 consisted of two rude log huts built close together and situated right in the midst of a forest tangle, with hardly any clearing to give yard space or relieve the monotony of the surrounding woodlands. The tall firs towered high above the buildings, the out- lines of their summits almost lost in the smoke-haze. Things looked so ominous in respect to the fires and smoke that [I suggested to Mr, Parsons that it might be better for his wife to go to the city with me and remain there until such time as she could safely return. He would not consent to this proposal, however, so [ took up my duties with mis- givings which, before long, proved to be fully warranted. The family, at the time of my arrival, consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Parsons and a little son about a year old. Mr. Parsons’ brother also lodged with them. Three days later another little son was claiming part of my attention, and the re- sulting deviation from the regular routine which I had been following was very welcome to me. Up to that time nothing had occur- red to furnish me with mental relief from the depressing atmosphere of that lonely, forest- bound, smoke-wreathed house. The attend- ing physician made only one call, and I envied him when he departed for his return trip to the city, where the air was more breathable and one was not buried alive in gloomy forest solitudes. Up to the fourth day of my stay no per- ceptible change had taken place in the con- dition of the fires. We did not seem to be in any immediate danger, and although the smoke-laden air was very unwholesome, I became so accustomed to its presence that [ regarded it more as an unavoidable nuisance than a harbinger of danger. On the morning of this fourth day the condition of my patients and the fire situation seemed so satisfactory that the two men— who had not previously left the place, or its vicinity, for several days—decided to go to the city to attend to some business which was claiming their attention there. They stated before they left that they might be detained until a late hour that night. In the existing circumstances I did not greatly relish the prospect of being left alone with Mrs. Parsons and the little ones for any great length of time, particularly during the night hours, but I could do nothing but quietly resign myself to the inevitable. It was about seven o'clock in the morning when the men left for the city, and I at once felt an increased anxiety respecting the safety of those in my charge. The smoke seemed gradually to become more oppressive as the morning hours passed, and towards nvon [ noticed with appre- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, hension that a light breeze had sprung up. Instead of clarifying the air, it seemed to intensify the smoke-clouds. into a strong wind, and it was speedily obvious to me that it was blowing towards our location from the direction of the fires. One of the cabins was used only as sleeping quarters for the men, while the other, which was divided into two rooms, was occupied by Mrs. Parsons, the infants, and myself, and was also used for general living purposes. One of my first actions, after noticing that the smoke-clouds were becoming denser, was to make an inside examination of the win- dows, the one and only door, and the log walls of our cabin for the purpose of finding the openings through which so much smoke was entering the building. I found that the crevices between the logs had been roughly filled in with a substance looking like clay, and that the work was in such a bad condition that namerous chinks were left through which smoke was con- stantly being admitted. I succeeded in partly overcoming this evil by damping and fastening some spare bed coverings to the outside walls, so that they covered the worst places, and by fixing rags and small garments where they were needed at the door and windows. As I went about my work I looked out of the windows very frequently, and noted with increasing fear that the conditions outside were steadily becoming worse. The family obtained their drinking water from a spring located about two hundred feet from the cabin, and it presently occurred to me that I had better get in an extra supply to meet possible emergencies. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when, with two pails, I left the house for the spring. Close to me the path was visible as I proceeded, otherwise I might have wandered from the right direction, for the smoke was as thick as a fog. I hastened forward in a stooping position, in order to keep my head at a lower level, where the smoke seemed to be thinner, and soon reached the spring. There [ paused to regard the surroundings more attentively. The wind had by this time died down until almost a calm prevailed. This enabled me to hear sounds more distinctly and to de- termine their source. My attention was first arrested by a low, buzzing noise that came from the forest round about —something that had not attracted my notice before. As I listened [ also became aware of crackling sounds coming from difterent directions, such sounds as are made by flames eating their way into the branches of the fir-trees and by burning * brushwood,

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A GIRL IN A FOREST FIRE. 379 “J brought water from the spring and threw it upon the coverings which I had fastened to the sides of the cabin.”

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380 With a start of horror I realized that the fire was approaching—indeed, was almost upon us! With a vision quickened by my fright I strove to penetrate the surrounding murkiness, and as I did so I could discern dim ribbons of darker smoke rising above the trees not far away. Just then an ash-flake, carried by the light breeze, fell into one of my pails, and brought my distracted mind back to the object of my errand. Quickly pro- curing some water, I hastened back to the cabin. There I halted outside the door to collect my thoughts and decide what would be the best thing for me to do in our predicament. It would probably be several hours before the two men returned, and ere that time we might be at the fire’s mercy. It was “up to me ” to do something, and to do it quickly. I reasoned that, in Mrs. Parsons’ delicate condition, it would not be advisable to tell her of our danger until the situation became so desperate that the truth could not longer be denied her. Before entering the cabin I decided, as a first measure, to do what I could to protect the buildings, and for three of four hours thereafter [ devoted my efforts principally to this task. * I brought water from the spring several times and threw it upon the coverings which I had fastened to the sides of the cabin we occupied, and upon the roofs of both build- ings, which, fortunately, were not high. But to reach the roofs and distribute the water there it was necessary for me—having failed to find a ladder—to erect a rude plat- form consisting of a box resting on two chairs, which I used to stand upon and shifted from place to place as I needed it. The trips to and from the spring were very trying for me. My efforts in carrying the water caused an increased respiration, and I took so much smoke into my lungs that at times it was necessary to enter the cabin to obtain some purer air. During all this time I closely watched the aspect of the fi and it was terribly evident to me that they were gradually drawing nearer and becoming more active. I had heard that earth is a good preventive for fire, so having found an old shovel, [ began throwing quantities of soil upon the roofs. My platform was of little service to me for this work, and before long the labour caused me such physical torture that I could continue it only after intervals of rest. My back and arms ached, my palms became blistered from handling the shovel, and the action of the choking smoke on my Jungs and eves added further agony to the task. But, although I was finally in a condition bordering on collapse, [ persisted until the roofs were fairly well covered. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Mrs. Parsons’ attention had been at- tracted by the noise of the earth falling upon the roof, and she asked me about it. I told her what it was for, without explaining its full purport, and asked her not to be alarmed. Meanwhile signs that the fire was creeping closer were gradually increasing. The mur- mur and crackle of the flames sounded nearer and nearer, and the air grew more heated. As I watched, with smarting and blinking eyes, for any changes that the scene might undergo, I thanked God for what the two men had done to protect the place against the terrible danger which now threatened us, even though its only benefit might be to give us more time. They had cut and cleared away the underbrush over a consider- able area encircling the place, felled numbers of small trees and removed them, thrown up long ridges of fresh earth at several points, and burnt much of the dry grass. These measures, and the dying down of the wind, had no doubt served to make the advance of the fire much slower. Though the speed of its forward movement had thus been retarded, however, it had now crossed the protecting spaces and was steadily bearing down upon us. At six in the evening I could see, through the thick smoke-cloud, the flashes of flames in the tree- tops, and they conveyed to me the dread message that our time of greatest peril was drawing near. The shades of twilight had begun to gather and the glare of the flames was thus accentuated. As the evening ad- vanced they gradually created an encom- passing nebulous light which cast a weird glow over the whole scene. At eight o’clock live embers were falling with frequency upon the buildings and, almost frantic with fear, I again drenched the wall coverings and made an attempt to reach the spring for more water. But [ was forced to turn back, for my road was now closed by fire and dense smoke, thus adding a new terror to our plight. The supply of water which we had on hand would but partly filla pail, and with no means of getting more it seemed that there was no hope left for us. The noises from the fire could now be plainly heard inside the house, and whenever T opened the door, in passing in or out, they reached Mrs, Parsons with increased loudness. She asked me about them, and [had to smother a sob as IT unwillingly told her the truth. With a false air of assurance I told her that we must be brave—that the men might arrive before long, and things would prob- ably take a turn for the better pretty soon. At times I heard the sound of falling trees close by, and presently, as I stood fanning the air above the heads of Mrs. Parsons and

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A GIRL IN the baby, one fell with a resounding crash so near to the cabin that some of its branches hit the building with a noise that made us cry out in alarm. Regaining my composure, -I cautiously opened the door and looked out, not knowing what new terror awaited my gaze. From where I stood, however, no fire could be seen near the building, so I slipped round to the side of the house where the tree was lying. So far as [ could see its branches had been stripped of green growth by the fire and it exposed the building to no immediate danger. The tree was large enough to have smashed in the roof had it fallen across the building, and I shuddered as 1 thought of the consequences that would have followed such a happening. The activity of the fire was now becoming greater in nearly every direction, and it was evident that things were growing very critical for us. This fallen tree was a warning of what was likely to follow, It was now a fight for our very lives, and under the impulse of desperation I resolved to take any risk that might offer a means of saving us. The nearest neighbours were a Mr. and Mrs. Fox, an elderly couple who lived about a mile and a half from the Parsons’ place, and just off the road leading to the railway line. It was a desperate chance, but the thought struck me that if I could reach the Foxes, help for my patients might be sum- moned from the outside. I did not know what might be in store for me in venturing upon such a trip through fire and smoke, but it seemed our only hope, and it was far better to make the attempt than remain inactive and thereby invite almost certain death for all of us. Summoning up all my courage, I hastily entered the cabin and told Mrs, Parsons what I had decided to do, and how necessary it was for our safety. She remonstrated with me, warning me of the danger attending the journey, but I made her realize that to do less would be to surrender ourselves to the impending calamity. It was the work of but a few minutes to make the preparations which [ thought necessary for the trip. To give myself freedom of action and less exposure to danger, I exchanged my looser garments for a pair of men’s trousers and a short coat which I found, together with a tight-fitting cap which I drew down over my head after tucking my hair compactly into it. Then, with some of the little water that remained, I saturated a large-sized cloth with which to cover my nose and mouth and prevent tvo much smoke from entering my lungs. Thus equipped, | went to Mrs. Parsons’ bedside, bent over her and the little ones, and kissed them. I must confess that, as I A FOREST FIRE, 381 did so, I shared with the mother a few despairing moments of surrender to the grief and fear that we both felt. Then, leaving the cabin, I made for the roadway, bending low and holding the cloth to my face as I moved quickly along. Blazing trees could dimly be seen in all directions through the gloom and smoke, and they lit up the night to such an extent that it s not difficult to keep the right direction even though the blinding, suffoca- ting smoke constantly obscured the track, The danger of actual contact with the fire, moreover, was lessened by the cleared course of the roadway. After entering the forest it was not long before I saw fire, in varying degrees of activity, above and on every side of me. A light breeze had again sprung up and was fanning the flames into increasing violence —a fact which added greatly to my anxiety for the safety of the helpless ones in the cabin behind. Spurts of crackling flame flared up in great numbers in the tree-tops and bush, and smouldering fires in’ places already burnt over sent off clouds of choking smoke to further contaminate the air. Ash and live embers were falling continuously and being blown about, but of all the dangers the smoke was by far the greatest and most distressing. As I went forward it seemed at times that I could bear up against it no longer ; even with the protection of the wet cloth, suffocation threatened me. Often I would hold my breath as long as 1 could, only to take more smoke into my lungs when I was finally forced to gasp for air. At such times 1 would run at my utmost speed to reach places where the air seemed clearer, and at several points it was necessary for me to drop full-length. Here, face down- ward, with my face buried in the cloth, I would press my nose and mouth to the ground, seeking a little air that would be pure enough to relieve the agonies of suffoca- tion I was enduring. Frequently I had to crawl for long dis- tances on my hands and knees, so as to keep at a level where the smoke was _ thinner. In so doing I sometimes touched live, ash- covered embers which burned my hands and clothes. At some places trees had fallen across the road; once one of them fell but a short distance ahead of me, with its) branche: obstructing my path, but after much diffi- culty LT succeeded in finding a way around it. My eves were so badly irritated by the smoke, and smarted so intensely, that it was necessary for me to keep them nearly closed, and it was only with much blinking and tear- flooding that I could use them at all. The action of the wind was continually shifting the smoke, so that it was thick one

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382 moment and clear the next. This proved fortunate for me in one instance. I had reached a place where the heat, which all along had been intense, became unusually severe because of the violence of the fire round about. The flames projected their fiery tongues into the open space of the roadway, presenting a spectacle which made me pause, with fear clutching at my heart. The path seemed impassable ; but it was useless to turn back. There were human lives at stake, and I knew that, win or lose, I must continue the fight. So, suppressing a lurking impulse to play the coward, I dashed forward into the wither- ing atmosphere of that flame-girdled area, not knowing how far I had to go to traverse it or whether fate would spare me long enough to do so. Oh, how I ran! Fear gave wings to my feet, and I called into play every ounce of energy I possessed. The road was littered with glowing embers and smouldering twigs. They scorched my shoes as I trod upon them, until the heat made my feet feel as if they were being baked. Although it could have been but a very few minutes before I reached a point where the fire was less active, it seemed a much THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. longer time to me. Breathing was so ex- tremely difficult that I was almost in a state of collapse when I emerged into a cooler section. Even here the worst horrors of the situa- tion were not ended, for I escaped the torture of the heat only to plunge into a dense cloud of smoke. I had gone but a short distance farther when exhaustion and the suffocating effect of the smoke caused me to stagger and lurch forward and finally drop to my hands and knees. With my senses fast failing me I made a last effort to crawl onward; then nausea seized me, and gasping, ‘‘God save me!" I became insensible. But my brief prayer was to be answered. Perhaps the principal thing that restored me to consciousness, and so saved my life, was a shifting of the denser smoke by the wind. It was not long before I was on my feet again, and although my growing exhaustion made progress very difficult nothing more serious occurred. Towards the end of my journey I passed out of the fire-zone. Though the darkness increased, the air became much clearer, and the change brought me great relief. I completed my trip with all the haste my remaining strength would permit, and after “The carrying of the litter and its

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A GIRL IN arriving at the Foxes’ house my message was soon delivered. In sentences broken by my panting, I hurriedly described the situation in which Mrs, Parsons and the little ones were placed and appealed to them to help me to obtain aid to effect a rescue. * Please go to the railway at once,” I urged Mr. Fox, “ and stop the first car that comes along. Call upon all the men you may find there, or anywhere else, to form a rescue party. Tell them they must hasten or they'll be too late.” Mr. Fox responded to my appeal at once and soon left the house in quest of assistance. Mrs. Fox, a kind and sympathetic woman, was deeply concerned. : “You poor girl,” said she, ‘ you're all played out! Come and lie down for a while.” Though my appearance was such that it won for me her sympathy, and | felt fully as bad as I looked, it was no time to think of resting or otherwise delaving my return. I had left my patients alone, threatened by a great danger, and [ could not remain, even temporarily, to enjoy personal comfort or safety while their lives were in jeopardy. The thoughts of attempting that return journey caused me to quake inwardly, but no other course could bé taken. occupants was an arduous task indeed.” A FOREST FIRE. 383 * Hadn’t you better wait and go back with the men ? ” asked Mrs. Fox. “No,” I replied, "* there is too much un- certainty. All sorts of things might happen before they arrive.” Against Mrs. Fox’s advice, I soon set out to begin my return trip. Before my de- parture, however, she made me take a stimulant, treated the burns on my hands, and gave me a canteen containing water. My experiences in returning were, for the most part, a repetition of those which belell me on the outward journey. Although I suffered again and again from the suffocating effects of the smoke, neither it nor the heat at any time overcame me. I noticed that the fire was spreading throughout the forest. In nearly every direction it was blazing with increasing fury. When I again reached the cabins—which by good fortune had so far come through undamaged—my condition was such that I staggered through the doorway and fell in a heap on the floor. Mrs. Parsons, who had borne my absence bravely and quietly, was greatly alarmed, but [ assured her that it was nothing serious and that my weakness would soon pass away. As soon as my strength would permit it,

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384 THE WIDE WORLD I gave Mrs. Parsons and the infants the care that they needed, and then went outside to inspect the cabins and note the general conditions, With the exception of a spot in one of the coverings which was smouldering, and which was easily extinguished, no fire was to be seen on either of the buildings. Many burning fragments had fallen on the roofs, but they were rendered harmless by the earth I had placed there. Through the smoke-screen the flames amongst the trees loomed with a menacing glare. They had apparently consumed most of the growth on the branches and were now eating into the wood, At any moment a tree might crash down and hit one of the buildings ; one had fallen close by while I was absent. In our helpless condition we could only await the hoped-for help and pray that it might come in time. The time passed terribly slowly. Inside the cabin I waited with ears ever alert for the sound of approaching helpers, but it seemed that they never would come. Every unusual sound made my heart beat faster. Thus the age-long hours wore away until at length—it was nearly two o’clock in the morning—we heard voices outside. No sound could ever have been more welcome to mortals than were those to us. Directly afterwards nine men were with us in the cabin, amongst them being Mr. Parsons and his brother. "How did you ever do it, girl?” de- manded Mr. Parsons as he turned to me after greeting his family. ‘* We have been fighting to get here for more than three hours, and sometimes we were almost beaten.” From what he hurriedly told us it appeared that conditions along the road, which was the only possible line of approach or escape, had become much worse. The wind had in- creased and the men had found the way badlv obstructed by fallen trees, some of which were burning furiously, Irom the Foxes they had borrowed two axes, and with these they had hewn a way through some of the blazing tangle which blocked their advance. Aftera hasty consulation we concluded that the only action that could be taken was to remove Mrs. Parsons and the little ones from the fire-stricken region, though we realized that the undertaking would be very hazardous. This meant that we must face the road again, but the fighting strength of our party gave us the courage to face its dangers once more. The best means that we could devise for carrving Mrs. Parsons and the babies was by using a small cot. Its legs folded beneath it, and these we tied to the bottem with pieces of rope, thus making a fairly good litter. Other lengths of rope were tied across the bottom, sides, and ends, and MAGAZINE. sufficient free line was provided to permit eight men, if needed, to carry the cot sus- pended close to the ground. We then placed Mrs. Parsons and the babies upon this improvised stretcher, with blankets folded beneath and over them. For a top cover we used a wet sheet, the preparation of which left us with barely enough water to replenish my borrowed canteen, After Mr. Parsons had found two more axes and had procured some small personal belongings, our party left the cabin with its odd burden and struck out for the road. The carrying of the litter and its occupants was an arduous task indeed. The men had to walk with their bodies bent forward, and as low as possible. Sometimes they were forced to crawl along on their knees, sup- porting themselves with one hand while they clung to the litter with the other. Their exertions caused the men to breathe more heavily, and at times they had to fight desperately against the deadly smoke to avoid being overcome. Occasionally one or more of them had to be relieved in order to allow them to recover from the effects of their struggles. Two men, at different times, became completely prostrated, and while suffering in the throes of suffocation had to be dragged along bodily to places where the air was clearer and where we worked over them until they had recovered sufficiently to continue the journey. I had brought my canteen of water and wet rag along, and rendered good service with them at times when the men were suffering. I kept near the head of the litter as much as possible, and gave Mrs. Parsons and the babes such care as I could, keeping them as well protected from the smoke and as well supplied with breathable air as the conditions would permit. Several more trees had fallen, and the. axes had to be brought into use on more than one occasion to hack a passage for us. Fortunately no serious accident occurred —such as the falling of a tree—to threaten our party with extra peril, but we were a very jaded, blear-eved and begrimed-looking band when we finally emerged into the clearer air fringing the fire-zone. It was daylight when we reached the home of the Foxes, where these good people took us in hand and gave us every care. Mrs. Parsons and the little ones came through the ordeal splendidly. I was not so fortunate, however, for when the nerve- tension relaxed I broke down, and for three days the nurse required a large share of the nursing. Il never went back to that forest home, but I was later on told that not long after we left the cabins were completely destroyed.

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The instaiments of “The Cruise of the Dream Ship" in this and the April and May 1921 issues of “* Wide World Magazine ” are printed with the consent of the National Geographic Society, Washington, D. C., which is the owner of the United States issue of the National Geographic Magazine. copyright and which copy’ righted and published the entire article eet * Dream Ship "and photographs in the January 1921 rulse 7 the Here is a treat for you, gentle reader. Most of you are familiar with the delightful writings of Mr. Stock, who has contributed to our pages: for many years. After the war he set to work to realize a long-cherished dream— to sail to the South Sea Islands in a little vessel of his own, obeying only the call. of adventure and the open. sea he loves: so: well: Mr. Stock told us about his great scheme; and we commissioned him to write a descrip» tion of his experiences exclusively for “ The -Wide World Magazine.” Here is the third instalment, and.wer-can promise you that as progresses you will find “The the narrative: Cruise - of: the- Dreem-Ship,” with her crew of three; one: of the: most entertaining stories you have- ever read: Many a stay-at-home will wish himself: with: Mr. Stock, tied to no time-table, and’ sailing’ through enchanted seas to the: Isles: of Adventure. III. THE ISLANDS AS THEY ARE. ORE nonsense has been written * about the South Sea _ Islands, probably, than any other part of the world. The library novelist, the globe-trotting journalist, and a reading public athirst for exotic romance have all contributed to this end, so that at the very outset of this article I find myself at a loss. I have nothing to offer on a par with the standard article, such as struggles with sharks, conflicts with cannibals, or philan- derings with princesses. My line, I fear, consists of facts as I find them. The Dream-Ship lay in Wreck Bay, Gala- pagos Islands. Her crew, consisting of Steve (navigator, mate, and cook), Peter (sister- extraordinary to the owner, hand, chief steward and cook), and myself (skipper, engineer, assistant navigator, hand, cook, and owner), had just finished watering, or rather transferring three hundred gallons of doubtful-looking fluid from the beach reservoir to the ship’s tanks by means of kerosene tins, a rickety landing-stage swarm- ing with sand-flies, and an equally rickety dinghy. Vol. xlvi.—2% We were, in fact, enjoying a spell, to the accompaniment of vast quantities of coco- nut milk, before setting sail for the Marquesas Islands, three thousand miles distant, and were in no mood for an interruption. Which is probably why it came. A pigmy figure on the landing was apparently dancing a hornpipe and emitting strange cries. * Who is it, and what does he want?” I queried with my customary amiability. “It's the comusario,”” said Steve, with binoculars upheld in one hand and a brim- ming coco-nut shell in the other. “ He’s probably found that we need a bill of health or clearance of something.” I believe I sighed. I have a notion that Steve swore, and I am quite sure that we rowed ashore and interviewed the comtsario, a handsome youth whose silk socks and passionate tie contrasted strangely with his surroundings. He still danced. ‘He says that it is necessary that he should accompany us,"’ Steve translated. “To the Marquesas ? “ To anywhere.” “Really |! And where does the necessity come in?”

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386 After still further variations of the horn- pipe, and a prodigious outflow of Ecuadorian Spanish, the following was evolved :— They were after him—a trifling indis- cretion in the matter of issuing grog licences to the peones. The Ecuadorian Government was to blame. They expected an official to live on twenty dollars a month—and nothing else! How was it possible? More- over, the President himself, elected on a wage basis of forty dollars a month and bring your own blankets, would be getting the boot in a short three months, and with him went everyone-—everyone ! What was then to happen to the officials he had placed in power? More important still, what was to happen to this particular official ? He The cook in undress uniform. must accompany us. It was the only pos- sible solution. He would work, Caramba, how he weuld work! And for nothing but his passage to anywhere—anywhere ! ” Steve and I exchanged glances. The entire crew of the Dream-Ship was, 1t may be mentioned, exceedingly tired of cooking. The comisario seized on our silence. “ Maybe we thought he could not work ? With a dramatic gesture he tore from his neck the passionate tie, from his feet the silk socks, from his hack a virule ntly-striped shirt, and stood revealed in a natty line of undervests. “ Poor devil! said I, thinking of the Dream-Ship’s fo'c’sle in a seaway. * Poor nothing,” said Steve. work. Let him have it.”” And that was how Sefior X ‘ He wants , hereafter THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. known as “ Bill,’ came to join the Dream- Ship. We sailed before a steady south-east trade for twenty-two days, during which the comisario suffered alternately from sea- sickness, home-sickness, and sheer inability to do anything but smoke cigarettes and sleep. Our water-tanks, under the magic wand of the Galapagos beach reservoir, transformed themselves into aquariums of energetic animalcule, and our entire biscuit supply crumbled to dust under the onslaughts of a particularly virulent red ant. But these be incidentals to life aboard dream- ships, and at the first sight of Nukahiva faded to little more than amusing memories. A fine island this—as fine a volcanic island as one will find anywhere, with sheer walls of cloud-capped rock six thousand feet high, some literally overhanging the crystal-clear water, and all embossed and engraved with strangely-pat- terned basalt. There are pillars, battlements, and turrets, so that with — half - closed eyes it scems one is approaching a temple, a medieval castle, or a mosque of the East. And the valleys, deep, Tiver- threaded, verdure-choked valleys, fading away into mys- terious purple musts: But it is little better than an impertinence to attempt a description of Nukahiva after Melville’s © Typee.” For once the monstrosity in our engine- room was induced to exert three of its four cylinders, and we entered the harbour of Ta: o Hae im stvle. It was as well, for a trim trading schooner fiving the French flag was at anchor close inshore, and her entire crew lined the rail to see what manner of insect had invaded her privacy. “Where are vou from?” hailed a sur- prisingly English voice as soon as our anchor chain had ceased its clamour. * London,” we chorused. “Well, I’m damned!" came a response, evidently not intended for our ears, but audible nevertheless, In rather less than three minutes a

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Bn Soe ms THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. 387 The pbathing-hour in mid-ocean. whale-boat-load of visitors was aboard the Dream-Ship, and the sient bay echoed toa fusillade of questions and counter-questions. Followed a dinner at the trading station on a wide, cool veranda where, under the influence of oysters, California asparagus, fowl, bush pig, taro root, and French cham- pagne, we became better acquainted with our hosts—two as amiable Frenchmen as ever I met. They re- presented a trading company of Pa- peete, and lived as only French- men appear to know how to live. The Marquesans, we gathered over coffee and cigars, were dying out rapidly through consumption. In- troduced in the form of Panama fever by labourers returning from Canal construction, it afterwards de- veloped into the white plague by reason of the na- tives’ unresisting, if not acquiescent, nature. And when all were gone, what then? Chinese. . a ee “Peter” on the look-out. The Chinese ap- pear to be the answer to most questions in the South Pacific to- day. They come; it costs them but fifty dollars to land, and after that they grow— mon Dieu, how they grow! And can nothing be done? A shrug of the shoulders and the offer of a refilled glass are the answers of the Frenchman. But a short time now, and he per- sonally will be in a@ position to re- turn to his be- loved Paris, or Marseilles, or Brittany. But we had lately returned from dealing with the Boche; so had our hosts. We drank Tespectively to the Royal Field Artillery, the mitrailleuse, the Machine Gun Corps, and the incomparable French Infantry. What of it if we continue the sport on the morrow, amongst the wild cattle and goats of Nukahiva? To-morrow, then, at five o'clock.

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388 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “Steve” taking a sight in mid-ocean. The schooner, scheduled at davlight to load copra worth a thousand dollars a ton, was cheerfully detailed for the trip, and loaded to capacity with bottled beer, coughing Marquesans, and a_ variegated armoury of firearms. We sailed down a coast that it is a sore temptation to describe, and landed by whale-boat on a surf-pounded beach. Thereafter, we plodded, crawled, and stumbled over as vicious a country as it is possible to imagine—crumbling shale, razor-edged ledges, and deceptive tablelands of knee-high grass that only served to hide the carpet of keen-edged volcanic rocks beneath. And the heat! But a represen- tative of the incomparable Infantry led the way, and who would not follow to the death out of very shame? At each halting-place the élan of this same representative seemed to increase. Sitting cross-legged on a rock in the meagre shade of a scrub-tree, he would discourse on any subject under the sun while his audience gasped for breath, emptied the perspiration out of their boots, and cursed the cantene (a gigantic native bearing almost as gigantic a sack containing bottled beer) for lagging. I was under the impression that the game was to have been wild, hence my surprise when a herd of something like a hundred and fifty goats of all ages, from the bearded and maned veteran, or ‘‘stinker ’’’ down to the daintiest kid, cavorted up to our resting: place and sniffed at us inquisitively. It was necessary to fling stones to keep some of the more daring at bay. So much for goat- hunting in the Marquesas! It is evident that these beasts are so “wild” that they know nothing of man — and who shall say they have missed much in consequence ? The cattle are a different matter. Shy as deer, they must be warily stalked, and shot mostly on the run at anything from a hundred to a hundred and fifty yards. Also, they have an engaging habit of turning when wounded and giving the huntsman_ the worst time in their power, which, in the case of a hefty bull or cow, is not incon- siderable. There must have been a herd of something like fifty grazing on the precipitous hillside, and the first shot, fired by an over-anxious Marquesan against strict orders, sent them scuttling like antelopes out of the valley and over a ridge. One fine bull received his medicine from my trusty little Winchester on the very brink, collapsed, and rolled like an avalanche of meat to the bottom. We bagged four of this herd, and the Marquesans fell on them, quartering and selecting with extraordinary skill, and finally carrying a hundred pounds each of solid meat to the beach five miles below. How this last feat was accomplished by a band of ramping consumptives [ have no notion, though I saw it done. I only know that after carrying two rifles and a gun over the same country I literally tumbled on to the beach bruised and bleeding and trembling from sheer fatigue. Even the representative of the incomparable Infantry admitted to being tired, and, thank God ! he looked it! It had been a successful day, [ was given to understand, and there followed in conse- quence song and dance aboard the Dream- Ship until dawn touched the peaks of Taio Hae. A native dance is a dreary and monotonous affair to the average white man, because he does not take the trouble to under- stand. He sees before him an assembly of posturing, howling “ niggers,’’ and seldom Tealizes that he is witnessing a pageant of history that has never been written or read. possible .

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THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. The performance opened with a panto- mimic representation of the cruise of the Dream-Ship. According to the actors’ ideas, all aboard suffered acutely from sea-sickness, were utterly unable to stand upright (though whether this was due to rum or the rolling of the ship it was hard to determine), and con- tinually looked for land under the shade of an upraised hand. Our vigour in battling with storms was extraordinary. We stumbled over rope-ends, clung to the rigging, nearly capsized, and one of us fell overboard, to be rescued amidst shrieks of laughter by means of a boathook and the seat of his pants. We were a joke—there was no doubt about that —and anyone who takes a ten-thousand-mile journey to the Marquesas in a twenty-one ton yacht and wants to be taken seriously had best go elsewhere. From such trivialities the performers passed on to what was evidently their stock repertoire—the history of the Marquesas as handed down from father to son. It was all there in gesture and chant: mighty battles with their neighbours the Paumotans, cannibalism, peace, the advent of the white man with his rum, religious creeds, and the plague that still consumes them, and all enacted without resentment. That is the most astounding thing. These people who were living their own lives—and surely as happy lives as ours—bear no ill-will for the incredible sufferings our civilization has brought amongst them. Perhaps they do not think ; and if so it is as well. Conceive yourself if you can, O denizen of Park Lane, Fifth Avenue, or Champs Elysées, a healthy, up standing savage of the South Seas, mother-naked, and living your own life. You may be a cannibal, and are there no cannibals —and worse—west of Suez? You will be a warrior, and fight for your country and your women - folk. — Is there anything wrong about that? You will have a stricter moral code than most white folk, but that can- not be helped. You will hunt and fish and gather fruit for your family; in fact, you will live in the only way you 389 know how to live—in contentment. And one day an_ extraordinary-looking object called a white man will present himself and inform you that you are not living in the right way at all, A much better way, according to this gentleman, is to exchange a ton of your coco-nuts for a bottle of rum or a death-dealing instrument made of rusty iron, You are a tolerant sort of person, and you listen and drink his rum. The next day you have an insufferable headache, and, logically concluding that he has poisoned you, you kill him. But that is not the end. Replicas of him keep arriving, and you find you need his rum and his rusty iron, the one for its elevating properties, the other for its dispatch in dealing with enemies. Still more replicas arrive, but of a different order. Many of them are kindly, well-meaning men, and great talkers. They tell you that they have found a God—the only God, and you must worship him in their way. The trouble is that each has a different way, but they are all right, and they all prove it by the same book. - Preserve me from the futilities of theo- logical argument, but I met at Tai o Hae a Seventh Day Adventist missionary; an earnest, clean-living, kindly man, without a spark of humour in his composition. He was consumed by a genuine and mighty fervour to demonstrate to the native Mar- quesan that he was keeping the Sabbath on the wrong day. “Does that matter so very much?” I asked him, and that was all I had a chance to ask. Apparently it did matter. And he Pascall, the diver.

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THE WIDE 390 was getting converts. Why? Because the native is not slow to discover that by embracing Seventh Day Adventicism he gets two days of rest in the week ! Elsewhere I have met Roman Catholic, Mormon, Latter-Day Saint, Presbyterian, and Anglican Church missionaries, all at work in the same field, all earnest, well- meaning men, and each convinced that he is right. Is it any wonder, then, that after listening to them all, the dazed South Sea Island native asks himself what all the pother is about, and, finding no satisfactory answer to the conundrum, turns to his tangible rum- bottle ? To revert to safer topics, there is pearl shell in the Marquesas. The representative of the incomparable Infantry told us so while we sat on his incomparable veranda one Morning, consuming large quantities of papia, rolls, honey, and coffee, each of us in his particular brand of pyjamas. The infor- mation brought upon our serene lives at Tai o Hae the white man’s blight of avari- ciousness, Was this thing possible, with shell at a thousand dollars a ton delivered at Philadelphia?) Yes; he, the Incom- parable, had seen it through a water-glass in anything from five to fifteen fathoms between the islands of Hiva Oa and Tahu Ata. Why had it not been prospected ? It was doubtful if any but he and the natives knew of its existence, Undoubtedly it was worth looking into. He made us a present of the information, to do with as we willed. His cook was an old Paumotan diver who would no doubt accompany us—Pascall !—accom- pany us to the island, a bare ninety miles distant ; we could take samples of shell to the Company in Papeete, and no doubt make arrangements— Pascall !—arrangements with them to advance working capital in return for a lien on the shell—Pascall ! * Monsieur.” An -enormous Paumotan native stood in the doorway, smiling benignly. He would accompany us. and he would dive. We sailed that evening, with the deck littered with green bananas, live chickens tied by a leg to bulwark stanchions, a rabbit, firewood, a stove composed of a kerosene tin half filled with earth, and—Pascall. There was apparently nothing that this extra- ordinary man could not do. He knew every island of the Marquesas like the palm of his hand, He could) produce savoury messes from a kerosene tin, remain under water three minutes, discourse entertainingly in He would cook, WORLD MAGAZINE. pidgin-English, French, German, Marquesan and Paumotan, and secure a ship's provisions without the annoying triviality of paying for them. “But whom do we owe for all this?” I asked him, eyeing the menagerie that sur- rounded us. Pascall smiled and waved a hand. “ Rabbit no money,” he informed us ‘chickens, bananas, all no money. 1 get um.” Here, surely, is a solution of the “high cost of living” problem. ‘Take Pascall to the profiteering areas, and the thing is done. Dawn showed us Tahu Ata close abeam. Each island of this group seems more lovely than the last—waterfalls pouring — three thousand feet to the sea, blow-holes at the base of rocky cliffs that spray the air with spindrift and miniature rainbows, deep bays with coral beaches at their head—— _ But the beauties of Nature were not for us on this occasion ; we were prospecting. It was a serious busin There might be money init. After this I can scarce believe that in Paradise itself the white man will not be dogged by the curse of opportunism, Leaving the Dream-Ship at anchor a cable’s length from shore, we took to the dinghy and explored the floor of the ocean thereabouts through water-glasses. his was the place, Il informed us, and, sure enough, there s shell, old) barnacle-encrusted shell, but widely scattered. What of a few samples ? Pascall grinned and shook his head. ‘*Shark,” he muttered, apologetically, Which, being interpreted, meant that he refused to dive. He pointed out that in the Paumotas it was different. In the Paumotas there was always a reef-surrounded lagoon where few sharks found entrance. In the Paumotas men dived in couples as a safeguard. In the Paumotas In vain we pointed out that we happened to be in the Marquesas and not the Paumotas; that he had been hired to dive in the Mar- quesas ; that we were really very angry— in the Marque: He grinned. In rather less than half an hour, and to -ascall’s utter amazement, we had put him and his belongings ashore, paid him his wages, and were under way for Tahiti. Ah! Monsieur of the incomparable Infantry, I rather suspect you of pulling our legs. Or was it that your innate enthu- sm ran away with you, or that we should have been less hasty? IT do not) know. All I know is that you spoke truth; there ts shell in the Marquesas—and it is likely to remain there | (Vo be continued.)

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Oe Adventures O a %, GOHARA ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY-L:- WOOD Rollin ONE L. NLESS I had had six months’ pay in my pocket and a thorough feeling of discontent with all things naval, and unless I had been walk- ing with a companion who held the same opinions as I did, the following Some people call it the wander-lust, some “ go-fever,” and others merely tell you they are “fed up.” But whatever the name, all of us experience it at some time or other—that curious distaste for one’s present circumstances and surroundings, that longing to go away somewhere in search of adventure and a fuller, freer life. This absorbing narrative deals with the variegated experiences of two young naval officers who — suddenly becoming tired of the cast-iron routine of the Service—threw up position and Prospects and fared forth to see the world with five dollars hetween them and starvation. They tried their hands at many strange jobs; they passed through many strange adventures; and our readers chronicle would probably never have been written. But, as it was, these conditions happened to come to- gether one morning early in the month of November, 19—. Hence this story. Basham and I had entered the Service at about the same time and had gone through the Britannia together; we had served as shipmates on a foreign station, had obtained our commissions as acting sub-lieutenants on the same date, had entered the Naval College together, and—at the time of which I write— happened to have obtained twenty-four hours’ leave of absence and were spending the time in each other’s.company. The only thing that can be said in extenuation of our subsequent action is that neither of us had at that time reached the dignity of twenty summers, below which age youth is seldom given to thinking. On our way back to quarters at the expira- tion of our leave we were both rather silent, and my mind was busy reviewing the previous five years of my life. Pitchforked—or I should rather say bludgeoned—by a cele- brated crammer into the Navy at the age of fourteen, when most boys are in the school- will find this record of their doings extremely interesting. toom, subjected to what seemed to me the dulling strain of routine, and naval routine at that; eating, sleeping, working, aye, and even playing by routine, bell, and bugle— five years of it—and seeing ahead of me a dull grey vista of a whole lifetime of the same sort of thing! It was at that moment that there came to me the same instinct that makes a schoolboy play truant and go fishing in spite of the inevitable licking he knows he is bound to receive, that makes the perfectly broken and well-trained horse suddenly kick up his heels and bolt—the longing to be free from routine and restraint. I turned to Basham and said, “ Basham, I'm sick of it all. Let's desert and go some- where, anywhere, where we shall never see a brass button or a twelve-inch gun again.” I expected that all I should get in response from Basham would be a sickly grin and “ I'd like to,” and I was rather surprised when he confessed that, curiously enough, he was thinking of broaching the very same subject to me.

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352 And that is the chain of circumstances that lost the Navy two promising sub-heutenants. It was also that same slender chain of cir- cumstances that caused Basham and myself to find ourselves on board the Allan liner Sicilian en route for Montreal, Canada, with just five dollars between us and starvation when we landed. 1 do not defend our action. It was certainly blameworthy, and I do not recommend tts adoption by anyone. It un- doubtedly caused ourselves—and worse still, our relatives—keen suttering, but the step was taken and could not be recalled. We paid the penalty of our folly in suttering and hardship, but we gained an experience that on looking back 1 know has stood myself, for one, mm good stead. 1] might as well remark here that neither Basham nor | had ever done a stroke of manual Jabour m our lives. We had been trained to be what 1s technically known in Enghsh society as * officers and gentlemen,” and at that time, whilst fairly proficient in society small-talk, ballroom flirtations, and other similar useful accomplishments, neither of us could have lifted one hundred pounds above his head to save his lite. 1 smile sometimes now when | think of what I used to consider hard work in those days; but that is neither here nor there. Suffice it to say that at the end of November we found ourselves in| Montreal with clothes totally unsuited to stand the winter climate of Canada, and the magnificent sum of five dollars as the basis of our fortunes, Upon landing in Montreal our first move was to install ourselves in lodgings, and, being compelled to pay for them in advance, this move reduced our exchequer to the sum of two dollars and a half, so we were compelled to go out and bustle for a job. We went to a neighbouring employment office, and, after mature deliberation, parted with a dollar apiece tor the privilege of being allowed to Joad charcoal bags for a wage of one dollar a day. I have had many jobs since, entailing various degrees of hard, soul-killing work, but I always look back upon that first job as the most dreary, heart-breaking, monotonous toil that [ ever undertook. It consisted of unloading charcoal from freight cars into paper sacks, tying the sacks, and piling them in a yard. This went on from 7am, to6 p.m. day in and day out. Basham and T used to crawl back to our lodgings at night so tired that we could scarcely summon up energy enough to wash, have our supper, and roll into bed. After three days of this we decided that it was not good enough, and Basham obtained a job as dish-washer in the Windsor Hotel, whilst I, after hunting around for a day or Our First Job. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, two, was hired by a farmer to work on his dairy farm, in a little town called Hunting- don, about an hour's journey from Montreal. It might be as well to state that the farmer asked if 1 was conversant with dairy-farm work, teaming,ete.,and | had assured him with much eloquence that what I didn't know about dairy farms and horses could be written on a postage stamp. He was a little, weazened, mean-looking rat of a man, and after much deliberation he agreed to hire me for six dollars a month, so, being desperate, I took the job and went out with him that night. The next morning at tour o’clock he routed me out, with the temperature at four degrees below zero—and I in summer clothing and underwear—to assist at the milking of thirty CoV It is not my intention to exaggerate this chronicle, but ] believe that on that morning [| succeeded in inducing one cow to yield about half a bucket of milk to my fer- suasive fingers, and 1 think twenty-nine others kicked me in various portions of my anatomy, The farmer was hot that morning, and despite the cold outside no one could have described my temperature as exactly cool. Why he did not fire me qutright, or why [ did not quit then and there, are questions that I have never been able to answer to my satisfaction. Perhaps he was getting me so cheap that it was hardly worth while sending me back to town, and perhaps I was Just mad enough to be bull-headed. Any- how, I did not quit, and passed my days in the enlivening occupation of cleaning out cow barns and stables, acquiring proficiency in milking, and feeding chickens. ‘Time went on till Christmas Day came, and I naturally expected that day would be a holiday, but it turned out that my expectations were un- founded, for after milking was over my revered employer came to me with instruc- tions to clean out the pig-sty. I did it; and if anyone wants to experience the acme of sarcastic humour let him turn to and clean out a pig-sty on a Christmas Day, when the church bells are ringing out ** Peace on earth and goodwil! to men,” and the road along- side is filled with jingling sleighs carrying happy folk to church or to various Christ- mas jollifications. The man that can feel happy in these conditions can smile at his own funeral. Stil £ did not quits 1 expect I hadn't acquired the quitting habit in those days, but next morning the boss told me to hitch up and drive a team of fine young colts that he had on the farm. 1 hitched them up all right, and got them started down the road. My only trouble was that I could not stop them. However, that was immaterial, as a barbed wire fence came to my assistance and “Fired.”

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393 ROLLING STONE. THE ADVENTURES OF A “My only trouble was that I could not stop them.”

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304 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, succeeded in stopping them most effectually, the only thing that suffered being the team. The boss was unreasonable enough to get peevish about it, and for the first and last time in my life I got fired. He even refused to give me any money for my work till I stood over him and threatened to discommode him with my fists unless he did; and even then he did me out of fifty cents. Once again, therefore, I found myself back in Montreal with my exchequer very little better than when I left that city. My first move was to go to the Windsor Hotel and try to locate Basham, but he was not to be found. Upon making inquiries as to his whereabouts I discovered that he had been fired for in- competency a few days previously, so evi- dently his venture in dish-washing had been just about as successful as mine in farming. However, I obtained his address from one of the hotel hands who happened to know it, and finally located him. But it was not the well-fed, plump-looking Basham of old times that I had parted with a short time before. His face was thin, and his whole body seemed to have shrunk, so much so that his clothes hung about him in folds. He received my tale with apathy, but brightened up considerably when he found I had a few dollars in my pocket. ‘* Good,” he said ; “let's go and eat.” Eat! I never saw anything like the way that youth ate! On inquiry I found that he had not eaten for three days; in fact, ever since he lost his job at the hotel. With the appeasing of his appetite, however, his spirits rose once more, and we went back to his room with hopes revived. There, with the combined efforts of our honeyed tongues, we persuaded the landlady to allow me to share Basham's room and to withhold payment until we had found a job. Having secured our lodgings we tried to locate work. Day after day we tramped the streets of Montreal in the freezing cold, clad only in light suits and summer overcoats, meeting with failure after failure and eking out our rapidly- dwindling store of dollars, only eating when the pangs of hunger gripped us so hard that we were forced to take nourishment. Any- one going to Montreal with very little money would do well to consult me beforehand, for I am an authority on cheap eating in that city. I can tell him in what saloons they serve the largest and most nourishing free lunch with a nickel glass of beer, at what night stand they serve the largest bowl of soup and the biggest chunk of bread. Yes ; and at what charitable headquarters one has to chop the least amount of wood for the largest meal. We learned all the thorny rough by-paths of that great city by means of which a man can acquire a meal short of begging for it, and beg we never did from first to last, though on one occasion, as will be told later, I was a shamefaced and unwilling accessory. Finally, our last nickel was spent, and for three days we tramped the streets still trying to locate work, during the whole of which period no food passed our lips. They say that men in dire circum- stances such as these are apt to revert to the savage type, and upon my word I believe it. We spoke very little to one another during those days. I remember Basham going to a heap of sand where some building operations were in progress and filling his pockets with the sand. With both pockets full he went to our room, without saying a word, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of football stockings of mine. He proceeded to fill one of Basham them with sand, tying the end Gets with’ a bootlace. I got Desperate. Suspicious and asked him what he was doing. “ Making a sand-bag,”’ he replied between his teeth; “Tam going out to-night to knock one of those oily-looking merchants on the head. What right have they to have money and all they can stuff into their fat hides while we are freezing and starving to death by inches 2?” After much talking I managed to dissuade him from his bloodthirsty plans, although at the time they did not seem very much out of the way to me. It must be remembered that we were both mere boys and nearly crazy from starvation. The next day, by great good fortune, we succeeded in landing a job with the Canada Car Works, about four miles from our lodgings. We were to receive one dollar and a quarter a day for our services as outside labourers, and our duties consisted in carrying big bars and lumps of iron to the various machines in the building. The company held up two weeks of our pay all the time to prevent men quitting without due warning. and as they only paid once a month it would be a month before we could receive any pay. How to subsist for that month was the all- engrossing problem that now confronted us, and it was a pretty hard one to solve. The workshops were situated, as I said before, four miles from our room, and we were supposed to be there, ready for work, by seven o’clock every morning. This neces- sitated getting up about four and trudging those four miles, breakfastless and miserable, to work. The first day passed like a night- mare. All day long we carried large bars of steel and iron to the machines. At noon Basham keeled over in a faint and I was in little better shape, and all through the noon hour we sat apart and watched the other men eat their lunch, eyeing every mouthful they took like ravening wolves. Luckily,

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THE ADVENTURES OF two men sitting near and noticing our lunch- less condition, questioned us, When they heard of our parious state they shared their lunches with us, and with that little nourish- ment we managed to drag through the day and trudged back those dreary four miles. That evening, as we were slinking supper- less up to bed, the landlady met us on the stairs and informed us that she was going to start a boarding-house, and if we liked we could board with her, starting with supper the next evening. She was fat, and weighed at least two hundred pounds, but she looked to us, at the moment, like an angel, halo and all. If we could crawl through the next day without breaking down, we were saved. The next morning, in spite of the cold and the aching in our stomachs, those four miles seemed considerably shorter, and for the first time for many days hope again sprang up in our breasts. At noon our friends of the previous day again shared their lunch with us, and that night we walked home as if on air, with visions of supper and hot coffee cheering us on our way. I have eaten many delicate repasts in many parts of the world, but that supper will always live in my memory as one of the choicest meals I ever ate in my life. Basham and I tarried long anil tenderly over it. I can see the scene to this day—Basham, with is vest unbuttoned, leaning back luxuriously in his chair, fondly stirring his fifth cup of cottee and once more talking. hopefully of the future. : Our position, though not what one might call roseate, was at least considerably im- proved. We still had to crawl out of bed at four o'clock and tramp four miles to work in the freezing dark, but things were at last coming our way. fhe next) morning, on yur way to work, Basham found a quarter- Jollar on the side-walk. There was no dis- cussion as to what we should do with it. As one man we wheeled into the nearest to- bacconist’s store, and bought a half pound of the vilest tobacco it has ever been my lot to smoke. We worked for a month in the car shops, and at the end of that time drew two weeks’ pay, with which we settled part of our board bill and bought a little better brand of to- bacco, By this time [I had been promoted to the machine shop, and was for a while employed as a heater on one of the blast furnaces which fed the nut and bolt machine. If I go to a warmer place when I die I shall at least have had a preliminary training. Later, one of the machinists having fallen sick, I was promoted to running the machine myself, and my work was then considerably lighter. Basham, however, was still in his first position as an outside labourer. Time went on, and we gradually got money A ROLLING STONE. 303 enough in hand to enable us to ride to our work on the street cars in the morning, and so allow ourselves to sleep an hour later, but never enough to allow us tu save a cent or to indulge in recreation of any sort. One morning Basham got into an altercation with the outside foreman, and, being of a fery disposition, bit him on the nose and was “fired ’ then and there. This put us ina quandary, for with one of us out of work we were bound to get into debt. Stil, Basham was cheerful about it and wandered around the town for three days trying unsuccessfully to obtain work, whilst 1 continued to run my machine at the car shops. At the end of the third day Basham told me he had a chance to take a trip to England as a cattleman, and if I cared to leave the car shops he could get me on as well. Being loath to be separated from Basham [ decided todo so, but here a difficulty presented itself 5 it seemed small and easy to overcome at first, but subsequent events proved that it Was not so easy as it looked. As I said before, the company for which 1 was working always held back two weeks’ pay from their men to prevent them quitting without due notice. In the event of a man getting “ fired he got all that was coming to him, but in the event of his quitting of his own accord he had to wait a month for the two weeks’ wages. Now, if I waited to give two weeks’ notice, Basham would be on the high seas, and IT could atl attord to quit and leave two weeks’ pay in the hands of the company till I returned. The only thing for me to do, therefore, was to get “fired.” In the light of Basham/’s latest achievement this did not seem to be much of a feat to accomplish ; all I had to do was to hit the inside foreman on the nose, and get discharged, But here another diticulty presented itself; the inside foreman hap- pened to stand six fect two in his stockings and to weigh considerably over two hundred pounds, and as I sized him up the idea of tackling him did not commend itself te me ; so I decided upon a compromise. The rule of discharging em- Looking ployés for fighting did not for apply to attacking foremen Trouble. only, but was generally en- forced if any empl ve got into a fight, so | again began to see a wav out of my difficulty, and looked around for a victim to help me to get “ fired.’”” I did not like to pitch upon an undersized fellow to start a quarrel with, and was mentally sizing up various people with whom I might get up a scrap, when the overhead crane stopped over my machine to collect the morning’s supply of bolts that I had manufactured, and the man running it started to call me all kinds of unpleasant names for being asleep.

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396 «THE WIDE He spoke in the pators of the French Cana- dians, and presumably thought that I was unable to understand him. I looked up, wondering who this heaven-sent person might be, and discovered to my joy that he was just about my own size and weight. Here was a victim delivered into my hands ! Out of sheer joy I slanged him back in his own patois, discussed his ancestors with him, gave him my opinion of what I thought his parents must have been, gave him my opinion of himself and his personal habits, and wound up with a description of what [ would do to him when he came down at noon, It was an unwise thing to do, because French Canadians are like pariah dogs when it comes to fighting. If anyone of another breed starts to scrap with one of them they all pile in with fiendish delight. My case was no exception to the rule. At noon I walked up to my “ victim’? as he came down from his crane, and without further preliminaries sailed in to give him a hiding. He was quite “easy.” I had just made his nose bleed and was starting to blacken his eyes, when I felt myself seized from behind, and T went down under a sea of French Canadians, kicking and fighting. They kicked me in the ribs and on the head, rolled me over and over in the mud, and would probably have maimed me for life had it not been for the intervention of the big foreman, who pulled me out from the middle of the bunch and, with the irony of fate, “ fired’ three of them on the spot! Me he took to the wash-house, made me wash my face, and told me that if ever I wanted to scrap a French Canadian again to get him in a corner by himself unless I wanted a repetition of what I had just been through. So 1 again found myself at my machine no further ahead with my schemes, and with two glorious black eves, a cut lip, and one big bruise from head to heel. ‘Towards evening the foreman of the thread- ing shop came over to my machine and began to slang me over some trivial error that he claimed I had made in one of the bolts 1 had turned out. He was a mean, undersized little wretch, who reminded one of a bantam cock, and had been worrying me in this way for some time. Coming on the top of what I had just gone through his language made me“ see red.” Here, at least, was a foreman, and if I hit him I was bound to get ‘fired, and Lord knows he wanted hitting badly cnough, so I made for him with slaughter in my eve. To my surprise, however, the little beggar turned tail and scuttled away like a jack rabbit, and never even reported my attempt to strike him! That night, in sheer disgust, I forfeited my two weeks’ pay and quit. The loss of this money was a large drain upon our scanty resources ; so much so, that when we had settled our indebtedness to our WORLD MAGAZINE. landlady there remained not a penny over wherewith to make a jingle. Of course, I had two weeks’ pay due: tome, and I would have it at the end of the month, but what good would that do us in our present straitened circumstances ? Still, far from being disheartened, we slept heartily that night and dreamed of fresh adventures to come. Next morning we packed a scanty kit in one sea-bag, left the rest of our clothes with the landlady, and proceeded gaily down to the wharf where Basham was to meet the man who would sign us on as full-fledged cattlemen. When we got there I spied a remarkably tough- looking gentleman in a flaming red tie who had congregated about him a bunch of the weediest, most vicious, out-at-heel slum- scourings that a man could meet in a day's march. Basham pointed him out to me as the man who was going to hire us as cattlemen. I didn't hke his looks, and said so to Basham, who admitted that he would not take a prize at a beauty show, but as we were in for it we might as well see the scheme through. Mindful of our empty pockets, I agreed with him. As we approached him the gentleman with the flaming tie nodded familiarly to Basham and treated me to a cold stare. Basham introduced me as his brother, and asked him to take me on as a cattleman as well as himself. The man looked us over, scratched his head, and delivered himself as follows: ‘‘ Waal, boys, I'd like to sign you on fine, because you appear to me to be a pair of fine upstanding healthy-looking lads, but you see it’s this way; I’m full-handed, and I promised all these lads I'd get them on first, and I'm a man of my word, I am.” He looked over Ins shoulder furtively, then edged a trifle closer to us, leered into our faces, and went on: * But, say, it might be managed ; you slip me a couple of dollars and say nothing about it, and I'll get you through by laying oft a couple of those mutts over there; they're no good, see ?” We saw only too plainly that it meant bribing this shark to give us a job at the expense of some other poor unfortunate, or a repetition of our former experiences— tramping the streets in mid-winter, cold and hungry, in search of a job. I looked at Basham and Basham looked at me; then we informed the man that we did not happen to possess two dollars. ‘ Well,” he said, “T don't want to be hard on you guys if yer up against it, so I'll take a dollar to put the pair of you on: 1 never beat a man when he’s down.” We informed him = that our exchequer did not even run to a dollar. “ Waal,” he said, as he moved off, “ you kids can just fight it out amongst yourselves ; it's just this way—a dollar goes, or you don't.” Basham and I again exchanged glances,

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THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 307 “I went down under a sea of French Canadians.”

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398 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and our eyes dropped to the light autumn overcoats that each carried over his arm, our sole protection from the icy Canadian winter. Our minds went back to the past tortures we had endured when, hungry and disheartened, we had tramped the streets looking for work. Basham flung his over- coat to me, rushed over to the man, and begged a few moments’ grace. Without a moment’s hesitation I hied to the nearest pawn-shop and “ hocked ” our two coats. At first, however, the man refused to give me more than seventy-five cents for the pair of them. No condemned man pleading for his life ever begged harder than I did for another twenty-five cents for those coats, and finally, after many wailings and callings upon High Heaven to witness that he would go broke if he continued to be so extravagant, the pawnbroker parted with a dollar. Seizing the money, I rushed over to where Basham was still parleying with the man of the flaming tie, and secured the privilege of being enrolled in the ranks of the cattlemen. Having paid our blood-money we were informed that owing to the St. Lawrence being frozen over, all cattle-boats were now sailing from Portland, Maine, and it would be necessary to get a permit from = the American Consul before being allowed to cross the frontier line, so the whole bunch of us, some fifty in all, were taken over to the Consulate and measured, catalogued, and questioned, our descriptions being entered in a book just as if we were a band of criminals being examined under the Bertillon system. After this process was over we were granted permission to cross the frontier, and boarded the train upon which the cattle had already been loaded. [t took us about twenty-four hours to reach Portland, and being entirely without money Basham and I, of course, went without food during that time; but we were getting accustomed to short rations. Upon arrival at our destination the cattle were unloaded and we were introduced to the new and delightful experience—that of putting halter-ropes round the necks of some three thousand wild steers in’ the freezing dawn of a Maine winter. The steers had come from all parts of the country, and had for the most part been driven straight off the range into box-cars, so it may be imagined what fun it was to slip halters on these scared creatures, more especially when the halters were frozen to the stittness of wire rods. I do not like to think how many times we escaped a sudden and uncomfortable death before all the steers were finally haltered, But the opera- tion was finally completed, and we were then taken off to the docks and signed on as “cattlemen’s assistants ” for our board and returm passage with the magnificent fee of two dollars and fifty cents, fifty cents to be paid in advance and the balance when we returned to Portland. Having signed on, it was up to the company to feed us, so we were led off to a little vermin-infested eating- house and given food which even to this day gives me an unpleasant feeling inside when I think of it. Still, after a fast of consider- ably more than twenty-four hours, anything in the food line went down. I did not at first understand what was meant by “ cattlemen’s assistant,” which was the rating under which we had been signed on, but we found out later—rather to our discomfort at first. And here I think a short explanation as to the methods of cattlemen on the Western Ocean would not be out of place. Every ship sailing with cattle carries a foreman who is in sole charge of the beasts. This’ man is usually chosen for his brute strength, fighting abilities, and power to drive men. Under him come the cattlemen, usually four or five on each ship —big, hulking, brutal animals who do nothing but make trip after trip across the ocean, usually with the same company and under the same foreman. These men receive from twenty-five to thirty dollars a trip, and generally spend their time ashore in drunken- ness and debauchery. Under the cattlemen come the cattlemen’s assistants, who are paid only a nominal sum for the trip, and are usually composed of the veriest scum of the earth—wharf-rats and dead-beats of every description, whose sole ambition is to get enough to eat or a free passage home, and it was amongst these that Basham and I had unwittingly enrolled ourselves. Now, as amongst society people, and in fact in every walk in life, there is social distinction, so it is amongst cattlemen, for they look with scorn and contempt upon the cattlemen’s assistants, and go out of their way to make life unbearable for them ; they even make them eat at a different table and take the worst of the food. The “' stiffs’ consigned to On the the same ship as ourselves Cattle- were for. the most part Ship. comprised of foreigners of the lowest, dirtiest, and most unsavoury types that one could imagine; in fact, as the foreman said when he was sizing up his motley consignment, “‘ Sweepin’s, blankety blank blank offal." When we got down to the ship the cattle had all been run aboard hel kelter, and were jammed end- ways, sideways, all ways, over the cattle deck, and we had barely got aboard before the ship put to sea in the teeth of a north- westerly gale, rolling and pitching furiously. Needless to say, the ,cattlemen were all drunk. However, they were sober enough

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THE ADVENTURES OF “We picked up the heavy stools to drive us “ stiffs ’’ with foul words of abuse, and we laboured far into the night in that reeking, bellowing inferno, getting the mad- dened steers straightened around and tied to head-boards fitted in the ship for that purpose. Next morning at four o'clock we were routed out to feed and water the poor brutes. Baled hay was provided, and we had to pack this in wads individually to each steer. Water had also to be “ packed ” to them in buckets, and as the cattle had been forty-eight hours without food or water this was no mean task. We had about a thousand steers aboard, and each steer would drink on an average four buckets, thus making a total of four thousand buckets to be ‘‘ packed ” by twenty men, or two hundred buckets apiece. If anyone thinks that is an easy job, let him try it. At length the beasts were all fed and watered, and we trapped in, hungry and wet, through, to breakfast. Three of the “‘ stiffs ” A ROLLING STONE. 399 on which we had been sitting.” were dispatched to the galley to draw our rations in tin wash-tubs, and a knife and fork were served out to each man, together with a tin plate and tin pannikin, for which he was responsible, and which he kept in his bunk for fear one of his amiable mess- mates might sneak it. And here trouble started. The foreigners collected at a table at one end of the room, whilst the regular cattlemen seated them- selves at another and started to eat their breakfasts, to the accompaniment of oaths and curses. Basham and I, not liking the looks of the foreign scum, boldly seated our- selves at the same table as the cattlemen. Suddenly, a drunken, blear-eved, hulking lout of a man witha shock of red hair, known to his companions as ‘ Toughy Red,” looked up and saw us seated there, and loudly demanded what the blank blank ‘stiffs’ were doing seated at the table with gentlemen. He picked up a pannikin

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a aa ae Sa Sd THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 400 of scalding tea as he spoke, flung it in Basham's face, and told us to get to a warmer place out of there. This was too much for Basham and myself, so we picked up the heavy stools on which we had been sitting and informed the man with the red hair that if he or any member of that mess thought that they could put us out they had better come and try, but they would do so at the expense of broken heads. “ Toughy Red " scowled, but he was a coward at heart and would not face the job. One of his comrades spoke up for us, Let the kids stay where they are,"’ he said; ‘‘ they’ve got grit, which 1s more than ° Toughy ’ has." So we ate at the cattlemen’s table for the rest of the vovage. Every day was a repetition of the pre- ceding one; up at four in the morning to feed and water the beasts, the same thing at 4 p.m., and so for ten day until we finally dropped alongside the wharf at Avon- mouth and unloaded the cattle. With this job our duties ended, and we were supposed to go ashore and subsist as best we could till the ship sailed on her return journey, a weck from that date. It will be remem- bered that all the cash we had in the world was the fifty cents apiece which we had drawn as advance money, and of this ten cents had already gone in tobacco, leaving us only forty cents each to live on for a week. The prospect was not an enlivening one, but with the invention born of necessity we hustled around and finally obtained per- mission from the first officer of the ship to assist in unloading the cargo, in return for which we were to get our board. So food was assured us for three days at least, seeing that it would take that time to unload the cargo. Owing to the Port regulations, which debar anyone but the ship's company from sleeping aboard whilst in harbour, we were obliged to go elsewhere for a place to sleep, and with the help of the ship's cook we found a place which had once been a factory but had now been converted into a low-class lodging-place for railroad labourers. It was a big barn of a place, with a huge fire- place in the middle, and truckle bedsteads devoid of any covering were ranged round the walls. lor the sum of two cents a night the proprietor allowed one to occupy a bed and to use the cooking utensils that the place provided, but the bedclothes and grub had to be found by the lodger. We managed to wheedle a couple of blankets out of the ship’s steward, and we engaged two beds for a week, paving in advance the sum of fourteen cents each. This left us twenty-six cents each to live upon. For three days conditions were passable. All day long we toiled at unloading cargo, and ate our meals on board; we managed to sneak a cake of soap and performed our ablutions in a bucket, returning at night to sleep in the lodging-house. At the end of the third day the cargo was all unloaded, and our meal ticket expired, leaving us to face the proposition of feeding ourselves for four days with twenty-six cents apiece to do it on, making an average of six cents— say threepence—a day. For two days we hved upon potatoes and carrots, eked out with a bowl of pea-soup, but on the third day we got desperate and dined royally upon sausages. This left us without any money for food on the fourth and last day. We accepted the situation with a fair amount of stoicism, for by that time we were getting used to being cornered, and took what came with the philosophy of an Indian, so we wandered about all day with empty stomachs until the evening. Then we got so hungry that we swiped a dozen or more onions out of an onion patch and made our supper off Taw onions. I advise no one to eat raw onions on an empty stomach—at least, if my case can be taken as a test ! On the evening of the fifth day the ship sailed, and we had our supper on board. On the return trip nothing worthy of note occurred, except that some new cattle- men joined the ship and objected to our eating at the same table with them, so we had to resort to our old argument of the wooden stool to convince them of the error of their ways, much to the amusement of the cattlemen who had come across with us. Upon our arrival at Montreal our first move was to collect the two weeks’ pay that I had coming to me. With this in our pockets we decided that Montreal was a very much overrated town, so we determined to move on, and bought tickets for Ottawa, thereby again reducing our assets toa very small sum, (To be continued.) -

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Cae © 4 LecyMel Carnet At the ancient city of Siena, in Italy, there has taken place twice yearly, for many centuries, the most remarkable horse-race on record. The “ Palio,” as it is called, is held in the city square, and is carried out to-day with all the pomp and circumstance of the Middle Ages. The costumes worn are most gorgeous, the horses are solemnly blessed by the priests, and large sums of money change hands over the result of the contest. Perhaps the most remarkable feature, from our point of view, is that the jockeys, riding bareback, carry formidable cudgels with which to disable their rivals during the triple circuit of the course ! T is a noteworthy fact that I almost every Italian city of any importance differs strik- ingly from its sister cities, not only as to its situation and style of architecture, but also as to the mental and moral characteristics of its, inhabitants; and to this rule the picturesque old town of Siena, once the head of a power- ful republic, offers no exception. Throned on her three hills on the ancient highway between Florence and Rome, and girt about with medieval walls and battlemented gates, the ‘City dear to the Madonna ” stands apart from all other cities of the Peninsula alike in her history, her architecture, her civic institu- tions, and the characteristics of her people. These three hills—Camollia, San Martino, and Citti—down the steep sides of which many of the streets descend almost vertically to the ancient walls at their feet, terminate at the centre of the town in a shell-shaped depression known as the Piazza del Campo. This curious amphitheatre, partly natural and partly artificial, is dominated on its lower side by the beautiful Gothic Communal Vol. avi. 28, A herald in mediseval costume proclaiming the holding of a “Palio.” Palace, with its tall, slender bell-tower, and girt about with many-storeyed mediaeval Mansions equally venerable ; and it is this Campo, the very heart of the ancient State, that is the scene of the time-honoured festi- val known as the Palio. The Terzi, as the three divisions of the city are termed, appear to have been from time immemorial subdivided into contrade, or wards, these being at the present day seven- teen in number ; and it is the official repre- sentatives of these wards who are collectively responsible for the careful carrying out of all the traditional usages and observances con- nected with the pageant and race. Although

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402 the two annual Palio festivals are in their main features identical, that of mid-August’ is held to be of greater importance. To the outsider, however, the only noticeable differ- ence between the two functions is to be found in certain of the religious ceremonies by which they are attended, those of the July Palio being held'in the church enshrining the miracle-working image of Santa Maria Pro- venzano, while the Lady Chapel of the Duomo, Siena’s magnificent cathedral, is the scene of the religious functions connected with the Palio of August, held in honour of the Madonna del Voto—the ‘* Madonna of the Vow.” When, six and a half centuries ago, the very existence of Siena as a State was menaced by the rival republic of Florence, her citizens with one accord solemnly laid at the feet of their protectress, the Queen of Heaven, the keys of the city, and “ thus did constitute themselves her vassals and her their Suzerain.” The glorious and decisive victory of Montaperti, which immediately followed, having made it abundantly evident that "Siena was in good sooth the city beloved of Mary, in token of her gracious acceptance of this its solemn dedication, the Holy Child is in this ancient and greatly venerated picture of the Madonna del Voto represented as hold- ing in His infant hands the document conferring on His mother the City and Contado of Siena.” And thus, through- out the intervening centuries, teligious observances have at Siena continued to be curiously blended. with the events of civic life, often pre- senting features strikingly pagan in character. Awaking at Eastertide from the somnolence of a some- what rigorous winter climate, the Feast of St. Catharine inaugu- rates the series of con- trada festivals which culminate in the July Palio, and from then onwards through- out the summer months the narrow and usually silent streets of the little city are at frequent intervals enlivened by the appear- ance of groups of contradaiuoli in medieval garb of quaint fashion and motley hue. Preceded by a couple of famburini, the light “ rub-a-dub "’ of whose kettledrums heralds their approach and brings eager faces to the The racehorse of the “Dragon” guild leaving the church after being blessed preparatory to the race. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, windows of the tall six-storeyed houses, a couple of stalwart alferi advance in leisurely fashion, coming every now and then to a standstill before the palazzo of some noble family or civic dignitary, where, to the rattle of the drums, now beaten frantically and deafeningly, they give an exhibition of their peculiar and marvellously dexterous banner- play. Four days previous to the date of the pageant, representatives of the various contrade, known as the ‘ Palio Deputation,” assemble at an early hour in the Municipal Palace for the purpose of selecting ten racers from among the score or so whose owners are found willing to run the risk of their animals coming to grief in the rough and tumble of this extraordinary contest. Before nine o'clock a batch of candidates for the honour of winning the Palio—for the most part but sorry-looking hacks—is collected in the Palace courtyard for their inspection. Presently, in groups of three or four, the horses reappear, each with a number painted conspicuously on the flank, and ridden, with- out saddle or stirrup, by fantint, wearing jockeys’ caps of black and white, the city’s colours. Followed by the judges, they make their way to the starting post at the Costarella dei Bar- bieri, the point from which the piazza is approached from Siena’s main street. The signal given, the horses are ridden three times round the uneven course, at two points of which an exceedingly sharp and awkward angle has to be ne- gotiated. When all the candidates have thus in turn tried their mettle, the “ Deputation ”’ retire within the Palace to discuss the respective merits of the various entries, their object being to obtain ten horses as nearly equal as possible, any animal which shows itself distinctly above | the average being promptly discarded. The requisite half-score finally agreed upon, these are renumbered, and the Deputation now proceed to apportion them by lot to the ten conirade whose turn it is to run the Palio on this occasion. This casting of lots is carried out by means of a couple of glass urns, so constructed that by being rapidly

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THE STRANGEST HORSE-RACE ON EARTH. 403 The representatives of the “Tortoise” guild on their way to the Cathedral square after the blessing of their horse. revolved their contents are thoroughly shaken up and mixed, one urn holding con- cealed, in little wooden tubes, the numbers one to ten, and the other holding the names of the competing contrade. The extraction of a number from the one urn is instantly fol- lowed by the drawing of a contrada name from the other, number and name being cried aloud by a pursuivant of the Palace garbed in the communal livery of black and white. Great is now the excitement within this lofty fresco-decorated fourteenth-century palace hall. Behind the contrada captains, who form a rampart round the urns, crowd as many eager contradaiuoli as have managed to obtain entrance to the function. No sooner have the ten horses been duly ap- portioned than they are led off, escorted by a@ cheering crowd of men and boys, to the head-quarters of the various contrade. Com- fortably stabled, well fed, and carefully groomed—probably for the first time in his life—the presumptive racer now becomes a centre of interest for the whole of the neighbourhood, and the change in his appearance within a couple of days is often little short of miraculous. Towards evening, all the streets of the city appear to have emptied their denizens into the Piazza del Campo to witness the first regalar prova, or trial race. As the first ratt'e of kettledrums is heard from the Palace the thousands of promenaders on the sand-strewn course hasten to their seats on the surrounding stagings or retire within the central enclosure ; and no sooner have the half-a-dozen mounted carabiniert, followed by as many City police, completed the clearing of the course than the ten racers—now mounted by faztint wearing the colours of their respective contrade —issue from the great gateway. Taking their way to the starting post, the horses, after a good deal of jibbing and rearing, are finally enclosed within two stout ropes stretched across the course. A drum rattles, the front rope is dropped, and a frantic yell from the thousands of agitated and enthusiastic spectators ac- claims the start, immediately succeeded by a breathless silence as the racers, having covered the more or less level curve of the west side of the Campo, approach the perilous corner of San Martino, At this point it is necessary to turn sharply to the right, where the course descends somewhat steeply to the foot of the Mangia tower—no easy feat for jockeys riding barebacked and stirrupless in a welter of untrained and_half-maddened horses, and many are the collisions and spills, to say nothing of the more serious accidents for which this awkward corner— which has to be thrice negotiated—is re- sponsible. This prova, or trial race, is re- peated twice daily until the eve of the Palio when, towards sunset, the prova generale takes place, at which the crowd and the enthusiasm are almost as immense as on the great day itself.

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404. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, On this eve of the August Palio is cele- brated the solemn festival of the Assumption of Our Lady of Grace, in honour of whom vast numbers of the townsfolk assemble at the hour of High Mass in their beautiful cathedral, the interior of which presents on these occasions an unusual and striking to house, from one street corner to another, discussing the chances of the race, exchanging good wishes with acquaintances belonging to friendly contrade and objurgating all rivals. At three o’clock the kettledrums sound the roll-call through the streets of each contrada, and presently there may be seen converging towards the chapel of their ward the figures of mediaval knights in full war panoply, attended by pages with flowing love-locks, and clad in bravery of silk, velvet, and gold. Presently the entire com- parsa ate assem- bled within the sacred edifice for that indispensable preliminary of the Palio—the blessing of the racehorse. The priest, in cotta and stole, attended by his acolyte, awaits the party at the altar steps ; the horse, bedight Country-folk coming to Siena to witness the “ Palio.” scene. The high altar and the ‘“ Lady Chapel” are ablaze with tapers; on the black-and-white marble pillars of the nave are displayed the many-hued and em- blazoned banners of the seventeen contrade ; while conspicuous on the great pilasters supporting the dome are the Balzana—the black-and-white banner of the Commune with the standards of the Terzi and the Palio itself—a long banner of white silk on which is depicted, surrounded by a nimbus of cherubs on a_ background of interlacing clouds, the Madorna, who appears to hover in benediction above a group of youthful contradaiuoli arrayed in brilliant Palio garb. Surfeited with light and colour, the eve now turns with relief to the wonderful fifteenth- century pavement underfoot, storied with Biblical scenes and allegorical pictures, now exposed in all its beauty in honour of the festival. On this eve of the Palio little time is devoted to sleep by the excited popolani of the various contrade ; the narrow tortuous streets are ablaze with lights, the whole population seems to be abroad, and the air is filled with Jaughter, song, and music. At last the eventful day dawns, and the morning hours are passed by the more truculent spirits among the contradaiuoli, female as well as male, in going from house inhis gala housings, is led before him, and the strange little religious function commences with a brief litany, followed by a couple of collects suited to the occasion. These ended, the cleric, dipping his aspergillum, sprinkles the head of the Cavallo da corso with holy water, reciting meanwhile a brief praver in Latin. Meanwhile, the alfierit, or bannermen, standing behind the rest of the comparsa, have been enlivening the proceedings with an exhibition of their quaint “ banner-play.” Having obtained the Church's blessing on their racer, the members of the comparsa now take their way through the steep winding streets to the Piazza del Duomo—the Cathedral Square—-where these representa- tives of each contrada offer in turn the customary act of homage to their Archbishop. One after another the seventeen comparse group themselves before the Archiepiscopal Palace, at an upper window of which his Grace appears to “ take the salute.’’ Here the banner-play is again performed by the alfierit who, as they deftly catch with one hand the vertically descending poles after their spin aloft, salute with the other in military fashion their spiritual head, and then make way for other comparse. This item in the day’s programme, so strikingly pic- turesque in its wonderful setting of ancient

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THE STRANGEST HORSE-RACE ON EARTH. Gothic architecture, is, however, as a rule, either ignored or overlooked by the foreigner. The various comparse have meanwhile crossed to the opposite side of the wide Piazza and disappeared within the portals of the Palazzo Reale, where, after saluting the civic dignitaries of the city, they call a halt of some duration for the discussion of the business side of the Palio—the so-called partiti, or betting. For it is here, on the occasion of the mid-August Palio, that the notables of the contrada which expect to win the Palio make verbal stipulations with the fantini or jockeys of friendly contrade and settle the sums to be paid them in the event of their success—sums which, it is said, not infrequently run to thousands of | lire. Contracts are also entered into touching the price to be paid for each blow of the nerbo well and duly administered to the fantini of hostile conirade, not necessarily with any hope of victory to the smiter, but with the sole object of destroying the chances of an enemy. Sometimes, however, the jockey riding the best horse will sell the race to a wealthy enemy contrada; or the heads of a poor contrada will themselves forego victory in return for an adequate con sideration. When, however, a good horse falls to a wealthy con(rada, its members take the precaution of watching both horse and jockey day and night during the three days preceding the race. In the meantime the whole population of the city has been converging on the Campo, and now, minute by minute, the crowd in- creases until one would think that even that vast amphitheatre —now all a-flutter with the wide- brimmed fla p- ping hats of the country - women —could not pos- sibly hold more. Every seat on the stagings sur- rounding the course is occu- pied. Bright- hued arazzi hang in old Italian fashion from the balconies and windows of the ancient palaces, and not only every case- ment overlooking the Campo, but — every coign of vantage on roof and tower both The historic chariot which carries the banners of the city and its seventeen “ contrade.” 405 near and far has its contingent of excited and eager spectators. But now, above the buzz of the always orderly crowd, sounds the first gunfire, and as the mounted carabinieri advance along the course the promenaders disappear within the barrier of the central enclosure. As soon as the sanded track is clear a second gunshot is fired, the great bell booms solemnly from the lofty Mangia tower of the Palace, and issuing in stately file from the Via del Casato, the long procession enters the Campo. In front rides the banner-bearer of the Commune, crimson-clad and ___ gallantly mounted, holding aloft the great black-and- white standard of Siena, and attended by pages in fifteenth-century garb. Then follow the five municipal trumpeters, in black, their headgear adorned with nodding white plumes and their long trumpets bearing pennoncelli of black velvet blazoned with the badges of the City. And now the comparse of the ten competing conlrade appear in the Piazza, each contrada being repre- sented by twelve persons. In front march two (tamburint with their kettledrums, followed by a couple of banner-men. Then, on foot, but armed cap-4-pie, comes the Captain, or Duce, with his five pages, two carrying halberds, two his circular bossed shield and antiquated mace, and the fifth the Duce's elabo- rately-decorated silken banner on which is depicted the inimal or object which gives its name to the contrada, Next follows the race- horse, gorgeous in gold - fringed trap- pings of velvet, led by his barbaresco, and followed by his jockey, who is now arrayed like the Duce in plumed helmet and brazen breastplate. As the long procession slowly makes the round of the Piazza, the alfieri of each. com- parsa give, at brief intervals, to the ac- companiment of the kettledrums, an exhi- bition of their peculiar banner-play. The ban- ners are manceuvred with amazing dexterity

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406 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The scene at the starting-point. and grace, their bearers causing them to revolve about their necks, to pass between their legs and to encircle their bodies in a variety of fantastic evolutions. Finally, these flags, rapidly twisted round their staves, are thrown aloft and again recovered in an upright position; and yet not once throughout the whole performance—while these large square banners are kept displayed and fluttering—are tl ever allowed to touch the ground. This sbandierata, as it is termed, is kept up during the whole time of the procession, forming a unique and most pleasing spectacle as the entire circle of the Piazza becomes gradually filled with these multi-coloured waving banners, now almost sweeping the ground, now describing somer- saults overhead. Immediately after the passing of the ten competing contrade there rides forward, mounted on a palfrey, the “ Magistrate of the Wards,” or, as he is also termed, ‘ Cap- tain of Justice ’’—attended by a lackey in scarlet carrying his sword and shield, and followed by the Terzieri, the official re- presentatives of the Terzt, with their distinc- tive banners. These form as it were the vanguard of the carro, or carroccio, the triumphal car. Drawn by four richly ca- parisoned horses with outriders, the carroccio carries among other emblems of Siena’s past glories those ancient heraldic devices, the legendary Wolf of the Commune and the Lion rampant of the Republic. Four trum- peters, one at each corner of the equipage, fill the warm air with the silver notes of their long, slender-stemmed clarions. Above, surrounded by the many-hued ensigns of all the contrade, past and present, waves proudly the crimson and gold ortfanune of the city. Raised still more conspicuously aloft is the long silken Palo, the prize of the race, now surmounted, according to encicnt custom, with the silver basin, formerly awarded to the winning contrada, but of recent. years apparently retained by the Commune. Lastly, the comparse of the seven non-competing — contrade—Captain, drummers, banner-men, and pages—make the circuit of the Piazza, stopping in their turn every fifty vards or so for the per- formance of their banner-play, while behind them the men-at-arms of the ancient Ccm- mune, halberdiers, bowmen, and arque- busiers, followed by the mounted carabinteri of the twentieth century, close the long and brilliant procession. The pageant ended, horses and jockeys, together with the Duce and others more nearly concerned with the affairs of the race, disappear within the Municipal Palace, the other members of the comparse taking their places on a long narrow stand under its windows, their massed banners forming a background to a company equally gorgeous. Presently the great bell of the Mangia tolls the hour of seven. Simultaneously a drum rattles within the courtyard of the Potesta, and from the gateway issue forth the ten horses with their fantini. No longer, however, are horses or riders in gorgeous array as in the procession. The jockeys’ bravery of silk and gold and velvet has been discarded in favour of stout garments wom

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THE STRANGEST HORSE-RACE ON EARTH. under parti-coloured jackets and trousers of cotton stuffs; and in place of glittering helmet and nodding plume they have donned, as protection against the hard blows they may expect to receive, serviceable head- pieces of solid metal, painted with the colours of their respective contrade. For participa- tion in this medieval Palio is no child's play. As in the preliminary trials, the horses are ridden barebacked, and each jockey now grasps in his right hand the formidable nerbo —a sort of cudgel made of ox-sinews—which he will not scruple to use as occasion may serve, alike against rival horse and _ rival jockey, and without the aids to equilibrium afforded by saddle and stirrup a rider may easily be unhorsed by a well-directed blow. The horses have now reached the starting post at the foot of the Costa dei Barbieri. The signal is given, the rope falls, and all ten spring simultaneously forward under a perfect hail of blows—administered not by their own riders, however, tostimu- late their efforts, but by rival fantini striving to retard their pro- gress—this not- withstanding the official regulation that no blow shall be struck before the fountain, some fifty yards beyond the starting post, has been reached. The popular ex- citement is now almost inde- scribable. ‘ The human ocean,” to borrow the words of a Sienese en- thusiast, “ gives vent to a roar so loud and so prolonged that I wager it could be heard for a mile beyond the city walls! ‘Tis a fearful din, a veritable crack of doom. Men and women yell, scream, leap into the air, shout en- couragement to friendly fantini, curse the lag- gards, invoke the saints —especially San Antonio, 407 calling upon him to guide the horse of their particular contrada and break the necks of his rivals. The air is rent with the howls of a crowd beside itself with excitement. Verily, if noise could shatter them, the palaces of Siena would long ago have crum- bled to ruin. The most fanatical actually shout themselves hoarse and, no longer able to articulate, gesticulate like folk possessed, and stamp with their feet. Amid all this babel the horses by degrees string out in a long line, and the fantimi, even when they have given up hope of victory for themselves, still strike out furiously with their nerbi, slashing and cutting at their rivals as if their lives depended upon the vigour of their blows.”” And now the third lap of the course hzs been achieved. A gunshot is heard, the race is over, and the Palio won! A posse of police immediately hastens to sur.ound and protect the lucky fantino from fossible i t- The leaders of the proczssion passing the City Hall.

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408 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. treatment at the hands of his disappointed rivals, while members of the victorious contrada, overleaping the barriers, crowd around, embrace, kiss, and hail their cham- pion at the risk of being ridden down by such of the horses as have not yet been pulled up. Raising the hero of the day on their shoulders, they bear him, amid deafening shouts of exultation, to the Judges’ stand, where is suspended the coveted Palio, around which are already waving their contrada flags. The silken banner with its smiling Madonna is lowered ; a hundred hands are stretched comparsa of the victorious contrada. in- cluding the horse and his fantino, exhibit their prize through the streets of the city, the bannermen performing before the houses of leading residents to the usual deafening kettledrum accompaniment, while the pages distribute printed copies of a bumbastic sonnet extolling their contrada and its ‘‘ un- vanquished champion.” And, lastly, within a few weeks of the race, a great banquet is given by the victorious contrada, when long tables capable of seating several hundreds of persons are set up in the The “Palio” of Siena, reproduced from an old print. The riders carry stout cudgels, with which they endeavour to disable their rivals! forth to receive it ; and amid a fresh roar of triumph the trophy is borne to the contrada chapel and suspended near the high altar. The main strect of the quarter will now be swarming with jubilant contradaiuoli. The Captain has decreed that all comers shall drink at his expense, the good red Chianti flows like water, and the fantino is the hero of the hour. Buxom goodwives clap him on the shoulder and make much of him, and pretty maidens reserve for him their sweetest smiles. On the following morning, the whole main street. Flags and draperies hang from every window, triumphal arches. span the street, and intermingled with the cressets affixed at intervals to the walls a thousand Chinese lanterns displaying the cotrada colours and badges illuminate the gay and festive scene. Somctimes, too, the racer himself, exquisitely groomed and in gala trappings, stands at one end of the long table before a manger enticingly filled with oll kinds of equine dainties. And here the contradaiuoli revel from sunset until mid- night, and all is mirth and jollity.

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Le -LAST VOYAGE OF CAPTAIN CERVANTES A RORB MACKENZIE ILLUSTRATED BY E S HOOGSON With the passing of sailing ships much of the old-time romance has vanished from the seaman’s calling, and such adventures as befell the hero of this remarkable narrative are hardly possible nowadays. Mr. Macken: ie has set the story down as told to him by his uncle, and it will be found as exciting as the most blasé reader could desire. HEN I say that my Uncle George hailed from “ ayont the Tweed,” it is unnecessary to add that he was a shrewd, keen, long- headed business man. Uncle George had “ made his pile ” abroad, and afterwards carried on a fairly large business in Liverpool as an exyort merchant, before he married, and retired to his London home. He liked to entertain me with long and interesting narratives of his many curious adventures abroad and at home, as we sat together after dinner enjoving a comfortable smoke, and one Sunday he spent the whole afternoon reciting to me his remarkable experiences as a Liver- pool shipowner. The astonishing story that follows is a record of what he told me, the details having been amplified from various sources of information. My uncle, with some half-a-dozen other well-to-do Liverpool gentlemen, had been fortunate in several extensive export trans- actions to South American ports, and as the business grew they thought it would be wise to purchase a ship of their own. This course being agreed upon, they finally selected and purchased an American clipper-built, three-masted ship called the Mercuria, a practically new vessel with a splendid record for speed and as handsome a ship as ever sailed from the Port of Liver- pool. Their next step was to secure the services of a reliable captain. They had the choice of several good men, and, after much deliberation they finally engaged Captain Garcia Cervantes, a hand- some Spaniard of athletic build, and pos sessing the usual credentials of a first-class navigator, The Captain, when appointed, very soon got together a good crew, while the syndicate, without loss of time, put on board a full cargo for their first venture in their own ship, Captain Cervantes was full of energy and ntelligence, and the new owners congratu- lated themselves on their good fortune in having secured the services of such a busi- nesslike man. He was well educated, master of several languages, and fitted in every way for his position. He was about forty-five years of age, of pleasing manners, with a dark, weather-beaten complexion and a firm mouth, good features, and bold, dark brown eyes. The destination of the Mercuria was Buenos Ayres, and she sailed from Liver- pool on the 16th of July, 1847. The Captain had on board with him a magnificent thoroughb:ed Newfoundland dog called “ Bob,” his constant companion and faithful friend.“ Bob "’ was soon a favourite with every man on board; he was a good sailor and the life of the ship. The ship was fortunate during her vovage out, being favoured with capital weather, and in due course arrived safe and sound at Buenos Ayres. Here the owners’ agents took charge of the cargo, and the whole shipment was speedily and profitally disposed of. Just after the crew had taken in a plentiful supply of fresh water, the military authorities

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410 of the district, desiring to send a company of soldiers by sea from Buenos Ayres to Vortalizza, in Blanco Bay—a distance of about four hundred miles—chartered the Mercunna to take the men there, and a hand- some payment was made by the Government for the temporary use of the vessel as a troop-ship. There being no other cargo obtainable at Fortalizza, with the exception of some five hundred hides, which he took on board, Captain Cervantes, unwilling to make the return voyage practically empty- handed, lost no time in seeking a port where he could get a full cargo for home. He therefore made sail for the Chincha Islands off the coast of Peru, where he knew any amount of valuable Peruvian guano could be procured, which would bring a good price when landed in England. At that period the guano deposits covered the entire surface of the Chincha Islands to the extraordinary average depth of eighty feet. These islands belonged to the Peruvian Government, and the port for ships was then on the North Island, the loading being done in strict rotation as the vessels arrived, on the principle of * First come, first served.” When the Alercuria reached the islands, Captain Cervantes found he would only have to wait little more than a week before Is turn came. As soon as the loading was accomplished, and the Government's dues satisied, the ship set sail on her return voyage for England. The Captain was in high spirits, having successfully carried three valuable cargoes in one vovage—the merchandise from Eng- land, the troops from Buenos Ayres, as well as the hides and the Peruvian guano. When the Mercuria reached Liverpool after a quick passage, an immediate market at a considerable profit was found for both the guano and the hides, and the owners were more than delighted with the successful result of their first ship-owning venture. They warmly congratulated Captain Cer- vantes, and were only vexed with them- selves for not having tried the ship-owning experiment sooner. The Captain recom- mended that their next cargo of merchandise for Buenos Ayres should be practically the same as the last, as the cargo he had delivered there on his previous voyage was far from sufficient to supply the pressing needs of the market. Following this advice the syndicate loaded the ship with merchandise similar to that taken out on her last voyage, and with as little delay as possible the Mercuria left Liverpool on her second voyage to Buenos Ayres. On this occasion the run was not quite so pleasurable nor as speedy as her last. The Mercuria passed through some rather THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. alarming experiences, but met with no mishaps, and eventually made her way safely to the port of Buenos Ayres. Here, however, the more serious troubles of the voyage really began, Captain Cer- vantes found to his dismay that since the time of his previous visit several other vessels had been there, and had dumped a surfeit of merchandise of a similar description to that carried by the Mercuria, The market was consequently glutted, and the cargo had to be disposed of at a much smaller margin of profit than the owners had calculated upon. Captain Cervantes was determined to make up in some other way for this unfortu- nate state of matters. He tried, but in vain, to get a remunerative cargo for the homeward voyage. As bad fortune would have it, however, the storage sheds were practically empty and the supplies from the interior had been delayed by floods. Cervantes could not stand this delay. His hot Spamsh blood was up. He was determined to load the ship with something, and he decided to sail immediately for the guano islands and take in a cargo of the precious Peruvian guano. Accordingly, after the ship’s stores had been replenished, the Captain gave orders to make sail at once, and soon the Alercunta was once again on the broad Atlantic, making for Cape Horn and the Southern Pacific. After an exceptionally severe passage she at last rounded Cape Horn and entered the Southern Pacific, making for the Chincha Islands in lat. 13° 38’ south, long. 70° 28’ west, where she arrived without further mis- adventure, expecting to be able to load up immediately with a cargo of guano. But here Captain Cervantes met with another disappointment. The harbour, when the Mercuria arrived, was already filled with a whole tleet of vessels, of all sorts and sizes, waiting to take their turn to be loaded up with guano. ‘The Alercuria remained at anchor for over seven weeks, waiting her turn for loading to arrive, but the prospects of that event occurring in anything like the near future did not appear particularly hopeful. The unbusinesslike methods of the resident Government official and the slow- ness’ of the sleepy-looking natives who carried out the loading were most exasperat- ing and galling to Cervantes. He bore the strain of the delay as well as he could, but he was too impatient by nature and of too active a temperament to tolerate such a state of affairs for very long. Captain Cervantes, though always a strict disciplinarian, was liked by every member of the crew. He was a thoroughly expen- enced navigator and seaman, and knew his business from A to Z. He was, in fact, a model captain, and(every.inch a sailor. He

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THE LAST VOYAGE also generally got on well with all the port officials, and in this particular latitude his handsome appearance, and the fact of being a true-born Spaniard, were assets of some value. Notwithstanding all this, however, all progress was at a standstill; there was “nothing doing,” and no prospect, seem- ingly, of a change for the better. One morning, after a long talk with Mr. Munro, the chief mate, Cervantes ordered the longboat to be got ready, fitted with a mast, sail, and compass, and with provisions for a week stowed on board. When the work was completed the Captain and the second mate, with old “* Bob” and three of the crew— all well armed—started off on what looked like a very mysterious cruise. They headed north-west, out to sea, and soon left the Chincha Wlands far astern. In the absence of the captain the mate of a ship takes over the supreme command. The first mate of the Wercuria was a capable man in every way. The crew, in sailing ships under first-class discipline, are never allowed to be idle for a moment when on board, and it is the first mate’s duty to see that this rule is strictly observed. Among the items of the Mercuria’s cargo for which a market could not be found at Buenos Ayres were several bales of coarse unbleached calico. This the mate now ordered to be brought up from the hold, and when it was unpacked he set all hands to work cutting the calico into suitable lengths and having it stitched up into a number of small bags or sacks, capable of holding about half a hundredweight apiece. The men were kept steadily engaged upon this work every day until Captain Cervantes returned—eight days later—from his excur- sion in the longboat. By this time several hundreds of these bags had been made and stowed away in convenient piles ready for use when required. The sailors had not the most remote idea for what service they were intended, though they had many whispered conjectures among themselves as to their ultimate use, and they were the topic of a good many humorous jokes. Orders were given, on a Tuesday morning, to prepare the Wercuria to sail immediately for San Francisco. The anchors were weighed, all necessary sail set and trimmed ready for her vovage, and towards noon the Union Jack was hoisted and the vessel—looking, as usual, exceed- y smart—started on her northern vovage. The Mereunria had no sooner sailed away out of sight of the other waiting vessels and got beyond the observation of the drowsy officials of the port, than the captain ordered her course to be changed, and she was steered due west, out to sea. Presently, however, she tacked back, till she got round to the OF CAPTAIN CERVANTES. 4il opposite side of the islands, directly behind the high hill where the officials of the Peru- vian Government were leisurely engaged in overlooking the loading of the vessels. As soon as the Wercuria reached a certain point the ship was brought within about a cable's length of the land, which was as near to the clifis as the captain considered safe. The anchors were then let go, fore and aft, and all sails furled and made fast. The vessel now lay in a_ secluded nook, perfectly screened from observation, and fairly shel- tered from any wind that might happen to blow. The weather was dry, usual in that locality, and the light breeze had fallen away to a calm, so that Cervantes judged every- thing was favourable for the carrying out of the daring scheme he had in view. ‘The ship's boats were lowered, and = everyone began to realize that the Captain's intention was to dig into the vast guano hill and help himself to all he wanted, without permission from the Peruvian authorities. ‘The business of the crew, of course, was merely to obey orders without question, and soon everyone on board had_ his par- ticular duty defined, and had to get to work with the utmost rapidity to load up the Mercuria with guano. This they proceeded to do, at such a rate as had never before been dreamt of since the Chincha Islands became known as a guano ccntre. The men speedily discovered for what purpose the cotton bags had been made. They were brought up frem the hold, loaded into the small boats, and conveyed ashore to a certain spot on the rocky clifis of the island specially selected by the Captain when he made his preliminary voyage of discovery in the longboat. There the bags were immediately filled with guano, and_ their mouths securely tied with spun-yarn, brought ashore for the purpose. The sacks, when full, were comparatively light, and so handy in shape that a man could easily carry two at a time, one under each arm, or on his shoulders, and run quickly down with his load and stow them in the boats waiting at the foot of the cliffs ready to receive them. When the boats were loaded, they were rowed back to the ship, and the bags were speedily hoisted on board and carefully stowed away in the hold. The whole operation, once the sailors got properly started, was carried on like clock- work, and the Jercurta was soon in a fair way to being loaded to the water-line in record time. Captain Cervantes personally superintended the work, displaying — his usual infectious energy. He had hot tea served to the men as well as a generous “ go” of grog every night. The sailors looked upon the whole business as a piece |of fun, and

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412 treated the matter as a sort of jolly good joke. They worked with a will, and seemed to consider the performance as on a par with some of the old-time smuggling adventures. This kept them in good hearty humour, and they could hardly be restrained from singing in chorus at their work, but strict silence had, of course, to be maintained. f Early one morning, however, Nemesis came on the scene with startling abruptness. Just before breakfast the boy stationed on the look-out suddenly called out ‘‘ Sail-ho !’” and almost immediately a smart Revenue cutter, belonging to the Peruvian Govern- ment, hove insight. The commander, taking in the situation, at once put an armed force on board the Mercvria and made prisoners of the captain, the officers, and the whole of her crew. The whole business happened so quickly and unexpectedly that there was no ssible chance for resistance. The ship being at anchor, with every sail furled, there could be no escape, and they were all trapped like rats in a hole ! The commander of the cutter informed Captain Cervantes that the penalty for such a breach of the law was invariably the con- fiscation of both ship and cargo, and the trial of the offenders by court-martial. He had all the prisoners, as well as “ Bob,” conveyed under escort to his own vessel, and he placed a guard, with an officer in charge, on board the Mercuria. The Revenue cutter immediately sailed round to the port on the other side of the island, and here the prisoners were landed in custody of a strong guard and in due course brought before the port authorities. This being the most flagrant offence of that nature that had ever occurred in their experience, the local authori- ties thought it best to report the case at once to the President of the Peruvian Republic and be guided by his advice. Accordingly the commander of the cutter was dispatched to explain personally the situation to the President. In the mean- time all the prisoners were confined under strict guard in the military barracks. They were well fed and kindly treated, and as a special mark of distinction Captain Cervantes was given a furnished room to himself, with his faithful ‘‘ Bob” for a companion, but a sentry was stationed on guard outside the door night and day. Being able to speak the language of the country, the captain very soon managed to get on friendly terms with Don Millero, the subaltern under whose charge he had been placed. Millero was a bright, good-natured young officer, and took quite a friendly interest in his handsome Spanish prisoner. They had many a com- fortable chat together as they smoked their cigars and discussed the gossip of the port. In course of conversation one afternoon THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Don Millero happened to mention that Captain Rouche’s Irench brig had that day completed its loading of guano and was expected to sail in the evening on her home- ward voyage to Marseilles. No sooner had Cervantes obtained this information than he resolved in his own mind to take advantage of the opportunity and attempt an escape. If possible, by hook or by crook, he would get on board that French vessel, either as a passenger or otherwise. Fortunately for him there was a convenient casement window in his room which opened upon the back of the building, and was not more than ten feet from the ground outside, where was a sort of lumber yard belonging to the barracks where he was confined. Cer- vantes had observed that there were no iron bars fixed to the window. As soon as dark- ness set in, therefore, and all was fairly quiet, he listened at the door of his cell and dis- tinctly heard the sentry snoring as he sat fast asleep on the doorstep. Cervantes extinguished his lamp so as to give the impression that he had retired to sleep; then he noiselessly opened the casement, and in less time than it takes to write had passed through the window and let himself drop quietly to the ground, instantly fol- lowed by old “‘ Bob.’’ With as little noise as possible he slipped away from the barrack buildings, and wrapping his cloak closely about him, made his way towards the wharf, where he hoped to get hold of a boat of some sort that would enable him to get on board the French brig before it left the island. He was fairly well acquainted with Captain Rouche of the brig Orenogue, and enter- tained the hope that with his help he would be able to effect his escape and secure a safe passage to Europe. Cervantes had not proceeded above thirty yards when he heard footsteps approaching in the opposite direction. He immediately concealed himself behind a pile of empty casks that happened to be near, and there he waited, with his hand on “ Bob’s”’ head, till the footsteps got close to his place of concealment. He could make out by their loud, hilarious conversation that the men approaching were a couple of - military officers on their way to the barracks. They had evidently been at some convivial gathering, and continued on their way unconscious of the near vicinity of an escaping prisoner. Fortunately ‘* Bob,” evidently understanding the necessity for silence, did not utter a sound. Cervantes waited for a moment till the men had passed round the corner of the building, and then cautiously set off again in the direction of the shore. He was for- tunate in finding a skiff tied to a post, near the landing-stage. It “had.a,pair of sculls

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THE LAST VOYAGE OF CAPTAIN CERVANTES. “Quick as lightning Cervantes struck up the captain’s arm.”

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THE WIDE 4l4 on board, being evidently the boat the two officers had used to come ashore in from one of the vessels. He and “ Bob” at once took possession of the skiff and cast off the painter. Pushing oft from the shore Cer- vantes stealthily paddled towards the anchor- age of the French ‘brig, which he could distinctly locate by the lights on board. When he reached the vesssel and hailed the captain he and “ Bob" were immedi- ately received on board, and taking Captain Rouche at once into his confidence, Cervantes persuaded him to assist in his escape. The brig being quite ready to start the anchor was weighed right awa All ! was set, and a favourable breeze having fortunately sprung up, Captain Rouche was anxious to take the fullest advantage of it. In a very short time the Orenogque had left the Chincha Islands far astern and com- menced her homeward voyage, scudding along before a strong north-easter. The next few days were warm and pleasant. Every advantage was taken of the favourable breeze, and the brig made considerable head- way. As the vessel got well into the Southern Pacific, however, in the direction of Cape Horn, the weather became decidedly more stormy. Sometimes for fully a week on end the wind blew a perfect gale, and the Orenoque passed through some rather violent hurri- canes. Intense cold and biting cast winds were met with, particularly when the vessel reached the latitude of Point Conception. Captain Rouche, the commander of the Orenoque, was a rough, thick-set, burly sort of man, coarse in his speech and irritable in manner, with scarcely a trace of that polite suavity of deportment one naturally expects to find ina Frenchman. In appearance and general bearing he was a strong contrast to Cervantes. He ruled the vessel and_ his crew in a manner characteristic of his nature, and was anything but a favourite with his officers and men. Upon the whole he was not a bad sailor, but he had one outstanding failing—an inordinate weakness for strong drink. Indeed, he w: seldom, if ever, perfectly sober, In discipline he was invari- ably harsh, blustering, and generally difficult to please. The men before the mast were a mongrel, cut-throat-looking crowd of various nation- alities—Frenchmen, Danes, Swedes, Italians, Spanish, and Portuguese. The cook was a Negro, and rather a decent, obliging sort of fellow. The first mate, Fred Olaf, was a Dane, a tall muscular man, a good sailor, with a fist like a sledge-hammer. The second mate was rather a weak specimen of a Frenchman, but was quick and active, though not much of a seaman. Captain Cervantes (now a mere passenger) WORLD MAGAZINE could not help—in his own mind, of course —contrasting the untidiness and slovenliness of everything about the brig with the spick- and-span look of the Mercuria, but needless to say he kept his thoughts to himself. He soon became on friendly terms with Olaf, the mate, and he had not been very long on board before he won the respect of all the sailors to a man. The mate had charge of the navigation of the vessel, for when fairly out at sea Captain Rouche was more fre- quently drunk than sober. Sometimes he would be too hopelessly drunk for weeks at a stretch to be of any use at all. The vessel encountered boisterous weather, which got worse the nearer she came to Cape Horn, but the captain was in the grip of a worse-than-usual attack of ‘‘ D.T.'s,” and it sometimes required the combined strength of the steward and the mate to hold him down. Unfortunately Rouche had lately taken a vicious dislike to Cervantes, and the sight of his dog acted on the nerves of the captain as a red rag does to a bull. Seldom, when in his cups, did he lose an opportunity of greeting his passenger with insults. Cer- vantes, however, stood it all with commend- able good humour, But one day things reached a serious cris Cervantes hap- . pened to enter the cabin just at the moment when Captain Rouche, in a fit of intense excitement, was struggling in the hands of the steward and the chief mate. When he noticed the presence of Cervantes he strove with all his strength to get at him, but the mate got between the two men and held him back. This interference roused Rouche to a towering frenzy. Suddenly drawing a pistol from his hip pocket he aimed straight at the mate’s head and fired. Quick as lightning, however, Cervantes struck up the captain's arm, so that the shot only slightly grazed the side of the mate’s head, cutting open his left ear. The mate in turn, now fully roused, instantly replied, and with all the force of his muscular arm landed a swinging right-hander square on the captain's jaw, sending him full length on the cabin floor, where he lay in a state of unconscious- ness, bleeding frem a badly-fractured jaw. This action of the mate’s, of course, would be held by the law as being an act of mutiny, and the news of the scuffle soon spread among the crew, but none of the men were sorry Captain Rouche had come off second-best. He was no favourite in the forecastle, and as he had tried to murder the mate the sailors said “It served him jolly well right.” Rouche’s whole body was so thoroughly impregnated with alcohol that his fractured jaw refused to heal. His blood was so fear- fully contaminated, and his entire system so lowered, that he stood noychan¢e-of recovery.

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THE LAST VOYAGE Tetanus set in, and after suffering excrucia- ting pain for several days, he finally died of blood-poisoning, and was buried in a sailor’s grave. Meanwhile, of course, the navigation of the brig proceeded as usual. After a short conference it was agreed - among the officers that Cervantes should be asked to act as master of the brig during the voyage, and this he agreed to do. The mate took up his old position, and the others carried on as usual without any grumbling. Immediately after the usual burial service had been performed and the decks cleared, Captain Cervantes formally took command and all hands were called aft, the men being previously instructed by the second mate to bring along with them any firearms or other weapons that any of them might have in their possession, When the crew had all assembled, Captain Cervantes, who had been walking up and down the quarter-deck, proceeded to address the men. Speaking in French, which was the language commonly used on board, he said: “Now, my men, your old master, Captain Rouche, poor fellow, has gone on his final cruise. I stand in his place, as the new captain of this brig. I hope we shall all pull well together, The accidental circumstances which brought about this change are known to every one of vou, and I don't think I need Temind you that the laws which regulate navigation and discipline on board vessels at sea call the trouble which brought about the death of Captain Rouche by a very ugly name—open mutiny on the high seas. Un- fortunately, we are all in the same boat, for the law makes no distinctions, but includes every one of us, as being accessory to the fact, and equally amenable to the punishment prescribed for the crime of mutiny. We are, therefore, all considered equally guilty, and must stand or fall together. It is therefore our duty, shipmates, to live in harmony and good fellowship, all doing our best to make the voyage as comfortable and pleasant as possible for every man on board. “To ensure perfect confidence in each other, no one must be in a position to be able to take an unfair advantage. I therefore desire that all offensive weapons any of us may have—all firearms, daggers, stilettos, or whatever they may be—shall at once be thrown overboard. Do as 1 do, my men— so!’ With that the captain drew his pistol from his pocket, fired the contents in the air and tossed the weapon into the sea. The mates also threw their pistols overboard, and the sailors did the same with their stilettos and such other weapons as they possessed. ““ Now,” resumed the captain, “ we'll all live together on this brig as a happy family OF CAPTAIN CERVANTES. 415 for the rest of the voyage. As most of you must be aware, I was captain on her last two voyages of the Liverpool ship Mercurta, now left at the Chincha Islands. You will not find me a bad master. I always believe in strict discipline, however, and expect every man to carry out my orders and do his duty with a will. If you do this, then everything will be pleasant and comfortable on board the Orenoque, The mate will now appoint the usual watches and the steward will serve out a stiff glass of grog to each of you before you go, and we will all hope for favourable winds and a record voyage.” The crew gave three lusty cheers for Captain Cervantes and dispersed to their several posts, singing the French version of “ For he’s a jolly good fellow, and so say all of us.””) The captain had evidently gained the confidence of the crew, which is always a very satisfactory state of affairs on board ship. The fraternal organization on board con- tinued to work with the utmost smoothness and all hands went about their ta with evident goodwill, There certainly seemed to be a happy feeling pervading the inmates of the forecastle ; in fact, all on board were influenced by the genial good humour of Captain Cervantes and admired his skilful seamanship. He never gave his orders in the gruff, bullying manner (often accom- panied by abuse) they had been accustomed to from Captain Rouche; though always strict, he invariably spoke and acted like a gentleman, and every member of the ship's company, from the smallest boy to Mr. Olaf, the chief mate, obediently and willingly carried out his orders. The Orenoqgue had now a very different appearance. The decks were regularly swabbed down and frequently holystoned. Everything was in its right place. The rig- ging, fore and aft, had all been carefully overhauled, the masts and spars scraped and greased, the fittings thoroughly painted —everything, in short, made tidy and ship- shape. It was, perhaps, more than could be ex- pected that this serene state of affairs should last for ever. The climax came like a thunderbolt. One morning, as the steward was making the captain's bed, he noticed something hard and unvielding carefully stitched inside the mattress, and, cutting open the tick to ascertain what the ob-truc- tion could be, was astonished and alarmed to find concealed a six-chambered revolver, fully loaded, and also a keen-edged Spanish stiletto, with the initials “ G. C.” engraved on the hilt, evidently the property of Captain Cervantes. The steward made up the bed as usual, but, secreting the weapons, he im- mediately sought out the mate,told him of

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416 his discovery, and showed him what he had found. The growing friendship the mate had entertained for Captain Cervantes and_ his implicit trust and confidence in his sincerity and honesty of purpose rec shock. He felt—as he said himself—'' per- fectly flabbergasted.” He told the steward, however, that for the present he would take charge of the discovered weapons. The news speedily spread from the officers to the men in the forecastle, and produced instant consternation. The concealment of weapons in the captain's bed was vehemently de- nounced as a treacherous action on his part. The conclusion the men came to was that Cervantes had taken a mean and contempt- ible advantage of them in persuading them to throw all their weapons overboard while he retained his own. It was his intention, they had no doubt, to turn on the defenceless crew when the opportunity came, and murder the whole lot of them. They decided that the only way to prevent any such catas- trophe was to at once make use of his own weapons and—mutiny or no mutiny—settle the matter once and for all by getting rid of the-captain. With such theories as these the sailors speedily worked themselves up into a perfect frenzy of excitement. Captain Cervantes was in his cabin at the time, having just finished dinner, and was calmly filling his pipe for his usual post- prandial smoke, utterly oblivious of what was happening forward. ‘ Bob” was stretched on the floor by his side, looking expectantly up at his master, waiting for the plate of tit-bits Cervantes never failed to give him at that hour. Suddenly the dog pricked up his ears and gave a savage growl as he leapt to his feet and moved towards the door. The captain sat up in a listening attitude, for unusual sounds, coming from the direc- tion of the fo’c’sle, were now distinctly audible. He jumped to his feet just as the cabin door was violently flung open and there rushed forward an excited mob of. sailors, shouting and swearing in a dozen different languages as they pressed through the door- way, armed with marlinspikes, knives, sticks, and other handy weapons. But their pro- xress was eftectively barred by ‘* Bob,”” who, showing his teeth and growling savagely, sprang at the throat of first one and then another of the leaders, throwing them down and savagely biting them. He very soon had the whole mob of ruffians in’ terror- stricken flight, running for their lives to the shelter of the forecastle, where they barri- caded themselves in. The captain hurried up to the quarter-deck at once, with ‘‘ Bob’ at his heels, and, sum- moning the mate, demanded to know what THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, had upset the men. ‘' What’s all this dis- turbance about?” he cried. “What do these scoundrels want ?” “They're all in open mutiny, sir,” replied the mate, and in a few words he explained the discovery made by the steward, and its effects on the men. When Cervantes heard this he burst out in a roar of laughter that could be heard all over the brig. The Cap- tain’s laugh was so infectious that the mate could not resist joining in the merriment, though for the life of him he could not under- stand what there was to laugh at. Cervantes ordered the men to come aft at once to explain their trouble and hear what he had to say. When the crew came along—most of them “still very excited and looking as black as thunder—the mate explained in their presence what had disturbed them. The Captain then told the crew that the whole affair was due to a misunderstanding, simple enough in itself. He proceeded to explain that the weapons found in his bed had been placed there for safety the first night he came on board the brig, and had nothing whatever to do with his compact with them. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten that they existed. He was sorry this unfortunate piece of for- getfulness on his part had occurred, he said. He could quite sympathize with their feelings in the circumstances, and he was therefore prepared to overlook the want of discipline some of them had shown that day. The weapons would be retained in the custody of Mr. Olaf, and he hoped and believed the whole aftair would pass from the memory of everyone on board, and that harmony and mutual confidence would reign as before. He was satisfied in every way with the discipline and work of every man on board since he had taken over charge of the vessel, and he hoped mutual trust would again prevail on board, and continue to the end of the voyage. The men made no reply, and some still looked surly and unimpressed, but they all quictly dispersed to take up their usual duties. Captain Cervantes walked the quar- ter-deck in the afternoon as pleasantly and bravely unconcerned as usual, exactly as if no trouble had occurred, but next morning, when his cabin was entered, his body was found on the floor, a mangled corpse, and the ever-faithful “ Bob” lay by his side, strangled and stabbed to the heart. Great excitement prevailed on board, but no one asked who had done this cowardly thing. he body of the unfortunate captain and his faithful dog were both carried on deck and committed unceremoniously to the sea. As the navigation of the brig could not stand still, the mate naturally took over command, and work went on much as usual, but a miserable feeling of; gloom enveloped the

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THE LAST VOYAGE OF CAPTAIN CERVANTES, 417 “*Bob,’ showing his teeth and growling savagely, sprang at the throat of first one and then another of the leaders.” Vol. xlvi. -29.

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418 whole vessel, and there could be no doubt that every man on board missed the manly, handsome figure of Captain Cervantes from the quarter-deck. After a week or two of uneventful sailing the crew again began to show an uncom- fortable spirit of restlessness and excitement, and it took Captain Olaf, their new master, all his time to maintain a passable show of disci- pline. As the brig neared European waters the question arose as to what particular port should now be their destination. The Orenoque was owned by Marseilles merchants, and her cargo of guano was originally intended for that port, but in their present peculiar circumstances the guilty crew judged it prudent to land at some other port, as far away from Marseilles as possible, for there the Orenoque was too well known. Several other places were considered, and after a somewhat heated discussion it was agreed to put in at La Rochelle on the Atlantic coast. In case of trouble with the authorities they thought it essential, first of all, to have the name of the vessel changed, and as the carpenter was clever at lettering he was ordered to obliterate the word Orenoque and substitute the name Daufhine, During the time this was being altered, fore and aft and on all the small boats, the brig was kept well out to sea. Then, crossing the Bay of Biscay, she made for her intended haven. Before she reached that port, however, the suggestion was made and strongly insisted on by some of the men that Brest would be a safer harbour for thefi to enter. Others of the crew, who had been there before, argued that Ia Rochelle was far and away the better place for them, The discussion reached such a pitch of excitement that very soon arguments were succeeded by blows, and an all-round stand-up fight ensued. During this general scrimmage the steering of the vessel was somewhat uncertain, and the erratic manoeuvring of the brig caught the sharp eve of the commander of a French warship which happened to be in the vicinity. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, He immediately signalled the brig to ‘‘ stand by,” and sent his longboat over with an armed crew in charge of a lieutenant, who went on board and endeavoured to under- stand the situation. The log-book of the Dauphine not being forthcoming, and the statements of Captain Olaf and the mate being considered most unsatisfactory, all on board were made prisoners, and a number of seamen from the cruiser were put in charge of the brig, which was taken in custody on suspicion for investigation and trial by the French Admiralty authorities at Marseilles. The final result was that everyone on board was found guilty of mutiny and murder and condemned to death.* The owners of the brig entered claims for the restitution of the vessel as being their property and made use of illegally without their consent or knowledge, and a certain amount of prize-money was awarded them. Meanwhile, the officers and men belonging to the Mercuria detained at the Chincha Islands were, after a short term of imprison- ment, given their liberty by the Peruvian Government. They shipped themselves home at the first opportunity on board other homeward-bound vessels, but the ship itself was confiscated and lost to its rightful owners for ever. The syndicate of Liverpool merchants in which Uncle George was interested never received one farthing, even in the shape of insurance money or ether compensation. for the loss of their good ship Mercurta. Their high hopes were completely blighted, and this true narrative of their first and last venture as shipowners is all that is left to-day to remind the descendants of these enter- prising gentlemen that their forbears were once the proud owners of one of the finest clipper-built merchantmen that ever sailed from the port of Liverpool. * Tam under the impression that certain members of the crew, the carpenter among them, escaped this fate, and later made their way to Liverpool, where my uncle learnt from their lips the story of Captain Cervantes’ experiences on board the Oreno7ue ~The AurHor

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by The conclusion of this remarkable narr: ences in the mad wards of the LIEUT-E-H-JONES INDIAN ARMY RESERVE OF OFFICERS Mlustrated by HOWARD ELCOCK THE LIFTED VEIL THE STORY OF AN AMAZING DECEPTION A | ive, describing the two conspirators’ trying experi- Haidar Pasha Hospital. By dint of wonderful acting and much self-control they managed to deceive the doctors and finally won their freedom, q but at a terrible price. IX. EXT morning the hotel-keeper came in early to survey the damage He produced his broken clasp-knife and demanded another 1n its place. “Why should we give you another?” I said. “Tt has nothing to do with us.” “7 broke it in cutting your companion down,” he said, indignantly, pointing to Hill. ‘ You'd have been dead by now but for this knife.” I told him he was a har and denied that we had ever tried to hang ourselves. He got furious and said thé whole town knew we had attempted suicide. I got equally furious and denied it. For some minutes we argued together, and he called on the sentries to corroborate him, which they did. Then I changed my tune, begged him not to say such a thing about us or we would be put in jail, and gave him my knife in place of his own, ‘This mollitied him a little, but he still stuck to his point that we had at- tempted suicide. I pretended to grow desperate, dropped on my knees, and beseeched him to deny the hanging for our sakes. Then I gave him a tin of tea. He could retail it at a sinlling a cup, which would amply compensat? him for any damage caused to his furmshings. Various local officials came in d ring the Morning and questioned us. We stoudly dented having hanged ourselves. Moise, under the Spook’s orders, pretended to be alarmed at this and drew up an account of the hanging, which was signed by a number of witnesses. This was to counteract our denial at Constantinople should we deny it. A telegraphic report was sent to the Commandant at Yozgad, and we learned later that Captain Suhbi Fahri and Major Osman were delighted at the correctness of their diag- nosis. About midday we left Mardeen. We had, as an addition to our escort, the officer in charge of the Mardeen gendarmene, who rode with us to the next gendarmene post, twenty miles away, and handed us over to the police there. Indeed, we were handed on from police officer to police otticer all the v to railhead, for we were now regarded as dang@gous lunatics. The conclusion to which Hill and I came in the course of our secret discussions was that the hanging had been a completely successful take- in, and, if O'Farrell was correct, this, combined with our past history as retailed by the Com- mandant in his report and a httle acting on our part, would be quite sufficient to win us our exchange. Prospects were so rosy that we con- sidered exchange our best chance, and decided to go through to Constantinople. We reached Constantinople about — three o'clock that afternoon, and Morse left us on the station platform in charge of the sentries while he went oft with his papers to arrange for our admission to hospital. OUR FIRST DAY IN HAIDAR PASHA HOSPITAL, It was long after dark when Moise returned to the station with the news that everything had been arranged. We and our baggage were then marched up the hil to Haidar Pasha Hospital, whose main entrance is about half a mile from the railway terminus. For the last ten days we had been doping ourselves regularly with phenacetin, and this on top of our] starvation ‘The Author's book, “ On the Road to En-Dor,” is published by MrlJohn)\Lane!

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420 had weakened us so much that we were glad to sit down on the pavement half-way to the hospital and rest. We each took our last four tablets of phenacetin (twenty grains) just beture entering the hospital. The building was in darkness. We were taken to the “ receiving room,’’ or “ depot,” where Moise supplied the clerk m charge with such facts about us as were required for entry in the hospital books and handed over our kit and our money, for which he obtained a receipt. During these formalities Hill read his Bible as usual, and I, pretending to be under the delusion that the hospital was an hotel, repeatedly demanded that the mght-porter should be sum- moned to show us to our rooms, and bring us a whisky-and-soda. The clerk was a humorous fellow. He explained that as it was war-time the hotel had to be very minute in its registration, but “ Boots would) be along m due course. At last, the mght-porter—a_ rascally Greek— “appeared and led us to an inner room, devoid of all furniture, where be made us undr The Greek went through each garment as we took it oft, and helped himselt to anything he fancted in the pockets. He was on the point of taking my wrist-watch when the hammam-jee (the man in charge of the bath) arrived with towels tor us. The watch remained on my wrist, and the Greek took away our clothes, presumably to the depot. I never saw mine again. The Commander of the Bath was a washed- out-looking Turk. He had a large, pas featureless face, not unlike a shghtly mould ham an size, colour, and outhne. While we were washing he took charge of the few small belong- ings we still retained —our cigarettes and tobacco, my watch, and the first voluryg of the “ History of my Persecution by the English.” He failed to loosen Hill’s grip on his Bible, and it came into the bathroom with us. He asked if we had any money, and seemed disappointed when he found we had none. When we had bathed he brought us our hospital unitorm—a vest, a pair of pants, a weird garment that was neither shirt nor mghtgown, but half-way betwe and Turkish slippers, and put into our hands every- thing he had taken from us. I was surprised at his honesty, ether subordinate in the hospital, he had his own method of adding to his meome. The hanmam-jee handed us over to an attendant of the Asabt-Qaoush (nervous ward). In_ the room to which we were taken by this gentleman there were ten beds, four on one side, five on the other, and one at the end. Twas put into number ten bed, which was next the door, Nex te me, in number nine bed, was a Turkish officer, and on his other side, im number eight, they placed Hull, The room was faintly it by a cheap lamp. The corndor outside was in Both our beds were in full view of kerosene darkness, the door, 1 covered my head with the blankets, leaving but found later that, hke every’ THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a small peephole, through which ] could watch the corridor, and lay waiting. We were de- termined to kecp awake all night, because O'Farrell had warned us that our greatest dithculty would be to get the “insane lock” into our eyes, and our best chance was to dull them with lack of sleep. We had expected to face the doctors immediately on armival at Haidar Pasha, and had not closed our eyes the might before. Indeed, our last real sleep had been at Angora on May 5th, and it was now the night of the 8th. The beds were comfort- able, and we were very weary. There followed for both of us a dreadful struggle against sleep. Time and again I pulled myself together on the verge of oblivion. I felt 1 would give all 1 possessed, all I hoped for, to be allowed to close my for ten minutes—for five—tor one! 1 began pinching myself, making the pinches keep time with the snores of a Turk in one of the beds opposite, but in a little whue the noises stopped and 1 nearly fell asicep while waiting for the next snore. When things quictened down I noticed throvgh my peephole a shadow flit past in the dark corndor outside and disappear beside a large cupboard. The shght scraping of a chair on the cement floor let me know that someone had taken a seat. We were being watched | This was excellent. It would help to keep me awake. | wondered if Hill knew, or it he had succumbed to our enemy--sleep. For perhaps half an hour I lay watching the cupboard, trying to see into the shadows beside it. Then [ got out of bed and began a dazed wandering round the room, as Doc. had told me to do, peering suspiciously into corners and under the table and the beds. 1! heard the soft pad-pad of stockinged feet behind me and knew the watcher had come to the door. «Pretending to have heard nothing, I went on with my mysterious search till the circuit of the room was completed. This brought me face to face with the attendant. He stooped at my bedside, picked up my shippers and handed them to me. Apparently I might walk about as much as I pleased. 1 paid no at- tention to him, and got back ito bed The attendant returned to his post beside the cup- board. Half an hour later Hall began to pray aloud. It was comforting to know that he, teo, was awake. Soon, whispering in the dark corridor told me they were changing guard. 1 waited for about an hour, then [ got up, and by the light of the miserable lamp began to write up the © History of my Persecution by the English.” (1 always wrote this at night, after the other patients were asleep.) The new attendant came in and ordered me back to bed. [ pretended not to understand him and went on writing. He took me by the arm and dragged me from the table ] managed to bump into Hill's bed as 1 was being taken back to my own,

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After a decent interval Hill was praying again. I can remember hearing Hill’s last amen and listening to him bumping his head (Mohammedan fashion) at the end of the prayer. I can remem- ber pinching myself for what seemed ages, and then plucking at my eyelashes in an ettort to sting myself into wakefulness. I saw the black- ness of the corridor change to a pearly-grey— and after that I knew no more till I found myself being roughly shaken. “ Chorba! Chorba!"” the attendant was saying. He had brought my morning “ soup” —a bowl of hot water with a few lentils floating in it. I sat up with a start. It was seven o'clock and I had slept nearly two hours. I glanced round the ward. Hill was kneeling on his bed, saying his morning prayers. THE PRELIMINARY EXAMINATION. About eight o'clock a young doctor came in. He was dressed in the regulation white overall, and his duty, as we afterwards discovered, was to make a preliminary examination and diagnosis for submission to his chief. At his heels, looking decidedly nervous and uncomfortable, trotted our Pimple. An attendant took me by the arm and led me to the table, facing the doctor Moise introduced me: “ This is Ihsan Bey. “ Chok eyi” (very good), I said, and gras the doctor’s hand [ pumped itt up and down in the manner of one greeting an old friend, as O'Farrell had told me to do. He grinned, and told me to sit down. “*The Doctor Bey has a few questions to ask you,” said Moise. “ Certainly,” I said. “ But first I have some- thing to say to him.” I launched into a very long and confused story of how [I had been de- ecived in the dark into believing that the hospital was an hotel, demanded that the mistake be rectified at once, and that I be taken tu the best hotel in Pera as betitted a friend of Enver Pasha The doctor explained that this was the usual procedure—everybody who wanted to sce Enver Pasha had to be examined first on certain ports. I then told him to fire away with his questions. “Your name,” he said, writing busily, ‘1s Jones, Lieutenant of Artillery.” “No,” [ said, “ that’s wrong! If that’s for Enver Pasha it won’t do! My name used to be Jones, but I’ve changed it. I’m going to be a Turk—a Miralai first and then a Pasha.” “IT see,’ said Ihsan, ‘* What's your name now?” “ Hassan’s son Ahmed,” said I, earnestly. “Very well, Hassan’s son Ahmed; what diseases have you had ?” said Ihsan, smiling in spite of himself. - “What the deuce has that to do with Enver Pasha?" I expostulated. ‘ There's no infec- tion about me, unless I picked up something in your beastly bath last night.” I began a com- THE LIFTED VEIL. 421 plaint about the state of the hospital bathroom, but was interrupted. “ T must know,” Ihsan said. “Measles, scarlet fever, whooping cough—is that enough ? “ No—I want them all.” “Malaria, ague, dengue fever, black-water fever, enteric, paratyploid, dysentery,” I said. “Tell me, do you ever see visions?” asked Ihsan. “Oh, yes!” [ said. ‘ That’s Spiritualism. I’ve got the spookboard downstairs in the depot.” Moise corroborated my statement, and referred. the doctor to some passages in the file, which he read with interest. For some time the two men talked together in Turkish. “ Tell me about these spirits,” Ihsan said at last. “No fear!” I replied. caught out that way in Yozgad. I'm not going to be imprisoned for telepathy again. Two months on bread and water is quite enough, thank you!” I refused tu say a word about spirits or visions, knowing that Moise would supply the doctors with the information required. He did, and told all about the telepathy trial. Ihsan next asked why | wanted to go to the War Otfice. [ leant forward confidentially and told him [ had a plan for finishing the war in a week, and once [ got to Enver Pasha I'd blow England sky h: 1 was working at the scheme now. Hill was my engineer and designer, and very soon everything would be completed. “Why do you hate the English?” Ihsan asked. 2 I went into an involved and excited account of my “ persecution "—of how Baylay had tried to poison me, and of how my father, mother, and wife sent me poisoned food in parcels from England. Ihsan had to interrupt me again. “Why did you try to commit suicide?” he asked. “1 didn't,” I said. “You hanged yourself at Mardeen.” “That’s a lie!” I roared. ‘“ A dirty lie! And | know who told you!” “ You are mad, my friend,” said Ihsan.“ You are mad. That's what's the matter with you!” I stared at him, open-mouthed. “I'm a specialist,”” he went on, “ and I know. You're mad!” * L don’t know whether you are a specialist or not,” I said, angrily, “ but I do know you are a most phenomenal har. [am no more mad than you are. This is a plot, that’s what it is, and you are all in league against me. You are jealous of me—that’s what's the matter— jealous of me. So you say I am mad. How dare you say I am mad without even examining me?” “T’ve been examining you all along,” said Thsan, laughing. ‘‘ Go back to bed.” 1 began to rave again and was.taken|off to bed “ Hill and [ were

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422 by the orderlies. Ihsan Bey came and stood beside me. He had a tiny silver-plated hammer, capped with rubber, in his hand. With this he went over my reflexes, hastily at first and then more and more carefully, He took a needle and tried the soles of my feet, the inside of my thighs, and my stomach reflexes. He paid special attention to my pupils. Then he stood up, scratched his head, and after gazing at me for a moment rushed out into the corridor and brought in a second doctor—Talha Bey. Together they read over my “ deposition” and together they went over my reflexes again. Both men were obviously well up in their work, and I made no etfort to hold back my knee jerks or other reflexes, for 1 had been warned by O'Farrell that concealment against a competent doctor was hopeless. So all the response had been normal, and Ihsan and Talha were hopelessly puzzled by the absence of the physical symptoms they expected to find. HOW WE DECEIVED THE MEDICAL 5 BOARD. Hill's examination followed. It was much shorter, for Hill's conduct was in every way the antithesis of mine. He answered each question with a gloomy brevity, and never spoke unless spoken to. I could not hear what was said, for they spoke in low tones ; in the middle of it I saw Ihsan grab Hill’s wrist, but the phenacetin was doing its work and his pulse revealed nothing. Once Hill wept a little, and several times while Ihsan and Moise were talking together in Turkish he opened his Bible in a detached sort of way and went on with his eternal reading. His face throughout was puckered and lined with woe. How he kept up that awtul expression through all the months that followed I do not know. But he did it, and from first to Jast I never saw him look anything hke his natural happy self. At the close ot his examination he was taken back to bed and Ihsan ran over his reflexes in the ordinary way. Then the doctors left the room. An hour later the orderly on duty called out, “ Doctor Bey geld!” (the Doctor has come) and every patient in the ward, except Hul, sat up in an attitude of respect. A little procession entered. At its head was the chief doctor, Mazhar Osman Bey, behind him followed his two jumors, Ihsan and Talha, in their white overalls, and behind them a motley crowd of students and orderhies. Mazhar Osman was a stout, well-dressed, well- set-up man of about forty years of age, with a jovial and most confoundedly intelligent face. He spoke French and German as easily as Turkish, and was in every way a highly educated and accomplished man. In his’ profession he had the reputation of being the greatest authority on mental diseases in Eastern Europe. As we discovered later, he was Berhn trained, had studied in Paris and Vienna, and was the author THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, of several books on his subject, some of which we were told had been translated into German, and were regarded as standard works. It is, of course, impossible for a layman to judge the teal professional merit of a doctor, but this Hill and I can say: during our stay in Constantinople we were examined at various times by some two score medical men—Turks, Germans, Austrians, Dutch, Greek, Armenian, and British. We were subjected to all sorts of traps and tests and questions. There is no doubt we were often suspected, especially by those who were ignorant of our full “ medical history,’” but nobody in- spired us with such a tear of detection, or with such a feeling that he knew all about his business, as Mazhar Osman Bey. When he got to my bed he stopped, and stood looking at me in silence for some time. Then he put his hand on my heart. It was quite steady. “ T suppose,” I said, gloomily, “ you are a heart specialist.” Moise translated, and Mazhar Osman laughed, showing he knew of my trade against specialists, and asked me why I looked so cross. J complained bitterly that Ihsan bey had said I was mad and was keeping me there against my will. “Ihsan Bey does not understand you,” sad Mazhar Osman; “ you must learn to speak Turkish.” “Twill,” I said, enthusiastically. ‘' I'll learn it in a month.”” (And I did.) ‘ I'll also leam every other language in the world.” Mazhar Osman smiled again, and said some- thing in Turkish to the gaping crowd of students. Then he examined my reflexes, gave an order to his subordinates, and left the room. Soon after, I learned what the order had been. Ihsan and Talha came back and announced they were going to take my blood and draw oft some of my spinal fluid. I had hoped these tests nught be omitted, and I feared that this might prove the first step in the detection of my simulation. But these men were leaving nothing to chance. The report of the bacteriologist, of course, stated everything was healthy and normal. 1 danced with simulated joy, jeered at Ihsan and Talha, and demanded to be sent forthwith to Enver Pasha. Ihsan and Talha went through another head-scratching competition. I have never seen two men more interested cr more fogged. Meantime Hill was being left sedu- lously alone—a treatment quite as trying to the nerves of the malingerer as what 1 had been through. He knew quite well that though no one went near him he was under observauen every minute of the twenty-four hours. On May 13th, five days atter our admission into hospital, they held a Board on our cases. I was examined on much the same lines a> on the first occasion, except that they pestered me a good deal more about the hanging. which I continued to deny. They also questiwned me about Hill. Mazhar Osman Bey. began to quesucn me

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424 about Hill's capture. I replied that all I knew about it was that the Arabs had knocked him on the head so that he became unconscious. (O’Far- tell had said that a-bump on the head would be a good “ point” in Hill’s medical history. It certainly created an impression on the doctors, for there was a good deal of whispering after I mentioned it.) Mazhar Osman Bey then asked what 1 thought of Hill—and I think he hoped I would say he was mad. I rephed he was my engineer and was designing me an aeroplane to carry ten thousand men, and I would make three thousand such aeroplanes and would invade England with thirty million men, etc., etc., etc. I was interrupted and told to go, and after another appeal to be sent to Enver Pasha and to be made a Turkish officer, I went. Hill was then called in and examined. Some time later we received the one piece of news for which we pined—we were to go home— and in July! A TERRIBLE SIX MONTHS. Hill and I braced ourselves for the six weeks of acting that lay between us and July. We were under no delusions as to the cause of our success so far, Our acting had no doubt been good, but we knew quite well that by itself it would have availed us little. The decision of the doctors had been based on our ‘ medical history,’” as edited by the Spook and presented to them in the reports of the Commandant, the Pimple, the sentries Bekir and Sabit, and the two Turkish doctors of Yozgad. Our task was “ to keep it up" until the ex? change steamer arrived. It was a desperate time for both of us. We were watched night and day. We knew that a single mistake would spoil everything for both. The junior doctors (icting, no doubt, under instructions from ‘Mazhar Osman) set traps for us, tested us in various ways, and reported the results. We did not take it all lying down. In order to find out what they thought from time to time, and how the wind was blowing, we in our turn set traps for the junior doctors, In my own case, the doctors began by sus- pecting general paralysis of the insane. What Mazhar Osman Bey’s final diagnosis was I never discovered, because it was written on my medical sheet in technical language, and my small ‘Turkish dictionary did not contain the words used; but I think from the interest shown in me by students and strange doctors, it was something pretty exceptional. 1 also think that for a long time Mazhar Osman Bey was not a httle dubious about it. Indeed, I believe that eut of the kindness of his heart—for he was a kindly and humane man—he decided to risk his professional reputation rather than do me a yesstble injustice, and gave me the benefit of the doubt. About Hill I think none of the real experts were e-cr in two minds, He was quite an ordinary THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, case ot acute religious melancholia. But he went through a terrible month in Gumush Suyu Hospital, where the treatment meted out to him by the doctors there was such as nearly killed him. Hill’s life was saved by the fact that he was not a melancholic and by the care taken of him by Captain T. W. White,* a prisoner-paticnt in the ward. Hill confided in White, who smuggled medicine and milk to him, and helped him in many ways. It was not till after the worst of the dysentery had been mastered by these means that the Turks began to treat him for it. But even with White’s help, Hill only just got through alive. He was finally sent back for * proper treatment by mental specialists " and “ to await the exchange boat ’’ Had we known that our acting was to be kept up not for six weeks but for six months, I think we would have lain down and died. It would be easy to fill another volume with the things we saw and did and suffered during those six months in the mad wards at Haar Pasha. My own task was hard enough, Dut it was nothing—it was recreation—compare1 to what Hill had to do. For all those terrible six months my companion in misery sat huddled up on his bed, motionless for hours at a time, crying if he was spoken to, starving for long periods, reading his Bible or his Prayer Book until his eyes gave out (as they used to do very badly towards the end), then burying his head on his knees, presenting to all comers a face of utter misery and desolation, and speaking not at all except to pray. By the end he had read through the Bible seven times, and could fand did) recite every prayer in the Prayer Book by heart. To him one day was exactly like another. The monotony of it was dreadful, and his self- denial in the matter of food was extraordinary. Partly from this self-imposed starvation and partly from dysentery, “ flu,” and maltreatment in Gumush Suyu Hospital, he lost over pee stone in weight. It was the most wonderful exhibition of endurance, of the mastery of the mind over the body, I have ever seen. Many a time I have returned of an evening to the ward, worn out by the unending strain of my own heartbreaking foolery, and ready to throw up the sponge: Alw: 1 found Hill resolutely sitting in that same forlorn, woe-begone attitude in which [ had left him hours before, and always the sight of him there renewed my waning courage and steadicd me to face at least ‘‘ one more day of it.” NEWS FROM YOZGAD. The War Office had promised Moise his commus- sion as soon as we reached Constantinople. He asked for, and obtained, a month's leave in order to return to Yozgad, nominally to collect his kit and settle his affairs there, really to find the -* Captain Whites story of bis experiences, ' My Ve vity Among the Turks.” appeared in or ch tyig, to April, 1920:-- Ea. Tae

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“treasure.” He said good-bye to us about the middle of May. I did not see him again until july. Hill was then doing his month's “penal servitude ” at Gumush Suyu, and I was alone at Haidar Pasha. Moise took me out into the garden, where I was allowed to go with a respon- sible escort. The Spook had _ long since warned him never to talk to me about private matters in the pre- sence of others. “Oh, Jones,” he said, as soon as we were alone, ‘I am distressed to see you lke this. Why, I wonder. is the Spook still keeping you under control : ’” “ T don’t know,” I said. “ Where is Hill?” “ He’s dead,” I said. (A visiting doctor had told me this lie—to see how I would take it, I suppose. As Hill had been very ill when last I saw him I was not sure whether to believe the story or not, and spent several days in secret misery before discovering the truth.) Poor little Moise wept. “Oh!” he cried. ‘‘ Everything is going wrong! The third clue is lust! Price found it —he dug it up in the garden as the Spook said— and he kept the gold lira (he showed it to me), but, alas! he dropped the paper of instructions sumewhere.’’* “So he found it all right ? ’’ I asked. “Oh, yes. He found it. In a tin, just hke the other clues. He told me it was written in characters that looked like Russian. But he lost it again. I spent days and days looking for it. but it was gone! Gone! And now Hill is dead!” 1 began to twist my button. “Sir?” said Morse. “Hill is aof dead,” said the Spook. ‘t Junes thinks he is because the doctor said sv, but Hull is alive, in Gumush Suyu Hospital.” “Oh, thank you, sir!” said Moise. May we still find the treasure ? for the future still secure ?”” “Everything's all right,” said the Spook, “and all is my doing. I am punishing the Commandant—that is why I made Price lose the paper.” “What are you punishing him for, sir?” asked Moise “And Is the promise © We had arranged this. THE LIFTED VEIL. 425 Some of the doctors at Haidar Pasha Hospital, “ For greed and disobedience.” “I know!” the Pimple cried. ‘I thought it might be that as soon as I heard he had disobeyed instructions. I suppose you are referring to his digging ? ”” “Yes,” said the Spook. it, I'm busy.” I let go of the button and the Pimple told me his news. “You know,” he said, ‘“ the Commandant decided to dig for the third clue without waiting for me. My letter said he was to wait for me, by the Spook’s orders, but he sent the Cook to dig at once. The Cook dug very hard, but he found nothing.” “ Has anything else happened at Yozgad?” I asked. “The Commandant is being very kind to the camp,” Moise said. “ And they are enjoying much hunting and freedom, O'Farrell is very angry because you are in a madhouse, and says you have nothing but neurasthenia, if that.” “ Splendid !’’ T said.‘ Now tell me about yourself.” “LT obey the Spook,’ am living very austercly the theatre, or the cinema. “ Tell Jones about said the Pimple. ‘I I do not even go to All my leave I have been studying languages as ordered by the Control, 1 am studying German, Spanish, and Arabic. T know already French and Turkish, also Hebrew and some English.” About the middle of August Moise came again. He was much excited, for he had just been to the War Office, and learned some news through a friend there. “ There has been a big escape from Yozgad,” he told me; “ twenty-six officers have run away. Only a few have been caught so far. * I've seen the telegram,” Moise went on, ‘ and neither Kiazim nor the War Office can make out how they got away. But 7 know../The Spook

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y260C«C THE «WIDE did it! This must be the Spook’s attempt to get Kiazim punished.” The Pimple did not come back again until well on in September—he could not get away from his training school. In the interval Hill returned from Gumush Suyu and we carried on as usual. THE MYSTERIOUS LETTER. Suddenly, for no reason at all as far as we could see, the whole atmosphere of the hospital seemed to change towards us. Turkish otticers the patients, who had always been friendly, suddenly began to cold-shoulder me. The attendants seemed to be watching us with added care. Lo was forbidden to go into the garden at all, whether with or without an at- tendant, and [ could not understand it. So far as [could make out—T could not consult Hill for reasons that will appear—the trouble was not with our own doctors of the mental ward Except that one of the jumors cut down my diet for a few days, their attitude was much as usual. {t was the attendants, the administrative au- thorities, the doctors belonging to the other wards, and the other patients, who had altered their attitude. Noticing that whenever I en- tered our ward animated conversations amongst the other patients came to a sudden stop, I crept out one evening along a ledge which ran round the outside of the hospital, and listened among under the open window. They were discussing plans tor watching us and catching us out ! I was in one way relieved to hear this, because T had begun to fear that | was imagining things and that perhaps I was going really mad. 1 wondered if Hill had noticed anything, but in the circumstances any attempt at communica- ting was too dangerous. {t was not till long afterwards, on one of the rare occasions when we managed a brief con- versation m the garden, that I learnt what Hill had suttered during this period. He, too, had noticed the conversations amongst the patients which ceased at my entry, but as he knew very httle Turkish he could not understand what was said. One phrase, however, he did understand, and its constant repetition got on his nerves. He told me they were everlastingly talking about. a letter from Yozgad.” But though he cor- rectly repeated the phrase to me in Turkish, I felt certain he must have misunderstood what was sat, and that what he had heard was some- thing else, similar in sound, which he had con- strucd into) Turkish words he knew. For I could not imagme who at Yozgad could write a letter which would get us into trouble. | Kiazim Bey would not dare to do so, for he himself was too seriously implicated. The Cook, who stll believed ino the Spook, was equally unlikely, The Pimple was not in Yozgad, but in Constants- nople. And nobody else amongst the “Lurks knew anything. I said so to Hill, but he stack to it that the phrase he had heard so often was “a letics from Yosgad,” and nothing else. And WORLD MAGAZINE, in the hght of later knowledge I believe he was right. Of this period Hill has told me since that worse than all the physical sufferings which he had to undergo—and they were many—was the mental agony of knowing that, with the exchange in sight, after all our months of hard work, we were under a darker cloud of suspicion than ever; and for no apparent reason except this mysterious “letter from Yozgad."” What that letter was we never knew and do not know to this day But that such a letter came we have new no doubt. The author was probably Niazim Bey's superior officer, and the contents may be guessed from the following story of what happened at Yozgad, which we learned after our release The “ Big Escape” from Yozgad took place on August 7th, 1918. Kiazim Bey at once re- tahated on those who were lett bebind inthe camp by cancelling all privileges of every de- scription. He locked up the prisoners in their respective hous and gardens. A Turkish official, superior in rank to Kiazim Bey, was sent from Angora to investigate the circumstances of the escape. To him the camp complained of their treatment and endeavoured to secure Kaiazim’s dismissal by means ot a series of charges of peculation, embezzlement of money and parcels, and so on, But Kiazim was a wily Oriental and had covered lus tracks well. These charges were hard to prove, and he looked hke getting off. As a makeweight there was added proot of Kiazim's compheity with Hill and myselt One of the three negatives of the treasure-hunt, to procure which Hill and I had taken so much trouble and so many msks, was handed over tu Kiazim's superior * The negative showed me standing with my arms raised over the fire m the incantation,”” and round me the caretully posed and clearly-recognizable figures of the Pimple, the Cook, and Kiazim Bey Together with this damning photograph the Turkish authoritics were given some sort of a summary of our séances. To make assurances doubly sure, the investigating otfiqal got the negative enlarged. Kiazim was recogmzed beyond doubt, placed under arrest, and ordered to be tried by court-martial. Thus the camp revenged them- selves on Kiazim Bey and won back some of their lost comfort. This explams the “letter from Yozgad " and our nerve-racking experience towards the end of our stay in Haidar Pasha. It looks to us as if Kiazim’s supenor officer reported to the War Othee, and the War Ottice asked the admin: tive authorities of Haidar Pasha about us. ‘That we still managed to deceive everybody T can explain only on the assumption that the specialists were by this time firmly convutecd of our insanity, A second of the three negatives was unfortunately lot by my friend, Captain Arthur Hickman, who was kitdly bringing it back to Ringlind forme. ‘This accounts for the fact thar ony one of the three phytogcaphy appeass inhi narrative

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FREEDOM! We saw the Pimple only once more. He came to the hospital late in September to inquire of the Spook how much longer his unpleasant military training was likely to continue, and when we would proceed with the treasure-hunt. He also wanted to know if the Spook really intended us to be sent to England as exchanged prisoners, and, if so, why. The Spook explained that the strain of being under control for so long had been very severe on the mediums, and he had therefore ‘ con- trolled " the Haidar Pasha doctors to give us a thorough holiday by sending us to England. The treasure-hunt was temporarily shelved on account of the disobedience and greed of the ‘* double-faced Superior’ (Kiazim). But it would not be for long. Very soon we would be back in Constantinople, possibly in the guise of Red Cross officers, with our health re-established, and ready to begin a new series of experiments and discoveries. Until we came Moise was to continue to be honest, to live austerely, and to do his duty. The Pimple shook hands with me many times over. He walked off at last, his head high and his eye bright. As I watched his cocksure little figure striding out of the hospital gates for the THE LIFTED VEIL. 427 last time—the Spook had told him not to come back—I felt inclined to call after him that he had far to go. But I did not. 1 went back to the ward and Hill, and that was the last I saw of the Pimple. Hill left Haidar Pasha on October roth to join the sick who were collecting for repatriation at Smytna. I remained behind—the hospital au- thorities explained to the Dutch Embassy that T “ would commit suicide if placed among the English "—and finally reached Smyrna just tuo late to catch the first exchange ship, by which Hill travelled, but I got the second exchange ship a few days later, and we met again in an hotel in Alexandria. The armistice with Turkey had just’ been signed. We had reached British soil perhaps a fortnight ahead of the “ healthy " prisoners. We shook hands. “We've been through a good deal, old chap, and for very little,"’ 1 said, with a smile. “Never mind,” Hill answered, ‘‘ we did our best. It wasn't our fault we had to wait so long, and nobody could tell the armistice would come like this. Come out on the beach.” We went for a stroll together. It was good to be free again. THE END. A FRENCH SHEPHERD'S HOME ON WHEELS. In the ancient French province of Beauce, in the neighbourhood of Orleans, where immense flocks of sheep are kept, the shepherds are often out in the open for weeks together, night and day, and the question of ace mmodation is a problem that has to be selved. Each shepherd is now supplied with a little thatched comfortable bed, a stock ast him during the period in the wilds.” and a small cooking apparat This innovation is an improve- menton the old | ice ot shepherds rolling themselves in their shawls or cloaks and sleeping]in the open. house on wheels. in which a ot provisions sufficient t he expects to be out

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ANTHROPOP- APOLOGY. Written and Illustrated by J. R. MONSELL. Further nonsense rhymes. On this occasion Mr. Monsell libels Albania. I dedicate this pretty ditty To all Albanian Banditti. They like—I cannot understand it— ) To feel each village has its Bandit, They used to find the hills securest, And there they'd carry off the Tourist: Threatening, unless he paid up handsome, To carve off bits of him for ransom. piigy But now, so out guide-book avers, They're all Hotel Proprietors !

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()urAdventures _Ber <1 a CAPT: M-W:HILTON-SIMPSON The fascinating story of a long-lost white race. amons the ers » THE, © WHITE ARABS OF Exclusively written for “The Wide World Magazine,” this narrative sets forth the Author’s experiences among a strange and little- known tribe—the Shawia Berbers of Algeria, the representatives of an ancient white people. Living in well-nigh inaccessible villages in the heart of the mounta ns, these “ White Arabs” have remained practically unknown and unvisited, and still practise many strange customs that have long since vanished elsewhere. Captain Hilton-Simpson, accompanied only by his wife and a native orderly, spent a long time among the Berbers, as the guest of the village sheikhs, and his articles and photographs will be found exceedingly interesting. Il. UR. destination was the Shawia village of Mepaa, which, like so many villages on the western side of the Aurés massif, stands upon a rocky knoll in a valley. This valley lends itself better to cultivation than most parts of the barren hills, for just above the village the stream that runs through it is joined by a torrent from the snows of the high ridges to the north, the combined rivers providing a supply of water such as is enjoved by few villages in the Aurés. Neat fields of corn or beans, fruitful orchards of apricot, peach, fig, and walnut take the place of the date gardens we had left behind us at Djemora, some fifteen miles to the south. Not an inch of ground which can be made to produce anything is allowed to remain uncultivated by the thrifty Shawia farmers. The stone-built honses of the place itself are of better construction than those of any other Berber village I have stayed in ; indeed, it has been so much improved under the sway of. a very progressive chief, and his highly intelligent father before him, that it is in- teresting rather as an example of what Shawia hamlets can become if developed along their own lines rather than as a true - type of a Berber village of the hills. It may justly be said to deserve the appellation of the “ capital of the Aurés,” which its inhabi- tants have proudly bestowed upon it. Quite recently the French authorities have erected a “ rest-house ”’ a few hundred yards from the village for the accommodation of the Administrator when on tour in his district ; xo that although, upon our first visit, we enjoyed the hospitality of the chief, when last we staved at Menaa we indulged in the luxury of simply furnished rooms and a very good imitation of European cooking on the part of Belkassem, the disabled tirailleur who is in charge of the rest-house or bord), a term used all over Algeria to signify a Government caravanserai. We found that the courtyard of the bordj was the place of gossip for quite a number of the women-folk ef the houses round, who came in to visit Belkassem's wife, bringing with them wool to be “ carded ” or spun while criticizing one another’s husbands, discussing the latest village scandal, or that verv feminine topic— clothes. The Shawia women are much addicted to the wearing of brightly-coloured scarves and masses of locally-made silver jewellery. These women discontinued their visits for a time on our-arrival, but finding

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430 ' THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, season, and is essentially a festival for the women. Attired in ther best, they proceed to the tree- studded slopes of a distant hill, returning amid the beating of tom- toms and the wailing notes of the hautboy, laden with enormous bundles of faggots—rather a bus- man’s holiday, one would think, for people whose daily occupation it 1s to cut and bring in firewood from the hills. After this, accompanied by even the smallest girls, over- powered by a weight of silver jewellery borrowed for the occasion, they witness the performance of danseuses in the village, a scene more remarkable for the picturesque nature of its setting and the glit- tering silver and gay colours of its crowd than for any grace displayed by the dancers. The silver ornaments made in the neighbourhood of Menaa, of whichthe woman illustrated on the next page is wearing by no means an pnusual amount, are somewhat roughly manufactured, but are not lacking in that I was harmless and that my wife was barbaric beauty. The rectangular embossed genuinely interested in their occupations, cases to contain written charms, suspended they soon returned to their every- day habit of visiting the bordj, and began to treat her quite as one of themselves, giving her lessons in their various crafts, such as the carding of wool, ete., which provided us with many most useful notes in our detailed study of Shawia arts. They also induced her to join them in their games of “ kvora,” closely resembling hockey, in which they indulge at the great native feast in the spring, doubtless slyly hoping to display their skill at her expense. A game learnt at an English school, however, is not readily forgotten, and my wife clearly showed herself a tower of strength to her side, evoking many expressions of wonder from the assembled women, who, of course, had never suspected that European girls were acquainted with a game similar to their own. I carefully avoided joining in the “ koora "’ of the men, which—played with heavy clubs and a stone—is the most violent pastime I have vet seen. Instead, I attended the games with a pocketful of bandages, having to treat as many as half-a- dozen or more casualties in the course of a single match. This spring feast to which [have alluded 2S = — marks the passing of the winter pital” of the Aures. Mrs. Hylton-Simpson learning the art of wool-carding.

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OUR ADVENTURES AMONG by chains from two brooches on the breast, are distinctly effective in the bright light of the Algerian sun; while the enormous ear- tings, of which several patterns are in favour, though distiguring enough to the ear, do not seem so out of place in a Shawia beauty as their size might lead one to suppose. Much of the weight of these earrings is taken up by silver chains attached by hooks to the headdress, thus reducing to some extent the strain upon the wearer's ears. All the jewellery is the handiwork of Shawia silversmiths, who, working in their dingy hovels with the crudest of tools, not only mould the bracelets and anklets and pins required by their customers—who often bring their own silver in the shape of money— but even beat out solid bars of silver and draw them through holes in a metal plate to produce the wire, which is then flattened, cut, and bent to form the minute links of the chains so commonly worn in the Aurés. The valley of the Wad Abdi rises fairly steeply to the north of Menaa, so that when we moved on from the “capital of the Aurés ’’ we soon found ourselves in the higher part of the massif, a district which can be cold even in spring, and in which snow lies in considerable depth at mid-winter. We did not spend much time in the Wad THE BERBERS. 431 oe An Ouled Abdi woman. Notice the profusion of silver ornaments. Abdi, for we were anxious to accept an invitation we had received to stay with a holy man in the neigh- bouring valley of Bouzina, to the west. Wending our way over the steep rocky ridge which separates the course of the Wad Abdi from the valley of Bouzina, we entered into an odour of sanctity in the home of a‘ marabout ” or Moslem saint in the tiny hamlet of Tijdad, amid the dwarf ilex and juniper bushes of the northern part of the Aurés. Upon reaching the village the holy man received us with every sign of goodwill, and conducted us to a small and very’ dark room on the flat reof of his own house, which he placed at our disposal during our stay as his guest. The room itself, as will be seen from our photograph, requires little description: it possessed four walls, a watertight roof, a door, and a window, which latter the cold air at this height above sea-level com- pelled us to block up with) sacks. Of furniture it had none, our host supplying us with a few locally- made rugs and some mats of neatly plaited halfa-grass whereon to sit and spread our blankets. But we were never/dull in this little room

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432 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at Tijdad; we found pienty to interest us in the daytime, and most of the first few nights were spent in vain endeavours to slay the rats which persisted in eating the candle beside our heads after we had retired to rest. We eventually borrowed a skinny cat to help us in our task, but the incessant growl- ing and hissing of this unpleasant animal, which was unac- quainted with Euro- peans, proved more disturbing than the activities of the rats. We finally caused it to be removed—still swearing, and tearing open the forearm of the native who re- moved it in the pro- cess — and resigned ourselves and our candies to the mercy of our nightly visitors. If our surroundings were scarcely com- fortable, however, our host proved extremely interesting. He belonged to the very influential class known throughout Algeria as marabouts. A quaint pair of earrings. The title is obtained by those who, having led a blameless life full of charity and good works, have earned the respect of their neighbours to such an extent that their tombs, usually sur- mounted bya cupola, become places of pil- grimage after their deaths. They are believed to be per- formers of miracles, not only in life, but after death. The appellation“ mara- bout is handed down from the father to his sons, so that nowadays the traveller will find many people, includ- ing lunatics, who are styled “‘ marabouts,”” and yet whose lives could scarcely be con- sidered to be either blameless or of the slightest benefit to their fellow - men. Our host of Tijdad, however, really prac- tised the marabout’s art—he lived a sternly simple life, and spent his time in giving counsel to those The interior of the Author's house at Tijdad. who sought it and in writing charms to be worn by his followers to prevent or cure illness and to bring them luck in their everyday undertakings. He was eccentric, eating but little, smoking innumer- able cigarettes in which juniper leaves took the place of tobacco, consuming — cofice till his hands trem- bled as if from palsy, and passing most of his sleep- less nights in soli- tary wandering upon the hillside. He appeared to be a skilful reader of character, for it was said that no thief could ap- proach him unde- tected, and there can be no doubt that> he was

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OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE BERBERS. 433 from a prominent marabout will ensure the traveller a welcome in the home of even the most anti- European of his follower These saints give off their holiness not merely in the form of | blessings, but by gifts of food, the eating ot the dishes with which they enter- tain their guests being considered to confer a certain holiness upon the consumer of them; while places frequented by the saints, as well as their tombs, are reverenced by the fanatical native as possessing a sanctity of their own, Certain trees, perhaps from their association with a saint long since laid to rest, receive offerings of respect in the form of rags attached A holy tree in the Aurés, hung with offerings of rags. to their branches by the pious passer-by, and are termed ‘ mara- generous, lavishly distributing among the bout” trees by the faithful. poor the gifts in money and kind which From Tijdad, in a blinding snowstorm, we his wealthier followers showered upon him. crossed the great ridge of Mahmel, the back- He was typical of the best class of mara- bone of the western portion of the Aurés bout, a person who, while readily accepting — massif, and found ourselves in the forests of presents, did not batten upon the superstitious Teverence of the poor, and whose counsel, given free to the poorest, doubtless aided in settling many dis- putes, for his in- fluence was alwa exerted in the direction of | in- ducing others to lead the blame- less life of which IT honestly think he sct them a fair example. — There are many mara- bouts in the Aurés, as in all parts of Algeria, and the influence of some of them is very far-reach- = - ing. I have found The Saint of Tijdad, a greatly-venerated marabout, is seen on the left. it advantageous, therefore, to become friendly with all those pine and cedar which clothe its northern I have met with, and I am acquainted with slopes. Our next business was to explore nearly all of any note in the Aurés. A word the central part of the range. (To be continued.) Vol x!vi. - 32.

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The « Aeroplane-Rabbit.” CURIOUS discovery has been made by a sports- man in Stamford, Connecticut, U.S.A., whilst snaring rabbits. He caught the animal seen n the next photograph and discovered. to his astonish- ment, that it had two long strips of fur growing from its sides, midway Letween the head and the hind- quarters, and looking just as though Nature had intended them to be used as wings. The animal has been nicknamed the “ aeroplane-rabbit,” and though scientists have exainined the creature, they cannot offer any explanation of its startling deviation trom the ordinary type of bunny. Mark Twain's Old Cabin. In a lonely gulch in Nevada's desolate desert region, scldom seen by outsiders, stands one of America's most interesting literary relics—the old cabin of the late Samuel Langhorne Clemens, better known as Mark Twain. It is situated in a place called Aurora, which boasts of a population of a score or so, mostly old men, whose hopes have grown grey with their beards. It was here that Mark Twain lived and toiled and starved while he evolved “ Roughing It.” The location of Aurora is so shrouded in legend and romance that the practical mapmaker is seemingly unable to find it, with the result that it is not shown in any gazetteer. But for the cheerful spirit of the humorist who originally helped to put it on the map, The “ Aeroplane - Rabbit,” a curious freak caught in Connecticut. its entire population would doubtless long since have wandered away into oblivion. “In his ramblings,” writes the reader who sends us the photograph here reproduced, ‘* Mark Twain never passed by a good- looking tin of fruit with a bright label, and in a corner of the cabin, carefully covered, he had a pile of them. At a Mark Twain's old cabin at Aurora, > times, especially if he saw anyone passing, he would nonchalantly toss two or three out of the window. The natural assumption was that he was preparing his regu- Jar feast, and while he actuylly subsisted on sparse crusts the popu- Jace envied him his supposedly well-stocked larder. Eventually his ruse. was discovered, and all that part of Nevada laughed until its sides ached. In those days a square meal was a luxury to Mark Twain, but his pride never deserted him, and none knew when he hungered.”

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WHEN ROOSEVELT Zo CAME, TO DAKOTA “Joseph A. ee ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD ELCOCK iS) by, Mr. Ferris met Theodore Roosevelt the day after he arrived in Little Missouri, North Dakota, in September, 1883; and during the years that Mr, Roosevelt lived at his ranches in the Bad Lands was one of the three men who were most closely associated with im there. The — story he tells of Colonel Roosevelt's first buffalo hunt, and the glimpses he gives of life on the frontier, furnish an interesting and entertaining contribution to Rooseveltiana. OOSEVELT arrived at Medora, North Dakota, before there was any Medora or any North Dakota. There was a territory called Da- kota, and there were half-a-dozen hous and a railroad station just west of the Little Missouri River, called Little Missouri; but the town we called Medora, on the opposite bank, was nothing more than a dream in the mind of a French nobleman who thought it would be a fine thing to name a place after his wife. By and by the dream came true, but I've wondered sometimes whether the Marquess would ever have dreamed it if he'd known the kind of town Medora v to be. {t wasn't a bad sort of place to live in, in its way, but it wasn’t the kind of town that you'd want to bear your wife's mame—not if you respected your wife, that is. Some folks used to say that it was the toughest little town between Canada and the Gulf, I'm not prepared to deny it. It was in September, 1883, late one night, that Mr. Roosevelt stepped oft the train at Little Missouri. There was only one hotel there, called the Pyramid Park Hotel, and that wasn’t much good. Roosevelt tells in one of his books how he woke the hotel- keeper out of his sleep that night to ask for a room. He was a man named Frank 3 Moore. We used to call him ‘ Captain” Moore, though what he was Captain of I never could find out—some boat somewhere, I believe. Moore was an hotel-keeper only “on the side.” Tis) principal job was being foreman for an Easterner named Gorringer, who had some cattle on the range south of Little Missouri, Roosevelt slept that night in a loft with fourteen or fifteen other men who had blown into town from the neighbouring ranches fora spree. Next morning he asked Captain Moore to take him out for a bufttalo hunt. Moore couldn't) go. 1 was) working for Moore at the time, doing odd jobs at the ranch and around Gorringer’s ranch-office in Little Missouri, and Moore came and asked me whether To could “ trundle the tenderfoot.”” EL said To would. And that was how it happened that [ met Theodore Roosevelt. L liked him from the start. He struck me as a quiet sort of man, easy to get along with. He wore big glasses, which made him look kind of queer to us fellows out there, who weren't used to such things, but he impressed me from the first as being a mighty nice fellow, and it wasn't long before [clean forgot about the glasses. Roosevelt, borrowed a buttalo gun from an

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436 old gun-fighter named Maunders, and the next day we drove with a team and buck- beard seven miles south down the river to the Chimney Butte Ranch. Three of us had a log shack there, my brother Sylvane and myself and another man named Merri- field, and we kept a small herd of cattle on the range near by and did odd jobs, cutting cord-wood or hunting buftaloes and deer for the market. Sylvane was the ranchman and Merrifield was the hunter. 1 did the odd jobs until late that fall, when I opened a store at Little Missouri. : That night Roosevelt stayed at Chimney Butte, and he tells in his autobiography how we played Old Sledge until the bobcats raided the chicken house and stopped the game. 1 had forgotten about the bobcats until he recalled them to me. He never forgot anything, somehow. The next day we took the team and an extra saddle-horse and started up the river thirty-five miles or so to the ranch of a Scotchman named Gregory Lang. It was funny about that extra horse. The horses pulling the buckboard were both saddle-horses, but Roosevelt said he wanted an extra saddle-horse along so that he wouldn’t have to ride in the wagon. We were short of horses and didn't want to let him have it, but he kept asking for that extra saddle-horse, and seemed to want it so badly that we began to be afraid to let him have it. We didn’t know him from Job's turkey, and we didn’t know but what he'd make off with it. But he wanted that extra horse, and finally he offered to buy it. That sounded all right, so we sold him a buckskin mare named Nell, and he and | started off for Lang's. We spent the night at Lang’s and the next morning began the hunt for the buffaloes. We were in a region where buffaloes had always been plentiful, and I fully expected to run into a good bull almost immediately. Only the vear before the buftaloes had been so thick that an old hunter who lived not far from the Chimney Butte used to kill them just for their tongues, which he smoked and sold for twenty+five cents apiece. All the rest of the animal, including the hide, he threw away for the coyotes and the magpies to feed on, Merrifield, my brother Sylvane. and I had finished a small herd ourselves on our own ranch just ashort time before I went out with Mr. Roosevelt, Merrifield and Sylvane were making a garden just south of the cabin, and suddenly Merrifield saw six buffaloes moving south along the river bank not three hundred vards west of us. They called to me and we got our guns and followed them; and it wasn't long before we had all six. it was a week before we got the buffaloes THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE; we were after, and, taken all in all, it was about the liveliest week I ever spent. We started at daybreak and it wasn't two hours before we came on the fresh tracks of a buftalo. We followed them for hours, until we thought we should never see the four feet that made them ; but when we'd about given up hope, there he was, a shaggy old bull, plunging out of cover at the mouth of a coulée. Before either Mr. Roosevelt or I had time to jump off our horses for a shot, he was off over a bank, and gone. We galloped after him as hard as we could go. We were out on the prairie, and now and then as we topped a rise we could see him in the distance, but we never came within gun-shot of him again. The day was baking hot and there wasn’t any shade within ten miles of us in any direction. We were parched and hungry, but the only water was something that looked like green jelly, and the only food we had were some biscuits that old man Lang had given us, and which he said wouldn’t get hard because he had put “ grace” in them—"' grease ’’ was what he meant. Those biscuits were the hardest hard-tack 1 ever ate. I knelt down beside the green water-hole for a drink. ‘‘ Wait a minute,’”’ cried Mr. Roosevelt. ‘Don't drink that. I have something here that will make that water taste better,”’ and he pulled out of his pocket a little bottle of Jamaica ginger—I think it was that—and poured a few drops in a cup. Then I filled the cup with the green jelly and drank it. “ It certainly helps,” I said. We rode all day, but it was late afternoon before we saw any more game. Then, about a quarter of a mile away, lying down in the middle of a large flat, we saw three butialoes. We were in open country, and we could ride no nearer than a quarter of a mile of them. That seemed an awful long way to crawl up, but there was nothing else to do, so we left our horses and began crawling over the baking prairie, taking advantage of every bush that could hide us, and finally wriggling forward through the sagebrush on our stomachs, like snakes. And even so, before we could get close enough for a shot, the buffalo saw us, or heard us, and were up on their feet. We knew then we couldn't get anv closer, and I pointed to the nearest of the three and said to Roosevelt, ‘* You hit him right back of the shoulders.” He fired, and missed, and fired again. This time he hit, but he hit too far back, and all three buffaloes plunged off over a low rise and disappeared. We ran back to whereyour horses were and

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WHEN ROOSEVELT CAME TO DAKOTA. 437 started after the buffaloes. It was getting near night and our mounts were tired, and so were we, but we kept on for seven or eight miles, and finally we saw that the — butfaloes had come to a stand in a dip of land some distance ahead. There was no stalk- ing them, for there was nothing bigger than a blade of grass to hide behind, so we decided to run the buffaloes on our worn-out Cayuses. Mr. Roosevelt, in his “‘ Hunting Trips of a Ranchman,”’ tells better than I ever could what happened when we charged those butfatoes :— “ As we cantered toward them they faced us for a second and then turned round and made off, while with spurs and quirts we made the ponies put on a burst that enabled. us to close in with the wounded one just about the time that the lessening twilight had almost vanished, while the rim of the full moon rose above the horizon. The pony | was on could barely hold its own, after getting up within sixty or seventy yards of the wounded bull; my companion, better mounted, forged ahead a little to one side The bull saw him coming and swerved from his course, and by cutting across [ was able to get nearly up to him. The ground over which we were running was fearful, being broken into holes and ditches, separated by hillocks ; in the dull light, and at the speed we were going, no attempt could be made to guide the horses, and the latter, fagged out by their exertions, foundered and pitched forward at every stride, hardly keep- ing their legs. When up within twenty feet I fired my rifle, but the darkness, and especially the violent, laboured motion of my pony, made me miss; I tried to get in closer, when suddenly up went the bull’s tail, and, wheeling, he charged me with lowered horns. My pony, frightened into momentary activity, spun around and tossed up his head ; [| was hold- ing the rifle in both hands, and the pony’s head, striking it, knocked it violently against my forehead, cutting quite a gash, from which, heated as I was, the blood poured into my eves. Meanwhile, the buftalo, passing me, charged my companion, and followed him as he made off, and, as the The Author, Mr. Joseph A. Ferris. ground was very bad, for some little distance his lowered head was unpleasantly near the tired pony’s tail. I tried to run in on him again, but my pony stopped short, dead beat ; and by no spurring could [ force him out of a slow trot. My companion jumped off and took a couple of shots at the buffalo, but missed him in the dim moonlight ; and to our unutterable chagrin the wounded bull laboured off and vanished in the darkness. 1 made after him on foot, in hopeless and helpless wrath, until he got out of sight.” I won't say that I wasn't scared when I saw the horse throw back his head and knock the gun against Roosevelt's forehead. I never was more scared in my life. He bled like a stuck pig and I thought he was done for, sure. The blood was all over him, but he didn't pay any attention to it. I could see that the only thing that was worrying him was that he wanted to get that buffalo. But he didn't get him. We had planned to go back to Lang’s that night, but we were too far away to think of making the cow-camp on our tired horses, and so, when we found another water-hole like the one where we had stopped at noon, we tumbled off our horses and settled down to spend the night. We were pretty hungry and thirsty by that time, for we had had nothing except a few drops of slimy water and a hard biscuit since dawn; and we had nothing more now But Roosevelt never murmured He A characteristic portrait of Theodore Roosevelt.

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438 was game clear through. We hitched our horses to our saddles and, using the saddles for pillows, went to sleep in the time it would take a grasshopper to hop a three- foot ditch. Along in the night, something came along —a coyote or something of the surt that wanted a drink. Our horses got scared, and the first thing we knew they had jerked our pillows from under our heads and were off, making tracks through the darkness, drag- ging the saddles after them. I was real mad then. I hadn’t had half the sleep 1 wanted, and I felt furious, thinking how I could stand any reasonable privation, but that this was out of the reckoning and not quite fair, and I remember I shouted to Roosevelt : “T never did anything to deserve this ! Did you ever do anything to deserve this ?”’ That made him laugh, and then I laughed, and somehow after that things didn’t seem so bad. The horses couldn't go very far with the saddles dragging after them, and we soon found them and brought them back. Then we lay down again to get some sleep, and for a while we did sleep, but not for long ; for it began to rain a little before dawn, and when we woke up we were in water three inches deep. I was ready to get pretty wild by this time, and [ expected that Roosevelt, being an Easterner and not used to rough life, would be thinking he was having a bad deal and worrying about catching cold. But he never murmured. We ate some of the Scotchman’s biscuits—now harder than rocks —and drank rain-water, and then we got on our horses again and continued our hunt. We rode all day through the drizzling rain, but we got no buffaloes. We came on one herd and Roosevelt got a shot, but in the bad light he missed his aim and the hutfaloes started off and disappeared in the fog. Bad luck followed us consistently. My horse stepped on a rattlesnake and narrowly escaped being bitten; Roosevelt’s horse stumbled and pitched him off, then walked into a quicksand and gave us two hours’ work pulling him out. That day I shot a blacktail deer. I wanted Roosevelt to have him, but the fog blurred his glasses and he missed, and as the deer bounded off I thought I'd try a shot just for luck. The buck was over two hundred vards away, and it was only by luck that I got him, but get him I did, and down he went. IT shall never forget the way Roosevelt flung his gun on the ground and said, “ By God- trey! I'd give anything in the world if I could shoot like that !’’ He seemed to feel it so badly that he hadn’t been able to hit the deer that I was almost sorry T’d shot it. We were a week before we got our buffalo, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, going back to Lang’s as a rule at night, and starting out again at two or three in the morning. Any ordinary hunter. would have given up, but I have an idea that Roosevelt would have kept at it a month if necessary, to get what he went out for. But suddenly one morning we found the fellow we were after. We had gone up Little Cannonball Creek for two or three miles, when [ spied a buffalo just ahead. We slid off our horses and they stood while Roosevelt dropped on one knee for his shot. The buffalo was not more than thirty,or at most forty, yards away, and he made the best sort of mark. 1 told Roosevelt to take aim at a yellow spot just back of the shoulder. ‘* If you hit him there,’’ I told him, “ you'll get him tight through the heart.” Rousevelt wasn't excited; at least, he didn't appear so. He aimed deliberately and fired. The buffalo was standing in the dry bed of a creek with walls that rose twelve feet nearly straight up at either side. The way that buffalo went up that steep bank made me think Roosevelt had missed him. But when the animal had taken a few steps 1 saw the blood spurt and then I knew we had him. The shot had gone right through the lungs. We followed the trail into a small hollow and over another bank; and there the buffalo lay, dead as Methuselah’s cat. Roosevelt was so happy, he was just like a boy let out of school; and so, for that matter, was I. I never saw anyone so pleased in all my life, and I was pleased myself, for more reasons than one. I was plumb tired out. I guess I was more tired than. he was. Besides, he was so eager to shoot his first buffalo that it somehow got into my blood, and I wanted to see him kill it just about as badly as he wanted to see.it himself. Roosevelt gave me a hundred dollars for helping him get that buffalo; and then I was even more glad than before that he had shot it. That was the way Roosevelt shot his first specimen of big game, and that is the story of the first week of our acquaintance, I de- cided by the end of that week that I liked him pretty well. He could stand an awful lot of hard knocks and he was always cheer ful. You just couldn't knock him out. of sorts. He was entertaining, too, and I liked to listen to him, though as a rule he wasn't much on the talk. He had said that he wanted to get away from politics, so I didn't mention political matters; and he had books with him and would read at odd times. Physically, pretty husky as much as I could. it struck me that he was ; he seemed to be able to stand I heard later that he

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WHEN ROOSEVELT CAME TO DAKOTA. = 439 “The horseman walked his horse out on the slippery dam and slid into the rushi ream.” Digitized ta 4 Ove

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440 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. came out to Dakota that fall to get over a combined attack of asthma and stomach trouble, but I don’t remember his mentioning jit on the trip, He wasn’t the kind that would say much about those things. I do remember that he had a rubber pillow that he carried with him. At night he would blow it up and put it under his head, and in the morning he would let the air out again and stow the thing in his pocket. He told me during the trip that the doctors had said he hadn’t much longer to hve, and he had come out here to Dakota for his health; but he didn’t seem to be much worned about it. Before Roosevelt went back East that September he had made a deal with Merri- field and my brother Sylvane to go into the cattle business with them. That made him a fixture, more or less, in the Bad Lands, as they call the country along the Little Missopri, and he came in time to be as close to me as my own brother. That fall I started a store in Little Missouri,and for a good many years I was his Bad Lands banker. Roosevelt never came to town but he stopped over at my store, and later, when the Marquess de Morés, who thought he could be a sort of king of the Bad Lands, started the town of Medora, and all the saloons moved across, and I had to follow, Roosevelt put some money into my new place and helped me build the store which still stands. He had a room in the south- east corner on the second floor, which we used to call the Roosevelt room, and when- ever he came to tuwn he spent the night there. I remember he used to work at nights, writing after the rest of us went to bed. He would open the dining-room and parlour doors wide, throwing the three rooms, including his own, into one; and then we would hear him walking up and down, stopping a few minutes to write, and then walking up and down again, as though he wis being paid for it. ‘ My store in Medora was a pretty good place, if 1 say it, but the store I started in ever at Little Missouri was about as good in its way as the Pyramid Park Hotel, and that isn’t saying much. It was situated against the bluff, just south of the railroad tracks and next to Mrs. Malloy’s one-horse boarding- house, and from the porch in front I had a good view up and down the river. There’s one thing I always remember in connection with Theodore Roosevelt and that store. It was a picture that, when I saw it first, struck me as so characteristic, clear through, that I’ve never forgotten it. One spring, when the river was running full, running, as we used to say, “* swimming- deep for a giraffe,” 1 was standing on the porch of my store when I saw a horseman riding down the river, on the east side, from the general direction of Chimney Butte. The Marquess de Morés had put a dam in about opposite my store to throw the water back for cutting ice, but the spring freshet had cut the dam away, leaving only a bit of the western end. The horseman walked his horse out on the slippery dam, and then, without a second’s hesitation, slipped and slid into the rushing stream. I watched him, thinking: ‘‘ This man has nerve.” 1 had half an idea who it was, and 1 was anxious for fear his horse might get panicky and start floating down on the current. But he came straight over, and soon I saw that it was Roosevelt, sure enough. He rode up the bank to the store. ‘‘ Landsake, man,” I shouted, ‘ weren't you afraid?” “ | was riding Manitou,” he said,.as though Manitou was a steam engine; and that was all. He had picked out his horse with care, and having picked him out he trusted him. He stopped at the store just long enough to take off his shoes and put on a dry pair of socks. Then he rode on up the river. He was on his way to Elkhorn Ranch. The road to Elkhorn crosses the winding river twenty- two times. I said to myself, ‘‘ He knows what he is doing.” And I guess he did—he always did. And it looks to me as though the world were beginning to find it out. so Ota

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ee ee THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a SO Ose aviveviivaviva! sive Yaxiraviivaxivevi vitvavivevivevtvavt) is : id vivant Standard History £ World tN = — aes te cs Ss NAPOLEO ’S name fills more pages in the World’s solemn history than that of any other mortal. The retreat of his Grand Army from Russia is the turning point of his career and marks the beginning of his downfall. The one complete, accurate, authoritative and reliable history, containing the rise and fall of every empire, kingdom, principality and power, is the world-famed publication WE will name our special price and easy terms of payment only in direct letters. A coupon for your convenience is printed on the lower corner of this advertisement. Tear off the coupon, write your name and address plainly and mail now. You incur no obli- gation whatever. Our plan of sale enablesus to ship direct from factory to customer on approval and guarantee satisfaction. The beautiful sample pages will give you some idea of the splendid illustrations and the fascinating style in which the history is written. Splendid Pictures Six Thousand Years of History THIS is an authentic history of human events from the remotest records of antiquity to the present. New plates—new maps—new charts and dia~ “9 /— grams; the complete history of all nations and peoples, ancient, medieval and /s¥ modern. Reading this work will increase your fund of knowledge, improve v4 your mental powers, develop your conversational ability and increase your earning capacity in any business or occupation. The man or woman who /+ knows history has infinitely better chances of success than the unin- “WS formed. To become familiar with all the great men and women of “«./ 10 so. history and with all the events of the past will enable you to face SS FREE COUPON the world with a new poise, a new confidence and a firmer founda- s/ Big tar eden Cane tion for success. <2 sample pages of the Standard G ET this Hittory of the World and begin reading it. Read it for the joy “4, / History of the World, and write it will give you; read it for the good it will do you; read it for the <@°/ me full particulars of your spe- inspiration that will lead you toward better things. SY cial offer to Wide World readers. “Show me a family of readers,” said Napoleon, “‘and I will show you A9 the people who rule the world.” Hundreds who read this have de- “ov cided to buy a History of the World some day; now is the time. Mail coupon for free sample pages. WESTERN NEWSPAPER ASSOCIATION CHICAGO

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GLANCED KEENLY, AT JOHN, AND THEN THREW HIS ‘BONES’ ONCE MORE.” “THE ‘DOCTOR’ (SEE PAGE 444.)

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| \Ws it@incidence? A\ Prophecy that came true’ A RICHARD LANGDON ILLUSTRATED BY a HOWARD ELCOCK Native witch-doctors occasionally do some very remarkable and uncanny things. Here is a strange tale concerning a native practitioner of “magic”—this time a Zulu—and the tragic fulfilment of a prophecy he made. N the fall of 1896 George Canden and I found ourselves on the Basuto i border in South Africa, a wild and rugged section of the country. We were prospecting for tungsten, and were very anxious to cross into Basutoland itself, but we knew we should meet with far more | trouble and opposition than we were pre- pared to put up with, for the country is closed , to the prospector, and anyone attempting to traverse it is followed and watched by Natives detailed by the chiefs for the purpose. It was while skirting the border that we met John H , who was destined to play a tragic part in our lives during the next few weeks. He was quite a young fellow, fresh out from home ; I believe he had been sent by his people in the hope that the clear dry Vol. xivi.—31.

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444 air would cure the lung trouble from which hesuffered. H. was all alone, and seemed quite unable to fit himself into the life of those about him. We met him at a queer little up-country hotel, far away from the trailhead. Why he had drifted there 1 do not know, unless the hand of Fate guided him. We were sitting on the stoop of the hotel one evening, drinking coffee;and George was suggesting a new route for the next day, when John H strolled up. I cannot think why 1 spoke to him, for there was nothing in any way prepossessing in his appearance. Per- haps it was his forlorn look that touched me; he had been alone such a long time that he had almost the air of an outcast. He proved interesting enough to talk to, and was well informed, so we were soon chatting. Just before we separated for the night I asked H to join us on the morrow, an invitation he was very ready to accept. We were up early and away on our horses soon after dawn. Our destination was a long spur of the range some sixty miles awa would necessitate our spending at least one night either on the veld or in the mountains. We had to cross a large native location on our way, and while doing this came across a party of Zulus congregated in a circle. Approaching nearer to see what it was that interested them, we found a native witch- doctor sitting on his haunches with his “bones "’"—a_ weird collection of stones together with some actual bones, human and animal. I have always been interested in these fellows, for I have known them to per- form some remarkable feats. One of them, for instance, had very recently told the exact location of a lost mule-team belonging to a friend of mine, for which he had been looking far and wide for several days. Their hold on the natives is a strong one, and there are many white men who do not hesitate to invoke their aid when occasion arises. They are shrewd judges of character, and very nimble-witted. H asked what was going on, and I told him, giving as full an explanation as I could of the manner in which the old “ doctor ”” was trying to fasten the blame for an unusual mortality among the chief's cattle upon someone— preferably a person against whom he had a private grudge. H laughed at the whole performance. Now, a native does not appreciate being laughed at, and to jeer at a witch-doctor »yts him personally and touches his pro- fessional pride. The “ doctor,’’ of course, aid not know just why John was laughing, but he guessed that he was the butt of the young fellow's merriment, so he turned to me for information. lool that I was to give it to him ! The doctor looked at the grinning H— THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, carefully, but said nothing, and presently concluded his mummery. When he had finished and duly “‘ smelt out ” his man, he turned to me and inquired if the ‘‘ inkoos ” (chief) would like him to tell him something that closely affected him concerning the future. I asked John if he wanted his for- tune told by the native. ‘Tell him to go ahead with it,” was his reply, but I could see he did not by any means appreciate the attention the old fellow was giving him. H was nervous in the face of the weird and unexpected, and would un- doubtedly have been glad to let the matter drop. The ‘“‘doctor” glanced keenly at John, and then threw his ‘ bones ” once more, for these magicians base their stories upon the figures the various little pieces assume on the sand. Then, looking up and speaking in Zulu, he said that the chief had come from over the water not many moons ago—which was not hard for anyone to guess. After a few commonplaces, he added the information that a shadow of evil was near which would cause John to kill one to whom he would owe his life. This was to happen before the moon grew old. I had to interpret this sinister prophecy, for the Zulu language was understood only by George and myself. 1 have often won- dered since if I could have averted the evil by refraining from passing the message on, but you must judge for yourself about that when I reach the end of my story. John laughed carelessly, but I could see that the uncanny side of the affair had im- pressed him far more than it did us, who were accustomed to the natives and their queer George remarked that the old man was trying to“ get his own back " with John. “He has already made the beggar feel un- comfortable,” he added, “ and it serves him right.” We left the party very soon after, and rode on, but in silence. 1 was glad of this relief, for our companion had made the earlier part of our ride a burden by his chatter. late that afternoon we had to cross a river. It was considerably swollen, but quite safe at the drifts. John, however, seemed to lose his presence of mind when he saw the water boiling round him, and when half-way across his horse took his cue from his rider and allowed the rapid current to turn him down-stream. In a few seconds both nder and horse must have been lost, for once off the drift-bed nothing could have saved them from certain death. George saw the danger, and, forcing his horse slightly down-stream, seized the bridle of H ’s now thoroughly frightened animal. Fora moment I thought it was all up, but George, by great presence of mind, saved both horse and man.

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“ When they reached the bank George said nothing, though I knew he was annoyed at the danger caused by H ’s want of nerve. John was by this time obviously quite unstrung by the experience he had been through. In fact, he was so badly scared that for a time he did not seem to realize the debt he owed to his rescuer. When he did, he “For a moment I thought it was all up.” WAS IT COINCIDENCE ? 445 3 == recalled the prophecy of the old witch- doctor and—with strange want of tact— observed :— “ That old chap of yours seems to have been pretty right, for already | owe my life to you. He was an uncanny beggar. I hope the rest of the yarn won’t come true!” We spent the next few days prospecting, but without much luck, and as time passed

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416 we became more and more irritated with our companion, who seemed to think of little else but the narrow shave he had had and the prophecy of the witch-doctor. Even the phlegmatic George was affected, and ex- pressed himself as anxious to see the last of him. On the last day of our trip we had to do some very hard climbing, for at the foot of a rock-fall I found what I believed were traces of the mineral we were seeking. We were anxious to leave John at the bottom of the last stretch of the climb, but he insisted that his head was quite clear. I had my doubts about this, after the way he had behaved at the drift, but we allowed him to accompany us. We were not roped, which was foolish, but long use had made us careless. All went well till we came to a ridge that ran round the base of the upper cliff. This ridge was only a foot or so wide in parts and covered with fallen stones, which made walking very dangerous; below was a sheer fall of about six hundred feet to where, far beneath, we could see the huge rocks that had fallen over the precipice. George was in front, care- fully feeling his way, and John was in the middle. . What happened next all took place ina few seconds. John suddenly called out that he could see some buck below. He did this in such a startling fashion that George, turning round to see what was the matter, slipped, and fell on the loose stones, lying in such a position that the slightest movement on his part would have precipitated him to the rocks far below. I could not pass John to reach him, but told him to lie flat and grab George by the wrist. I would then crawl over them both to the other side, where the ridge was a little wider, and from there try to pull my chum round so that he was clear of the edge. i My first words must have touched off the mine that old Zulu fiend had laid in H 's unstable brain. ‘If you make a single slip or bungle you will kill him,” I said, warn- ingly. I made this remark merely to steady the fellow. The result was surprising, for H stammered that he was too scared to move, and begged me to get past him. This 1 could not do till he was lying down, how- ever, and I told him so, and urged him to seize George’s wrist at once. Finally he ventured to get down on to his knees, and eventually lay flat. Then, after a good deal more urging, he worked his way along to George, who was still Iving motionless, until he was well within reach of my mate’s hand. I was so relieved that 1 spoke again.“ Now you have him,” I cried, ‘’ but go carefully To my horror, H reached forward his hand and slowly and deliberately pushed the arm nearest to him! THE WIDE. WORLD MAGAZINE, I was too frightened to utter a sound, for I saw that another push must inevitably send George over the precipice. My mate could not have realized the import of that first little push, or if he did he was slow to speak. Meanwhile John, giving himself another hitch along the ledge, made one more thrust at the arm—and sent the best chum a man ever had hurtling to his death far below ! There was a slight noise among the birds, disturbed by the crash of his body falling through the trees, and then a silence that seemed to hurt. There is no need to describe the difficulty I had in getting John to move from the perilous position in which he lay, nor of my added trouble owing to the fact that he fainted before I got him off the ridge. Neither need I enlarge upon my failure to get near my poor chum’s body. The ride back to the hotel was one long nightmare, and at times I almost repented not having left this maniac or murderer—I could not make up my mind which he was— on the ledge to shift for himself or follow his victim. The thought that perplexed me on that ride is still one of the unsolved mysteries of my life. Did I contribute to the death of my friend by making it possible for the witch- doctor to cast the power of hypnotic sugges- tion over H. , who, if I had not inter- preted, would have remained in ignorance of the old fellow’s prophecy ? I try to make myself believe that this was not the case, but that the old rascal was merely exercising the foresight these men so often possess. If, as I am at times con- strained to believe, it was the power of suggestion that caused the tragedy, then the old fellow had quickly sized John up and taken a terrible revenge. The “ doctor may have taken a very safe chance in suggesting a rescue and the Tescuer’s death, for amid the daily risks of the mountains there are opportunities of danger that are to be met with in but few other places. It was practically a certainty that sooner or later the inexperienced H—— would get into some scrape where his life would be in danger, but to prompt the slay- ing of his rescuer- -if the old man did do so— was a dreadful vengeance indeed. The mental agony that would surely follow such a deed would more than balance the witch- doctor’s annoyance at being laughed at. One thing is certain, however. There, far away in those African mountains, amid the scenes he loved so well, lie the remains of my poor chum George, sent to his untimely death by the hand of a weakling who for a time was the minister of that inscrutable power we call Fate.

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WAS IT COINCIDENCE ? “To my horror, H—— reached forward his hand and slowly and deliberately pushed the arm nearest to him.”

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Ke - MAN WHO HESITA “ BATURI.” ILLUSTRATED BY SOHN OE WALTON A dramatic story from West Africa, showing what happened when, all too suddenly, the “white man’s burden” was thrust upon a young and inexperienced officer. The Author, who served during the war in the Cameroons and German East Africa, writes: “The story is true, and is the experience of a man who was a great friend of mine.” For obvious reasons all the names have been changed. LONG the West Coast of Africa, in what is known as the Bight of Benin, lies the British Colony of Nigeria. Its shore-line was vari- ously known in the old days as the Slave Coast, the Fever Coast, the Oil Coast, and the White Man’s Grave. The names still apply, though perhaps in a more limited way, and civilization, as we understand it, seems far away, particularly outside the big centres on the coast. To live there means taking a step back into another generation—a step sometimes pro- - ductive of interesting consequences to the stepper. One is faced by primitive con- ditions, and conscientious work often seems a waste of time, but mistakes are usually punished by primitive laws. The white man is faced with the need for big decisions, some of them affecting his very life, and if he decides wrongly the results are quick and sure. Nigeria breeds a race of men who are hard, and perhaps—from living long alone— selfish ; but they are all strong men, who know their own minds. The man who is not quite up to standard, the waverer and the weakling, soon drops out. I knew one such, and the following was the manner of Ins passing. One evening late in 1915 three subalterns of “ B’ Company of a regiment of the We-t African Frontier Force were sitting ontside a grass shelter overlooking the Cro: kaver. They had gathered for a“ peg’ after dinner, and now sat moodily pulling at their pipes, staring at the fast-fading glow of sunset on the water. The cause of their depression was an item of news brought over by Carstairs, the adjutant, to the effect that a new company commander would arrive next day. That was bad enough, but what really caused the gloom was the information —given with a grin by Carstairs—that he would be fresh from England. The old commander had been killed two months before, since which time the senior sub. had been in charge—a popular youngster, a good soldier, and due for his captaincy. The whole company had hoped against hope that he would get his ‘‘ step ” and be allowed to carry on, but recently the War Office had started to replace all casualties by men of the same rank from England, and this apparently was in line with the new ruling. It was not a wise regulation. The ‘“ Waffs’’ are a peculiar corps working under peculiar conditions, both of which need a good deal of study, and a senior officer sent out fresh from home, with no knowledge of the language of his men, jungle warfare, or the strange ways of the strange people he commands, is bound to make mistakes. And in war-time mistakes have a way of being very unpleasant for those involved. The next morning on parade, however, a surprise awaited our three gloomy young gentlemen. The new Commanding Officer

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THE MAN WHO HESITATED. duly arrived and proved to be a quiet little chap, rather over the average age for a captain. His name was John Wharton. He wore the D.S.O. which, they later found, he had won in Gallipoli. Oddly enough, although at times he seemed to be rather at a loss, he displayed an astonishing knowledge of both the customary routine and language of the regiment. No questions were asked, but after parade, when he invited the be- wildered three to breakfast with him, he explained briefly that, many years before, he had been with the “ Waffs,"” but had gone back to his British regiment after a vear's service. He did not seem inclined to go into details, and plainly showed that he preferred to let that part of his career drop. He was, however, quite willing to talk of the war in Europe, and gave a quietly humorous account of his experiences in Gallipoli. He had been wounded and sent home, where, after con- valescence, the War Office sent him, without warning, to the “ Waffs"’ in the Cameroons. Wharton soon showed that he was a thorough soldier, and gradually won the respect and liking of his men. His only fault was that he was inclined to brood. Many a night he would sit without speaking, staring off into the jungle. Whatever his thoughts were, he never referred to them, and it was tacitly understood that whenever the fit was on him he was to be left alone. He made no secret of his affairs in general, and everyone knew that he came from an old Army family in Scotland, that he had plenty of money, and was in love with a charming wife at home. In the meantime the company was replacing lost kit and filling up with new drafts the gaps left by casualties, and by the time, two weeks later, that the battalion moved off, they were fit for the field again. The first objective was to be a strong point on the river, called Nsango, held by the Germans— a place where, three months before, the “‘Wafts’’ had suftered a severe reverse. After the consultation of company commanders in the Colonel's tent, Wharton came back to give the news to his own officers. He looked rather peculiar, and very shortly after left, tefusing to stay and discuss the situation. A_ significant look was passed around. Wharton was again in one of his ‘“‘ moods.” Tate that night, when the camp had been long asleep, the orderly officer, going his rounds of the sentries, saw a light in Wharton’s shelter, and Wharton himself sitting in a chair, still awake, and staring, motionless, out of the open. door, A week later the force had driven in the enemy's outposts and was preparing to make an assault on Nsango itself at dawn the following morning. ‘The different com- panies had all, after a certain number of 449 skirmishes, managed to secure their posi- tions, and the men were resting quietly, waiting for the next day. Wharton called his officers together for final instructions. They were to move at the first grey light of dawn. It was a hot, still night, and when everything had been settled, they lingered, talking in low voices, the excitement and heat making them dis- inclined for sleep. Wharton was oddly restless, and several times he seemed on the point of speech, only to pull himself up and walk away for a short distance. Finally, at the end of one of these little promenades, he sat down in the midst of the others and said, quietly “ Boys, I've an odd feeling that this is my last show, and before you go to-night I want to tell you a story.” His subalterns were surprised at his positive tone, but began to chaff him laugh- ingly. It is a common thing on the eve of a fight to believe that the next day will be your last, but after a while, Wharton’s quiet certainty impressed them in spite of themselves, and they gradually fell silent while he told them the following tale :— You all know I served a long time in India, and in that country, in spite of himself, a man becomes a fatalist. I know and feel that this is the end for me. This spot is not new to me; I knew it many vears ago, and to be brought back across the world by circumstances totally outside my control to the place which, of all others, I would last have chosen, is to me very significant. I knew that some day I must make reparation, and now the payment is due. About eighteen vears ago I was seconded from my regiment for service in this country. I was very young and very ‘“ green,” but when I landed at Calabar I had all the con- fidence of youth. I knew little of the country or what it demanded of one, and it was the irony of Fate that I was called on to play the part of a man before I was ready. I went through the usual routine at head- quarters, did my parades fairly well, and was even keen enough to spend a certain amount of time cramming the language. It was my proficiency there, I think, that decided the Colonel to send me into the bush sooner than he would otherwise have done. As for me, I was delighted. You all know the life, and that the only chance of a “scrap” is up- country. I went to Abiki, not twenty miles from here. Life in a bush station was not all I pictured it. For months the round of monotonous drill went on without the slightest sign of the looked-for risings that I had heard the older officers talking of at headquarters. About the only excitement to be had were the

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450 episodes that cropped up in the inter- departmental feud that was waged with the greatest bitterness between my company commander and the political officer of our station. The quarrel had arisen over some petty cause, as they all do—a soldier had assaulted a policeman in barracks, or some- thing of the sort, and the political officer had tried to arrest him. The company com- mander had denied his authority, and they squabbled over the matter. It was finally carried to the Governor, who decided in favour of our officer. Ridway, the political officer, was a man with a very high sense of duty, but he had also lived a long time in the jungle. He was, and had been for a number of years, practi- cally a king in his own district. He ruled justly but absolutely, and years of that sort of thing tell on a man’s character. He was not only impatient of any restraint, but was downright frantic at opposition. He‘nursed his grievance against our commander and passed it on to us, embracing all soldiers in his anathemas. I had earned his special enmity, for one evening, over the drinks, he had tried to tell me his side of the story, but before he could get fairly under way, I started to jeer and chaff him. He left in a black rage, after calling me a ‘‘ young pup,” and I was later to know how bitterly he resented my attitude, . There was some talk at this time of trouble farther up the river. It was a small affair, but a week or so later a runner came through with orders from headquarters to send half a company to the disturbed district, which was about forty miles away. As I was inexperienced, it was decided that I should be left in the station with the other half. Needless to say, I was very sick at being left behind, for this ‘‘ show '’ was the sort of thing I had dreamed of. I felt the captain of my company was most unfair, even though I was forced to admit the reasonable- ness of his decision. I little knew how soon his opinion of my immaturity was to be confirmed ! After the troops left I found some conso- lation in being in command of the station. I went about my duties very assiduously, I did everything as though I had command of the whole company, and, indeed, I felt quite equal to taking one over. Ridway and myself patched up a sort of truce, and in the evenings we would meet over drinks to enjov the coolness, but under all his civility I felt his enmity, and T knew that it needed only the opportunity for him to do me an ill turn. Hie was soon to get his chance ! You know the natives of these parts : they go along in apparent. friendliness for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. perhaps two or three years, come into the station, work on the roads, and as far as possible keep in the shadow of the ‘law as laid down by the political officer. Then suddenly, for no known reason, they stop coming, rumours reach you that a big Ju-Ju festival is being held, and court runners display a reluctance to go into their neigh- bourhood. One day the political officer receives the severed hand or foot of a mes- senger, sent out a few hours before, still bleeding and hardly cold. Im a roundabout way he is the recipient of gross insults, being finally told that his presence in the country is unnecessary, and that any attempt on his part to enter the villages will mean a great feast, at which he will figure as the préce de résistance. Should he show any inclination for this fate, he is invited to bring the soldiers with him, as the natives are hard up for slaves. The result, of course, is a ‘* show,” with more or less fighting and a bag of chastened natives brought in, who will languish in the station prison for a few years as an example to like bumptious spirits. Then the district. quiets down and once more the life goes on as before. Of course, an attack on the station is a more serious affair, and, more often than not, very suc- cessful from the natives’ point of view, for it usually means the massacre of every man, woman, and child. One evening, as Ridway and I sat smoking and quarrelling morosely outside my house, a native stepped quietly out of the dark. He was absolutely naked and covered with sweat and grime. In his hand he held the usual cleft stick, with a letter in its crotch. This he handed me and then stretched himself out on the ground against the house near by. With an apology to Ridway, I opened the note, read its contents, and ina dazed state handed it across the table for him to see. ‘It contained only a few lines, hurriedly written, and breathing a feeling of great urgency. It was from the German station up the river, twenty miles away. That station was Nsango, and I hope by this time to- morrow night it will be British. It was written by the political officer in charge, and said that they had been warned by a faithful native of a rising and an attack to be made the next day. They had only five white men and a handful of police in the station. He asked me to march that night with all speed, bringing what troops I had, and save them from what was obviously certain death. The letter showed that he entertained mo doubt of my action, but urged, with a hysterical note, the need of speed in coming. It ended on that. I sprang to my feet, after a, moment to

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N WHO HES “In his hand he held the usual cleft stick, with a letter in its crotch.” collect myself, and turned to Ridway As I vast felt the situation, suddenly my in myself disappeared. I What was I to do?) What was \ 2 in such circumstances ? I had no orders in case of an emergency of this sort. Had I the right to move without usually ¢ instructions from my captain? In my per- plexity 1 looked helplessly at Ridway. He sat smoking thoughtfully and turning the note about in his hands inally he looked up and, ‘ing me in a quiet, non- committal way, asked :- “Well?”

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452 He had judged me rightly, and sat waiting for the question he knew I would inevitably ask. I asked it. He was an older man, experienced in the ways of the country. I knew he had been tried in emergencies and met them properly, so I turned to him and inquired what I should do. He calmly told me he could not advise me, as it was a purely military matter, but that if my intention was to march in response to the German’s letter, he could not provide me with either food or carriers for my guns. In explanation of this he pointed out that to cross the German border with an armed force was to break an international law, and in direct contradiction of our boundary treaty with Germany. Though individual cases might sometimes seem to make the breaking of these regulations compulsory, as a political officer he would not consent to being a party to such procedure without official orders from the Governor. Then, without further words, he got up and, bidding me good night, quietly walked away. You can picture my mental state. Faced by the need for instant action, my inex- perience stared me in the face. On one hand was my uncertainty as to my right to move without my company commander’s orders ; on the other was my knowledge of the terrific price to be paid if I sat still. Ridway's calm judicial statement as to my position in regard to our treaties also worried me considerably. If I had had some- one to decide for me, I feel that I could have met the situation capably. I knew enough to see what should be done; the difficulty lay in summoning up courage to make a definite decision. First, I was certain that I should be right in following the impulse of humanity, over-riding all red tape and precedent, setting out to save those men’s lives. I could go to Ridway and demand food and carriers, and, if he refused, take them by force. Then my imagination pic- tured the result of such high-handed action on the part of a junior—a court-martial, that might break me, leaving me ruined for life. Then I lost courage again. The thought of the lives hanging on my decision nearly drove me frantic. During the night I pictured them = waiting and waiting and, as dawn came on, trying to bolster up each other's courage by thinking of causes for my delay, the true reason never even entering their minds, That was a black night for me! Every hour [ made up my mind to go, and tive minutes later got frightened and decided to stay. Eventually dawn came, and I tottered over to Ridway's quarters, The servants were just beginning to stir, and when I went in I found him fast asleep. [ went out, and one of his boys told me that his master had i THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, gone to bed only half an hour before. I don’t think that Ridway’s night was much more comfortable than my own. By nine that morning we knew the worst. Through the native telegraph—that mys- terious mode of communication that no white man has ever learned the secrets of—we were told that the rebels had attacked Nsango at daylight and that not a soul had escaped. 1 won't go into my mental agony for the next two weeks. Suffice it to say that when my captain returned I was at once put under arrest, and two days later started for head- quarters for that very court-martial which I had so feared. My brother officers shunned me as a pariah. They are a hard lpt out here; they give no mercy and expect none. I had done wrong, and there was no crying off the full penalty. The court-martial was a terrible ordeal; it came out there what an enormous mistake I had made. One of the Germans at Nsango, as luck would have it, turned out to be a very important personage. He was the only son of a great house, very noble and mighty indeed, and his father stood high in the German Court—so high, in fact, that the Emperor himself demanded a satisfactory explanation as to why aid had been refused. One of my uncles is on the General Staff, and it was through his influence and by reason of my youth and inexperience that I did not get the full penalty. I left the Court, however, with my record thoroughly blackened, and was _ transferred to an obscure regiment in India. Up to the present war I served there, fighting on the frontier in all the little “‘ shows ’’ that arose. I saw my fellow-officers gradually drifting away, as promotion came, and one by one they went over my head. It took me twelve years to gain my captaincy. It was the same in Gallipoli; boys who had served under me are now in charge of battalions. I stood still. I tried my best, and was thankful to get this D.S.O., but I know that I shall never go any higher, so if it comes to- morrow I sha'n’t be sorry. I am telling you fellows all this just as an object-lesson. All those years in India, no one knew. I only want you boys to re- member one thing. No matter what the problem is, make up your mind what course of action is right, and then let nothing stop you. And now we must get to our places. Good night—and God bless you. The three young subalterns wrung his hand without a word and went off silently into the dark to snatch what sleep they could before dawn. With the first streak of light the attack began, and by four o'clock that day Nsango was taken. Wharton was the last man killed.

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This photograph shows the curious boats used by the eel- [he \/ENIcE OF THE [ets HERBERT / VIVIAN Tucked away in a corner of the Adriatic, amid a maze of lagoons, lies an ancient town where no one ever goes and which few people have ever heard of. Once as great as Venice, the place lives to-day upon its remarkable eel-fisheries, which Mr. Vivian graphically describes. The fishing takes place at night, preferably during a storm, and what with the darkness, the poachers, and the myriads of writhing eels, it is an exciting business indeed. OMACCHIO is one of the strangest and most fascinating places in the civilized world, yet no one ever i dreams of going there. Only thirty miles distant from a great railroad, it might be buried away in the depths of the Pacific, for all that outsiders know about it. Its fisheries are unique—attempts to copy them in the Baltic and Languedoc proved a failure—but scarcely a word has been written about them, even in Italian. Until 1821 Comacchio was completely isolated among the waters which form a sort of back-wash of the Adriatic. Then a road was made across the lagoon on a cause- way, and nowadays there is a rickety train that is supposed to take four hours from Ferrara, but is always at least an hour and a ‘half late, sometimes breaking down alto- gether in winter if there is much snow or the wood fuel runs short. When this happens passengers must cither walk or spend the night on its inhospitable seats. All the country hereabouts is either lagoon, Tanging from a few inches to six feet in depth, or else has been laboriously reclaimed for the growth of hemp, maize, and sugar- beet, and the pastures of the strong white oxen who plough together in teams of ten or twelve. As far as the eye can reach all is as flat as the palm of your hand. Apart from a few white farms, with garish red or blue shutters, and ancient isolated villages, there is scarcely a human habitation to be seen, and the rare peasants, in bright red bodices and blue skirts, stare at_your car, muttering

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454 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, thirteen islands, and Augustus Cesar had navi- gable canals cut through the lagoons. Towards the end of the Roman Empire it became rich and had a big fleet, so that it was able to relieve Ravenna when besieged by Alaric’s Huns. In the ninth century its splendid har- bour made it the most important city of the Adri- atic, but the Vene- A general view of Comacchio, the “Venice of the Eels.” prayers to St. Anthony, the protector of their Pigs and dogs. As you near the lagoons, the land reveals to you what the bottom of the sea must be like—tufts of green, red, or purple weeds, set in a wilderness of white sand. Here the soil is still too salt for cultivation, and many wonder whether it is worth reclaiming at all. On the causeway you are, as it were, on a long white plank of Toad, with nothing but water on either hand. When I passed in the early morning a storm was brooding over the horizon, casting down streaks of lightning from dark purple clouds that illuminated glimpses of purple weeds. A sudden turn to the left, and we faced the odd outline of Comacchio’s churches and towers rising straight out of the waters. The origin of Comacchio is lost in mythology. Some ascribe it to the Pelasgians ; others say that it and Ravenna were founded by Noah's son Cromatio, when fleecing with Ham from the tyranny of Nimrod. The objection that Cro- matio does not ap- pear in the Bible is overruled by a tradition that Noah had a second wife and — thirty children after the Deluge. The town was built on tians were always its enemies, bum- ing it in 854 and finally reducing it to ruins in 932. Comacchio recovered prosperity under the Estes of Ferrara, supplying half Italy with fish. Then it passed to the States of the Church, and there were great festivities in 1548 when Pope Clement VIII. came to take sion. His barge was draped with cloth of gold and there was a procession of three hundred gondolas, with regattas and fireworks. That was Comacchio’s swan-song, and it has slept ever since. The town has been compared to Venice, and at Ferrara they call it contemptuously a ‘Kitchen Venice.” The only real resem- blance is that both places have many canals and are built in the midst of lagoons. There One of Comacchio’s many canals.

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THE VENICE OF THE EELS. is mo trace of ancient grandeur about Comacchio. At the entrance is the big, battered, neglected Capuchin church of Santa Maria in Aula Regia, withnothing magnificent about it but the name. Thence a_ white- washed arcade of a hundred and forty-two arches starts the long, narrow main strect which traverses the little town. In the side alleys there are no dgors at all; in the main street all the doors are open and you can discern the water at the back entrance, which is very useful to poachers when fleeing at night from the wardens of the lagoons. Some twenty or thirty households constitute a small poaching society, with all things more or less in common. After a good catch, none count the spoils; after a bad catch the more fortunate give to the less. Misery is shared without a murmur, and discord is unknown. Hence doors are not needed, and each society is like a happy family. Many of the houses are so low that a tall man cannot stand upright inside, and you can touch the roofs, which are usually adorned with pots of geraniums or carna- tions. One of the most curious sights of the town is provided by the Tre Ponti (‘‘ Three Bridges "’), built in 16034 at the entrance to the wide canal which leads to the sea. As 455 A typical “ side-street.” will be seen from the illustration on the next page, there are three broad stairs on one side ascending to a platform between two towers. On the other side there is only one stair. The people of Comacchio are peculiar, and make you feel at once that you have reached a place that is very, very far away from the workaday world. To begin with, they have an old-world courtesy of their own. The men doff their hats to strangers and take great pains to assist you. Whether they are the ancient Pelasgians or not, they certainly belong to a type of their own— great beak-like noses, the piercing eyes of gipsies and seafaring folk, long legs and arms, thin, wiry bodies, bronze skins, and great dignity of carriage. They have a reputation for dirt and shrewdness, and are said to be so litigious that they could main- tain all the lawyers of the province. Down to Papal days and The boats of the eel-fishers take the place of the gondolas of Venice. even now, the Government has been_ responsible for municipal debts, and these, after a bad fishing season, are some- times huge. Re- cently the Comac- chions could not pay the employes of the foundling hospital and the lunatic asylum, and no one ever trusts them. Their dia- lect is scarcely un- derstood at Fer- rara, where it is ironically called “ Tuscan,” which is the purest speech

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456 in Italy. They de- pend entirely on fish, eat nothing but fish, and drink a very black wine, so thick that you can almost cut it with a knife. They will tell you jok- ingly that God made it specially to go with eels— which here taste like white _ beef- steaks —and_ that the phosphorus in the fish has added to their shrewd- ness. They look pictures of health and strength ; yet when cholera came to Italy, it took root at Comacchio, and was never ex- pected to leave. They are nearly all consumptives, and also sufier from a disease of the eyes, attributed to dirt. The lagoons consist of an area of about eighty thousand acres at the mouth of the Po, and contain many islands which used to be adorned with villas, castles, churches, and hermitages. The abbey of St. James in Cella Volana, for instance, was the resort of emperors and mystics, but the monks were driven out by malaria, and now only a legend remains concerning it. One night of calm full moon the waters overwhelmed it and it was no more. It is on these islands that the fish-traps are constructed. A canal is cut, leading A group of young Commachians. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, towards the sea, and in it is planted an array of cane-bundles, fortified with wooden stakes, some sixty yards from end to end, shaped like two triangles, one within the other, with curves and re-entering angles and loose-boxes of cane-bundles, very difficult to describe. The box at the end of the inner triangle is for mullet, which come in vast shoals ; the other loose-boxes are for eels. Eels are very peculiar creatures, so slippery that they seem to have eluded all the inves- tigations of the naturalists. No one has the faintest notion how they breed, or what is their sex. All sorts of fanciful tales are told about them. Some say that they are accompanied on their travels by an utterly different fish with which they mate ——a sort of marine cuckoo, in fact. A man at Comacchio told me that in ~ summer they cease to be eels and be- come entirely different creatures, just as caterpillars become butterflies, but it would require delirium — tremens or Mr. H. G. Wells to imagine the “moth “ of the eel. The general idea is that they make their homes in The historic “ Three Bridges” and the canal that leads to the sea. mud. They often eat. one, another,

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THE VENICE OF The watery highway that links Comacchio with the Adriatic. but on the other hand they can go without food for months. Some say they feed on their young till they are six or seven years old; then they are grown up and cease eating altogether. According to the leader of a Danish marine research expedition, eels breed somewhere near Bermuda and travet for two years acruss the Atlantic with the Gulf Stream. Then they spend four or five years in fresh water, after which comes an instinct for salt water; and they set out in great tumultuous shoals for their sea- nurseries. This happens at the passing of autumn — usually THE EELS. 457 their way to the sea, and this brings them straight into the eel-traps of Comacchio. They are so intolerant of obstacles that they force their way through the inter- stices of the cane- bundles, which are so close together that a man can scarcely push his finger through. Indeed, if I had not seen them do it, L should not have believed it possible, for some of the eels are several fect in length and perhaps fifteen inches in girth. On a_ wooden ledge just outside the top loose-box, five men stand in complete silence and pitch darkness, save for a dark lantern, awaiting the arrival of the eels. They let down a cylinder of nets to discover if the first eels, which announce the migration, are already there. Soon there can be no doubt, for a dark, writhing, frantic mass lashes the waters into furious foam, with a swishing, whistling roar of tails scourging like flails. Two men promptly seize an ovega, a fishing utensil made of a solid wooden hoop, conical at the base, from which hangs a long broad at the October new moon — but they are inclined to wait for storms, prefer- ring the darkest and most boister- ous nights. Long experience has proved that they never start in the moonlight or under cloudless skies ; if they have started in the dark, and starlight appears, they stop their journey until com. plete darkness re- turns. The shoals travel with the wind “ in their faces,” batt. ling against tides and currents on Vol. xlvi.—32,

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458 sack of coarse ret. This they dip with a semicircular motion into the turmoil, and in a trice the sack is filled with the maddened eels. Then a curious operation takes place. Two other men seize the mouth of the ovega in their strong arms, bend their backs, make a powerful lever by placing their heads together, and with an herculean effort, con- trive to lift their ponderous booty—sometimes as much as four hundredweight —to the brim of the loose-box. Another man then raises the long wooden handle of the net while the others pour the eels into a pyramid - shaped cloth sack about six feet long, from which they are presently conveyed, still struggling frantically, into huge wicker baskets capable of holding over two thousand pounds weight. Then, very slowly, in heavy-laden_ barges, the catch is conveyed to the curing-sheds, The fishing sometimes lasts all through the night and far into the following day, recom- mencing at sundown with varying profit during four, six, or even eight weeks. In olden times it was usual to fire a gun each time that thirty-five tons had been caught in one lagoon. The first shot told the fishing population that they were each entitled to a flask of wine or its equivalent ; subsequent shots benefited only the group of workers in that particular lagoon. As many as four shots, implying a hundred and forty tons, have not infre- quently been heard in one night from one lagoon. The greatest dexterity, vigilance, and activity are needed for the work, otherwise the loose-boxes get congested, when, accord- ing to the head fisherman at the eel-trap which I visited, many eels make their escape. To watch the fishermen at work is one of the most impressive sights imaginable. The wind, the piercing cold, the pitch darkness, the water soaking them to the skin—nothing conquers the marvellous energy of these descendants of the Pelasgians. Alone on little weak dykes in the immense waste of waters, they bend over their labours in grim silence, working like Trojans until their slippery harvest is safely garnered. The illegitimate sport of the fiocinini (harpooners), however, is still more thrilling. The Commune owns all the lagoons and has farmed out the fisheries to a company that A fine Comacchio eel. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, pays keepers, who live in huts on the various islands, forming a vast net spread over an area of many miles to catch poachers. The greater part of the population is divided into these two classes. The poachers have the advantage of acting collectively in gangs of a score or so, but they have a hard fight against hunger and misery in their little doorless houses. There is nothing else for them to live on except fishing, and they work on a large scale, though they risk their liberty every time they go out. ‘hey are proud, calm, strangely contented folk, and their fatalism makes them endure great sufferings without a murmur. When legitimate work is offered—for instance, if mud has to be cleared from the lagoons—not a poacher refuses, and then the keepers can stay quietly at home, con- templating the horizon from their rush - bottomed chairs. The company has to count in its balance-sheet on a certain loss from inevitable poaching. With the first touch of autumn the battle between authority and the poachers be- gins. The darker and stormier the night, the more propitious it is considered by the chers. When darkness falls they dona special tunic steeped in oil— a home-made waterproof—and enter their peculiar boats, which they call. their ‘' bicycles,” These are twenty-four feet long and eighteen inches wide, painted black, and so light that they can almost be tucked under your arm. These boats, each containing three men, set out in squadrons of six or seven, and make for the different enclosures of the lagoons, the men guiding themselves with inherited skill through the pitch darkness at a tremendous pace. They use poles to propel their craft, which gives them an advantage over the keepers, who travel more ‘slowly with oars. Not the least glimmer of light must be shown during the journey. To light a cigarette would mean an instant pounce on the part of the keepers. Erect on the extreme end of the slender canoe, a poacher watches intently, with his dark lantern at his feet, lighting up a fraction of the waters for the shortest of seconds. He poises his harpoon with uplifted arm, and at the first sign of a wriggle he strikes with a sure stroke, withdraws the harpoon, and liberates his prey from the short prongs. Here the harpoon is a semi-circular fork with eight prongs; at Genoa a square fork is

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THE VENICE OF THE EELS. = 459 used. Other men leap into the shal- low water and re- main there for hours, heedless of the piercing cold. When they catch an eel, they bite its head off and string the body with a reed that they carry tied to their waists. Yet others use nets. More daring spirits still make for more lucrative booty. Protected by the thick dark- ness, they crouch down in their boats and stealthily ap- proach one of the keeper’s cottages. At what they judge the right moment, one of them plunges into the water and hides there, keeping only just enough of his nose above the surface to enable him to breathe. As he creeps for- ward, he lightly poises a piece of matting or a small tuft of weeds in front of him, so as to camouflage his head in case the keepers should chance to flash a light. The poacher advances very slowly, with muscles taut, eyes intent for his prey, and a sharp knife in his mouth, diving at the slightest alarm. The sky is an abyss of tumultuous clouds, the lightning blinds the watching Some of the lagoon-keepers who guard the fishing-grounds against poachers, keepers, and rain crackles and boils in deluges from the black vastness of the heavens. Nearer and nearer the poacher crawls towards the place where the big wicker pots float on the water, overflowing with writhing eels. At last his perilous journey is ended, the coveted treasure within his grasp. He snatches the knife from his teeth and, with a swift stroke, cuts the rope which secures one eel-pot to the others. Then, diving again, he pushes the pot stealthily along the surface of the black lagoon. The keepers, many of them old poachers themselves, are well acquainted with the habits and tricks of their adversaries, and every night a keen pursuit occurs in some preserve of the lagoons. So soon as a keeper espies the faintest glimmer of light from a dark lan- tern he knows that the poachers are at work. He warns his comrades, and the chase begins. Some keepers start running along the narrow dykes, others pursue in row-boats, advanc- ing swiftly and silently towards the place where they last] saw the

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460 light. No sooner do they come near enough to make out the outline of the poachers’ boats, however, than the faint light is suddenly extinguished. A hot pursuit immediately ensues. The poachers’ boats fly off like arrows. When they are in danger of capture, they will suddenly change their course, swerving at right angles with amazing dexterity and continuing their breathless flight. Ifa dyke obstructs their progress, the men leap into the water and lift their light craft bodily over the obstacle. But there is a net hemming them in all round, for the keepers have blown horns and others are on the alert. The circle closes in upon the poachers, and there is no way of escape. As a last resort, one of them seizes the booty and hides with it in the water while the others change the course of their canoes to put the keepers off the scent. Presently they slacken speed and submit to capture. This means the confiscation of boat and harpoon and imprisonment for one or two days. 1 met a boy of nineteen who boasted of nineteen convictions, and no poacher seems to worry about the menace of jail, regarding it as all in the night’s work. If Keepers on their way to patrol the lagoons. it comes, it is fate; and he is a born fatalist, like all those who do business in great waters. The profits of eel-poaching are considerable. A party of twenty often secures a ton of eels in a night, and eels fetch about two shillings and threepence a pound. It might be thought that, as the fishing is preserved, it would be easy to arrest poachers found in THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. possession of fish, but some by-law made an exception of the Valle dei Poveri (Lagoon of the Poor), which is not preserved because it contains scarcely a minnow, and all poached fish pretends to come from there. Besides the actual fishing, the curing-sheds of the eel company present a striking sight. At the entrance are two big tanks, one for soaking the barrels, which are all made on the premises, the other for receiving the eels from the boats. Inside the great hall are hollowed tables, where the eels are decapitated before being spitted on long iron rods. There are twelve furnaces, fed with huge chunks of wood. <A dozen rods, each suspending some thirty eels, are slowly turned, one above the other, in front of each furnace—say, four or five thousand eels all roasting and frizzling at once. After Toasting, they are left to cool for a few hours, then cut into three pieces and packed in barrels with vinegar and salt, twelve pounds of vinegar to twenty-three pounds of fish. Sixty women, five for each furnace, are employed to turn the spits, and they roast an average of twelve tons of eels a day for one or two months. Eels in barrels keep for about six months, and are exported to all parts of the world. What a happy hunting - ground Comacchio might be for poets and artists! Think of all the neglected material afforded by the confused toil which accom- panies the taking of the eels in the - old-world traps amid the rain and the wind, the flash of lightning and the roar of thunder ; the frantic in- vasion of horde upon horde of eels; the weary journeys of the boats, weighed down to the water's edge ; and the hair- breadth adventures of the poachers crouch- ing up to their noses in the lagoons. This is followed, during nine months of the year, by an intense calm. Comacchio falls asleep, and scarcely a sound is heard save the lapping of the shallow waters of the encircling lagoons and the clatter of the inhabitants’ clogs on the cobbled pavements of the ‘' Venice of the Eels.”

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The Broph ara ee Told by CHARLES RANIER, and Set down by A. S. HALL. RIAN The life of a detective has a curious fascination for many people, and lots of us like to think that we should make capable investigators ourselves. Here is a very unusual story, describing in detail the methods used by a leading American detective in connection with a difficult case. The story is absolutely true, but, for obvious reasons, the names of all persons and places concerned, including that of the detective, have been changed.* Mountains, more than a mile above sea- level, and possessing ideal climatic con- ditions, the city of Radio Springs is known far and wide as a place of recupera- tion for tubercular patients. It was, therefore, quite natural that Max Brophy, a wealthy Russian -Jew importer of New York City, should choose Radio Springs as the place to take his wife, Reba, when she contracted tuberculosis and was ordered to the moun- tains by her doctors. Upon that decision, and the subsequent visit of the couple to Radio Springs, hinges a stirring tale of a mysterious death, a surprising will, much plotting and counter-plotting, and the final defeat of the conspirators. The story, as told to me by Charles Ranier, now leading detective for one of the large railroad systems of the United States, is here set forth. S tomes in the heart of the Rocky Mrs. Rachael Steinberg was the mother of Mrs. Reba Brophy. Reba had two brothers, Reuben and Simon. Reuben was married, but Simon had remained single. Mrs. Stein- berg was the owner of much property in New York City and she lived with her married daughter and Max Brophy in one of the * Mr. Irwin with the facts o of names mad authentic and correct." R. Bruce, Captain of Detectives. City of Colorado Springs, U.S.A., writes: This is to certify that Tain fa f the case about which Mr. A. S. Hall has written his story. le by Mr. Hall at the request of the detective concerned and myself. apartment houses she owned, their rooms being on the fifth floor. One spring, Reba was ordered by the doctors to go to the mountains. Plans were accordingly made by her husband and mother for taking her to Radio Springs and, in due course, Mrs. Steinberg, her daughter, and Max made the trip. Reba was taken to a sanatorium in Radio Springs, arrangements were made for her care and comfort, special- ists and special nurses were employed, and strict orders given that she was not to be disturbed. When all these details had been attended to, Mrs. Steinberg and her son-in-* law returned to New York City, where the old lady took up her residence with her son Reuben and his wife. Mr. Brophy then went back to Radio Springs in order to be near his wife. Mr. Brophy stayed at an hotel in the city, but every day he went out to the sanatorium to take his wife for a drive in his big car. In the afternoons she took the rest cure and slept, but in the evening he visited her again. About three weeks after Mr. Brophy had returned to Radio Springs from New York City he received a telegram to the effect that Mrs. Steinberg had committed suicide. iliar The only variance in the story is the substitution The narrative otherwise is absolutely

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462 Knowing the serious condition his wife was in, he did not convey this startling informa- tion to her, but merely broke the news that her mother had died and that he was going to New York to look after the funeral arrangements. Once back in New York, Mr. Brophy learned that the body of his wife’s mother had been picked up on the pavement beneath one of the windows of her apartment. She was quite dead when found, and the coroner's jury returned a verdict of accidental death. Though he was not altogether satisfied with the verdict of the jury, nor the story told by his wife’s brothers—they had missed their mother, they said, and later found her on the pavement—he made no attempt to investigate the case. Before he started back for Radio Springs to join his wife again, the brothers showed Brophy a copy of Mrs. Steinberg’s last will. He brought back a copy of the document, which he showed to me. I have never seen a more “iron-clad ’” will. It left practically the whole of the mother’s estate to the two sons, save for a small residue, the income of which was to go to the daughter during her lifetime, and at her death revert to the two sons. The will was made irrevocable and incontestable, and contained a clause to the effect that in the event of any of the heirs seeking to contest its clauses, the entire expense of such suit was to be paid by the contestant, who, in addition, was to forfeit his or her share of the estate. Max had only been in Radio Springs a few days after returning from the funeral of his mother-in-law when, one afternoon, he received an urgent telephone call from the sanatorium. “Come at once ; your wife is in hysterics,” he was told. It was Mrs. Brophy's nurse speaking. ‘‘ Two men and a woman came out here after lunch, forced their way into your wife’s room, and have sent her into hysterics by telling her about her mother’s death.” Brophy set off at once, stopping at the sheriff's office on his way to the sanatorium to pick up a deputy-sheriff, in case of trouble. When the two men arrived they found Reuben, Simon, and Rebecca, the former’s wife, sitting in Mrs. Brophy’s room, describing in horrible detail the manner in which her unfortunate mother had jumped to her death from the fifth storey of the apartment house, The more hysterical poor Mrs. Brophy became, the more vivid grew their descriptions. Brophy, greatly angered, ordered them out of the room and warned them to go right away. He left the deputy- sheriff there as a guard, and then, after doing his best to comfort his wife, returned to his Toom at the hotel. Reuben, Rebecca, and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Simon went into Radio Springs and registered at another hotel. That night, and several times during the following day, Mr. Brophy received a number of. mysterious telephone calls. His sus- picions became aroused, and it was at this point that he called me in. After telling me what had transpired up till that time, he instructed me to watch the two brothers and keep on their trail. “* Follow them to London, if necessary,” he said, “ but don’t let them out of your sight. Find out what they are here for and what they intend to do. Report as often as you can and draw on me for all the money you need. Spare no expense to find out what their game is.” The next day I learned that the trio— Reuben, his wife, and Simon—had planned to go to Dacotte, a large city about twenty- five miles north of Radio Springs ; so I made preparations to follow them. When they boarded the train, I strolled into the Pullman car after them. Reuben, I noticed, was carrying a news- paper in his outside coat pocket, and as soon as they were seated he pulled out this payer and the three became greatly interested in an article in it. I attempted to find out what this article was, but they were talking about it in their native tongue, which was un- intelligible to me, so I went forward and gave the newsagent on the train a dollar to pass through the Pullman and find out the name and date of the paper. He later reported that it was a New York journal, and gave me the date and the page the article was on. When I reached Dacotte I bought a copy of the journal, and found the article was an account of their mother’s tragic death. At Dacotte I trailed them to the largest hotel, where they registered. The door to the elevator had no more than slammed, than I was looking up their room number on the register. Then I sought the manager and told him what I wanted. Next 1 got one of my old partners, George Bosworth. then emploved by a private agency in Dacotte, and hunted up a dictagraph and a stenographer, Morris Marlotte. Being now ready for action, we went back to the hotel and took the room the manager had arranged for us—next to the suite of rooms the trio had engaged. We installed the dictagraph in their room while they were at dinner; we also tapped the telephone wires running to their rooms. By tapping these wires, of course, we could hear all the conversations they had with outside parties, and the dictagraph woukl enable us to keep a close check on them while they were in their rooms. As yet I was unaware what they had done, or why Brophy wanted me_to keep a close watch on

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them, but all telephone conversations were taken down by Marlotte, as well as all con- versations between themselves in their apartments. On the second day after the arrival of the trio in Dacotte, during which time they had engaged a couple of well-known lawyers to look after their interests if need should arise, they called up the main hotel in Bolton, a neighbouring town, and made arrangements for a suite of rooms, saying they would be down the next afternoon. ‘The next morning we went to Bolton on the inter-urban car, and went straight to the hotel. As at Dacotte, we told the manager what we wanted, got him to give us two rooms next to the rooms he had reserved for the trio, and went up to install our dictagraph and tap their telephone wires. I had only just driven the last tack in the dictagraph wires when I heard the key turn in the lock of the outside door. The hotel was one of the old-style Western buildings, with prac- tically all the rooms on the floor connected. As the clerk—who acted in the dual capacity of clerk and bell-boy—opened the door to let them into their room, I shut the connecting door between it and one of our rooms. The apartment next to theirs we did not use atall; we got the manager to tell a maid to clean it up and keep her mouth shut. Our receivers were in the second room, and it was here that we worked. I never left the room during the day and I stayed in at night until I was satisfied Reuben, Rebecca, and Simon were in bed, for I knew they had seen me on the train and also at Dacotte, and I didn't want to arouse their suspicions by letting them catch sight of me in Bolton. It was about this time that I got my first inkling of what their plan was; [ also found out that the woman Rebecca was the brains of the outfit. Each day they would call their lawyers over the long-distance ‘phone, but before they discussed business with them, Rebecca would write down what their side of the conversation was to be. She went so far as to underscore the words that were to be emphasized, and then rehearsed the two men until they had their ‘ words ”’ exactly right. Their plan in case of trouble, it transpired, was to make out that Mrs. Steinberg had become greatly depressed after Brophy had taken Reba to Radio Springs. Brophy, thev claimed, had made love to Mrs. Steinberg, but when the doctors ordered his wife away, he threw the mother over and went west with the daughter. These facts, the trio told the lawyers, were proven by the mother’s diary, which they had in their possession, This diary set forth the intention of the mother to commit suicide because Max had “jilted ” her. THE BROPHY WILL CASE. 463 The second day they were in Bolton we heard them making plans for taking a pleasure trip that would necessitate them being absent from the hotel most of the day. When they left the following morning, therefore, I went into their rooms and speedily discovered the mother’s diary; I also found a diary that Rebecca had kept. We copied the mother’s diary down word for word, but could not find any trace of an entry about the son-in-law’s alleged affection for the mother. We next transcribed the girl's diary, and noted that she had minutely described every scene up to the moment of the supposed accident ; then there was a blank. This convinced me that the mother had been forced to sign a will in favour of the two sons, and had then been thrown or pushed from the fifth-storey window. We carefully replaced the diaries after making our copies. The trio duly returned that night. Next morning Rebecca was sitting in the room writing ; Reuben and Simon had gone down into the lobby. I was sitting at one of the dictagraph receivers, Suddenly [ heard heavy footsteps come up the hall, pass our door, and go to the door of the trio’s room. In burst Reuben. “* Some scoundrel has a dictagraph in this room !’’ he cried, angrily, to Rebecca. ‘* Get that gun!" I realized at once that the special maid who had been assigned to look after the vacant room between ours and theirs had been bribed by the suspects and had told all she knew. Next moment I heard Reuben, searching round the room, grab the dicta- graph off the hook where we had placed it behind the wash-stand. The time for action had come ! Bosworth and I immediately began to bundle our records into my suit-case. While Marlotte was hurriedly packing my clothes in Bosworth’s suit-case, I skipped quietly into the vacant apartment and cut the dictagraph wire under the door leading into Reuben’s room. Bosworth pulled the line back into our room and packed the recording end of the instrument, with the wire, in my suit-case, along with the records. A moment later the manager came up, but not before the infuriated Reuben had vainly attempted to force the door between their room and the vacant one. When the manager arrived, he admitted the volubly-protesting Reuben into the empty room. There was, of course, nothing whatever in it to give us away. Not an inch of wire was visible, not a table in sight, not even a scrap of paper. To make it all the more mystifving, there was not a soul in the room except Reuben and the manager. Simon had kept watch on the outside door to see that no one had left,the room,

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464 “This room was occupied by a drug salesman last night,’’ I heard the manager tell Reuben. ‘He visits this territory every two weeks. He has checked out.” While the two men were arguing with the manager, telling him they particularly wanted to meet this drug salesman, Bosworth watched his chance and slipped quietly out with my suit-case. He told me before he left that he was going to the court-house, where he would leave the precious records in the vault of the county treasurer. Then he would get the sheriff and walk down to the inter-urban car-line. I told him I would follow as soon as possible. Presently Reuben, Rebecca, and Simon left the room with the manager, all talking at once. I waited a little while longer ; then I started for the office with Bosworth’s suit-case. Marlotte had instructions to wait for half an hour, and then make his “ geta- way,” and return to the Dacotte office. As 1 walked down the stairs I saw the three watching me intently from the balcony. 1 paid no attention to them, but went straight on down to the desk and checked out. Before I left the manager told me that a lawyer wanted to see me; but 1 found, by calling both places on the ‘phone, that the lawver was not in his office nor at his home. I therefore strolled out of the hotel and around the block, and eventually found myself. at the court-house, where I met Bosworth. We talked over the situation with the sheriff, who said he would stroll down to the car-line. If any of the three were in hiding near there, he would give us the signal ; if not, we could come along and catch the car when it pulled up at the station. Before we left the court-house Bosworth got the suit-case with the records out of the vault, and we agreed that we would enter the car at different times and take different seats, he in the front end of the car and I in the back. I was to take the suit-case belonging to Bosworth, which contained nothing but my clothes. When we arrived at Dacotte, Bosworth was to drop off the car at Eighteenth Street, and I was to alight at Seventeenth Street, both taking different routes and arriving at the office separately. Then we started for the station, got the “all clear” signal from the watching sheriff, and duly boarded the inter-urban car, When we arrived at Dacotte, and Bosworth dropped off at Eighteenth Street, with the suit-case full of records, I saw two rongh- looking men swing on to the back platform. I came to the conclusion that one of the trio at Bolton had ‘phoned them to watch me. The next thing on the programme, therefore, was to deal with these two " birds ”” and get to the office without letting them know who I was. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I duly dropped off at Seventeenth Street according to plan ; so did the two “* toughs.” 1 started up Seventeenth Street, afraid at every step that I should run into some friends of mine who would hail me by name and give the two shadowers a chance to find out who and what I was. I crossed the street and the two men followed me. Then I dropped into an hotel, killed a lot of time by getting a shoeshine and chatting with the porter, and started out of the hotel to find the same two men watching for me. Walking down to the corner, I timed myself so as to rush out and catch a street- car headed for the Union depot just as it started. I was being watched too closely to get to a ’phone to tell the office where | was, or to stop anywhere and tell anyone else to ‘phone the office, for I knew the watchers would get the phone number from Central as soon as I finished talking, or interrogate the person I stopped to talk witb. I therefore decided to try to lose them at the Union depot. As I swung on the car, they made a sprint and caught the same car. At the station I bought a ticket for Pe Lose, a town forty-five mies south of Radio Springs, where I knew I would have the advantage if they followed me, for I knew every foot of the place. As I stooped down to pick up my suit-case, after buying my ticket, the two men came in with a uniformed policeman, I believe they wanted him to “pinch ” me for carrying a gun, but he could see, as I stooped over, that I did not carry a pistol on my hip. I had one, but it was in the suit-case. The train for Pe Lose left at three- thirty. It was then three o’clock, but I went out and boarded it. By this time the watchers had recruited another “ tough,” and the three followed me to the train. When I took my seat one sat in front of me, one behind me, and one across the aisle. [na few minutes they started an argument among themselves, in the hope of drawing me into it, but 1 saw their game and steered clear. I really thought the ‘ jig’ was up, as far as keeping my identity concealed, when we reached a little station about fifty-five miles south of Dacotte, for an old friend of mine came through the coach and caught sight of me. He stopped to speak, but 1 paid no attention to him. Luckily for me he “ caught on,” saw my game, and plaved up splendidly. He begged my pardon fer disturbing me, said he thought he knew me, was sorry for the mistake, and so on. In answer, I told him I was a travelling auditor for an Eastern railroad, and had come out to bring my wife to a sanatorium at Pe Lose. We carried ona general conversation for a few minutes, and then he went back to the next coach.

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THE BROPHY WILL CASE. — 465 : 4 ; ; 4 4 “Some scoundrel has a dictagraph in this room!’ he cried, angrily.”

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466 I was just beginning to feel easier again when I realized we were pulling into Radio Springs, where I should run a chance of some of my friends there getting on and seeing me. As we ran into the station, therefore, I lay down on the seat, covered my face with my hat, and pretended to be asleep. I felt someone touch my arm, and looked up to see a porter with a note from my friend on the train. It read :— “When I left you, man across aisle followed me back into coach, Started a conversation with me. Said he was a coal dealer, Wanted to know if you were a coal dealer. Told him you were. Said he was getting off at Springs.” A few minutes after the train had pulled out of Radio Springs, the porter gave me another note, also from my friend.“ Man back on train,”’ was all it said. I began to figure out a plan to lose the party when we arrived at Pe Lose; I was getting tired of them. I worked out three schemes. The first plan was: when the train pulled into Pe Lose, to walk up the street until [ found a solitary taxi-cab. I would get in and give the driver a “ fake ’”’ address, ride there, and get out. I figured that the three men would take the number of the cab when I left, hang around until the driver got back, and then ask him where he took me. The “fake” address would throw them otf the trail. ‘The second plan was for use in case there were no taxi-cabs near the depot. In that case I would walk up to the Vernon Hotel, register, go to my room, call the manager. whom I knew well—explain the situation, and get him to slip me out the back way. The third plan was the same, except that I was to go to the Cadoor Hotel if I saw any of my friends hanging around the lobby ot the Vernon, Well, we finally ran into Pe Lose and T got off. I noticed the three watchers followed me. [ went right through the depot, and at the opposite corner stepped into a saloon and ordered a drink. I could see under the swinging doors that separated the bar-room and the lobby, and I observed that the trio had followed me. T asked the bar-tender if there wasn't a dining-room in connection with the bar, and he told me there was at the rear. IT asked him to show me the way When we got into the passage-way leading into the dining-room, I told the bar- tender there were three fellows laying for me out in front, and 1 didn't want to stir up any trouble in his saloon. I asked him to slip me out the back way, supplementing my plea with a dollar. He promptly did so, and three minutes after [ " hit ’’ Pe Lose, I lost the three ‘ toughs "’ who had trailed me all the way from Dacotte. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN I hastened down the alley, suit-case in hand, made for the river, crossed on a wagon bridge, walked over to the opposite side of the town, and there caught a street- car to a sanatorium on the edge of the city. I decided to put up there for the night, and found the Chief of Police of Radio Springs was staying there for treatment, so I went to his room. Between the two of us we fixed up a scheme. He called the railroad offices to see if there was an early morning train out of Pe Lose for Radio Springs that stopped at some nearby station. The officials told him the early morning train stopped at Bragdon, a flag station a few miles out of Pe Lose. So next morning I called a taxi, drove out to Bragdon, and caught the train. When the train stopped at the coal chute, on the edge of Radio Springs, I got off, walked over to a street-car line, and rode in to my office. Then I called Mr. Brophy at the hotel, catching him just as he was starting for the sanatorium. “For Heaven’s sake, man, get in touch with your Dacotte office at once,” he told me. ‘It's three days since they heard from you, and they are searching all over the State for you. While you were gone, a man disguised as a chambermaid tried to get into my room and secure your daily reports. He is in the city jail now. Report to your Dacotte office and then come out to the sanatorium and see me.” I duly called the Dacotte office and found out that they had been searching the morgues and hospitals, dragging the river, and gener- ally looking in dark alleys and out-of-the-way places for me, for Bosworth had reached the office safely and reported that he had seen two ‘thugs’? board the car at Eighteenth Strect, and later saw them get off a block farther on and start to follow me. The next day Brophy started for New York with the reports and filed suit to ‘ break” the will, This he did, by means of my reports, copies of the girl's and mother’s diaries, and a recital of events. He secured an equal division of the estate. I believed then, and still believe to this day, that if that maid hadn’t given us away to the three crooks in Bolton, we should have uncovered enough evidence to prove that the unfortunate mother had been murdered after she had been forced to sign the will in favour of the sons, which superseded a previous will giving all the children an equal share. In due course Mrs. Brophy recovered from her illness, and the last I saw of Mr. and Mrs. Brophy was when they started back to New York to take up the ordinary routine of life again.

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F you have ever lived, travelled, or hunted in any of the vast wildernesses of the Western States of America, you have undoubtedly come in contact with the wily, skulking coyote, for he is a familiar figure to farmers, ranchers, and _ sett- lers, whether they live in the moun- tains, valleys, or on the arid plains or the desert. I propose to Telate in this article a few personal ex- periences with canis datrans, and you can draw your own con- clusions as to his intelligence, cunning, and stealth, While living in different parts of the mountainous and fvothill sections of the as RS ROLAND LESTER TULLIS ILLUSTRATED BY A:G-SMALL The coyote of the Western States is a four- footed Ishmael. Every man’s hand is against him, and in consequence he has developed so much intelligence and cunning that he is extremely hard to kill. Mr. Tullis tells some interesting stories concerning coyotes and their ways. State of California, I have often come in contact with, and have killed, trapped, and attempted to kill and trap many of these wily, carnivo- rous quadrupeds. A number of years ago,while on a lonely mountain ranch far back in the Santa Monica Mountains, I had some interesting experiences with the astute coyote. It was a mountain cattle ranch of some six hundred acres of grazing land. My mother, sister, and I lived on the ranch, making a meagre living by raising cattle, a few horses, a few hogs, and about two hundred chickens and turkeys, over * The horses and cattle ran loose the mountainous pastures, There

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468 were few fences, mostly in a bad state of repair; consequently, it was my job to ride around the mountains, keeping track of the cattle and horses and secing that none of them strayed or were stolen. The numerous chickens and turkeys were also free to forage for themselves around the ranch-house. Sometimes the fowls would stray nearly a mile away from the house, but they always returned in the evening to roost in the trees near the house. One day my mother, when counting the chickens, noticed that a number of them were missing—mostly the largest and fattest hens. She lost no time in explaining her misfortune to me, and as I had previously had experience in connection with mysterious disappearances of poultry I wasn’t long in coming to a conclusion as to where the trouble lay. I knew that the mountains were in- fested with coyotes, and that spring chicken was a favourite dish with them. I promptly set about ridding the place of them, and soon discovered that I had undertaken “ some ” job. J The chickens and turkeys had a habit of feeding out on a small level valley near the house. I arose before daybreak one morning and slipped out of the house, carrying a high- powered rifle and a quantity of ammunition. It was only a few hundred yards to the valley, where I intended to lie in ambush for the chicken-thief. Daylight was just dawning when I settled down to hide in a clump of bushes on a small knoll that overlooked the valley. Poultry are early risers, and I had only to wait a few minutes before a small flock of chickens and a few turkeys straggled out into the field, coming from their roosts near the ranch-house. They began to scratch in the dry grass, filling their crops with grass seeds and small insects. I was completely hidden in the brush, with my rifle ready, alertly watching for the appearance of my enemy. In about half an hour the chickens had fed across the small valley to the opposite side of the canyon, and were nearing the bushes on the opposite hillside. Suddenly a dim grey streak shot out of the brush. It was about the size of an ordinary dog and of a dirty grey colour, with large, prominent ears and a bushy tail. It sped directly across the valley toward the unsuspecting flock of chickens. Like a flash it was upon one of the largest fowls in the flock, and there was a snap of jaws, followed by the terrified squawking and fluttering of the chickens. A few feathers drifted away on the air, and the coyote trotted unconcernedly down the canyon with the fluttering chicken held firmly in his jaws. I raised the ritle to my shoulder, but the early morning light was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, bad and the coyote’s colour blended per- fectly with the landscape. My first shot kicked up the dust under the brute’s feet and he leaped in the air as the bullet struck beneath him. Then he redoubled his speed, running in a zigzag course that made him very hard to hit. It was evident that he had been shot at before, and was well versed in the art of dodging hot lead. I continued to shoot as long as he was in sight, but with- out effect. Next morning I lay in ambush again, but the wily coyote failed to appear on the scene, and he didn’t bother the chickens again as long as I watched them. Evidently I had come pretty close with a few shots ‘the day before, and he had decided that rifle bullets were unhealthy. He had undoubtedly got wind or scent of me, and knew that I was waiting. About seven o'clock I began to get hungry, as I had had no breakfast ; so I decided to slip away to the house for a few minutes to get my breakfast. I was seated at the table, enjoying the meal, when suddenly I heard the frenzied barking of the dogs in the yard. A few minutes later my mother hurried into the house, explaining in an angry voice that the coyote had carried away another of her best chickens. I cursed under my breath and swore ven- geance against the whole tribe of canis latrans. Every morning after that I lay in ambush waiting patiently with a ready rifle for the appearance of the coyote, but I never got a shot at him. It soon grew to be a case of the hunter being hunted, for it slowly dawned upon me that the coyote was hiding some- where in the brush on the mountain-side, probably watching every move I made, for as soon as I left my post for a few minutes to get something to eat he would slip down into the valley, grab up a chicken or turkey, and dash across the valley or into the brush, and disappear. He was as elusive as a phantom and as cunning as a fox. Occa- sionally I would get fleeting glimpses of him as he skulked around in the nearby canyons, but he never gave me a chance. Perhaps it is difficult for an inexperienced person to believe that a wild animal can become so astute, but anvone who has had experience with this wily animal will vouch for my statements. Any number of times when I have been out in the mountains I have unexpectedly come upon a coyote skulking around in the brush or trotting across a clearing. If he is o'd and experienced, and you are carrying no gun, he will often stand and gaze at you with amusement or toleration, knowing full well that without a rifle you are unable to harm him. They can either scent or see a

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THE WILY COYOTE. “Like a flash it was upon one of the largest fowls in the flock.” 469

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470 gun as quick as a flash. If you are carrying a weapon, however, a coyote will give you a wide berth and disappear as quickly as possible. Like human beings, their intelli- gence and cunning increases with age and experience. I soon learned that this particular coyote that was giving me so much trouble was both old and experienced, wise to the ways of the hunter and trapper. I set traps for him baited with live chickens, but he would have nothing to do with a chicken with a string tied to its leg. It looked suspicious to him ; he preferred them running loose in the field. He also refused to touch a dead chicken that I had filled with strychnine. I have staked live chickens out in the valley, leaving them all night, after saturating their feathers with honey and poison. I often got young, foolish coyotes in that manner, but I could never trap or poison the one I was after. All the time he persisted in carrying off our chickens, and we also missed a number of new-born calves that I surmised he had taken a fancy to. I got quite familiar with the brute’s track. It was larger and made a deeper imprint in the soft earth than the average coyote. At one point, where he came down a narrow path on a ridge near the ranch, I set a steel trap and buried it in the ground, covered with leaves and dust so that it was prac- tically invisible. In setting the traps I wore gloves that I had rubbed in rabbit’s blood to remove the human scent. The trap was set in the centre of the path that the coydte travelled over every night. The next morn- ing, when I examined the trap, it was quite untouched. The coyote’s footprints showed that he had deliberately turned out of the path and walked around the trap, leaving his spoor nearby as an insult to my trapping ability. On another occasion my mother was walk- ing up the canyon above the ranch-house ; she had with her a small Mexican hairless dog, hardly larger than a house-cat. On this particular afternoon the little dog was scampering and playirg along the path about a hundred yards in front of my mother. Suddenly a large coyote trotted out of a small side canyon that led down into the path. My mother explained afterwards that it seemed quite unconcerned at her presence, probably seeing that she carried no gun. The brute glanced at her, and then turned his attention to the small dog, which was scampering up the path ahead. Presently he trotted up behind the unsuspecting dog, picked it up by the scruff of the neck, and galloped off up the canyon. As soon as the dog realized its predicament it began to snari and snap, fighting desperately for free- dom, while my mother ran after the coyote, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, screaming at it to drop her pet. The beast carried the dog, still struggling fiercely, fora few hundred yards up the canyon, and then dropped it unharmed and trotted away out of sight. I have reason to believe that it was the same coyote—my coyote—wishing to show its contempt for the dog family in general, or eventually deciding that the dog wasn't fit to eat. My sister, who lived on the ranch with us was about eighteen years old. She con- sidered herself quite a huntress, and was an expert with a sporting rifle. My mother offered her a reward of five dollars for every coyote she killed, as they were getting away with all her chickens, One day, when I was away from the ranch, my mother and sister were alarmed by the frenzied barking of the dogs and a terrible fluttering and squawking of the chickens in the yard. My sister ran out of the front door, carrying one of my high-powered rifles, for she had an idea as to what was causing all the commotion, and she was anxious to earn the five dollars reward. She saw a large coyote chasing the chickens about the yard, apparently having a hard time in catching one. She rested the heavy rifle on a nearby fence-post, took careful aim, and fired. She explained afterwards that the coyote leaped in the air as if it was mortally wounded, and fell rolling in the dust. She was so excited at bagging her game that she didn’t shoot a second time or wait to see if her quarry was really dead, but ran excitedly into the house to explain that she had killed a coyote. My mother was both shrewd and cautious ; she promptly demanded to see the body. Together they went out into the yard, but no coyote could be found. My sister had either slightly wounded and stunned the animal or else it had employed one of its many crafty tricks to get away alive. The coyote is a vicious, cunning fighter. They seldom close in with an opponent, but snap and spring back out of reach, slashing and tearing with their sharp fangs, but never allowing their opponent to get a grip on them. Few dogs will tackle a coyote, unless they have killed one and are experienced in their peculiar mode of fighting. The dog that knows his business will not stand off and try his wits against the coyote in a sparring match, but will rush in and get a death-grip on some vital spot as soon as possible. He knows that the brute is no match for him in close rough-and-tumble fighting, and the coyote realizes this, and will keep out of reach if possible. One day a big coyote chased a dog right under the feet of my saddle pony. The dog was running for his life, with the coyote a few yards behind. Yet he was a brave dog,

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7 . THE WILY COYOTE. 471 “My mother ran after the coyote, screaming at it to drop her pet.” and had killed many wild cats and lynxes ; but he didn’t “ savvy ” the coyote. The coyote is one of the noisiest car- nivorous quadrupeds that ever ran on four legs, but he usually reserves his noise- making until after dark. A coyote will sit back on his haunches, point his nose at the stars, and howl like a soul in purgatory ; he can also laugh, chatter, and generally torment dogs that are too cowardly to pursue him in the darkness. Coyotes appear to possess the power of a ventriloquist to throw their voices away from them. Very often, when a coyote is howling or yapping out on the plains, you could swear there were half-a- dozen, widely separated, with different-toned voices. The howling is, weird, quavering, uncanny ; then suddenly it will change into sardonic laughter, slowly dying away into the silence of the night. Coyotes like ripe water-melons, and I have poisoned many young or foolish ones with strychnine in a water-melon. They will eat grapes, ripe plums off a tree, or even green corn when they are hungry. They are great carrion-eaters ; I have seen as many as eight or ten of them feasting on the carcass of a dead horse or cow. They are very cowardly ; I have never known of them attacking a human being.

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ips Q. — UV) i HE average individual is a compo- site creature, capable of great extremes of good or evil. This is the reason, probably, for strange lapses on the part of citizens whose conduct in the past has been irreproachable. Greed of gold has probably been the most prolific factor in persuading people to stray from the strait and narrow way on to the broader path which leads to disaster. I moralized thus as I sat, one hot April day, in the court-house at Coolgardie, Western Australia, listening to a sordid story which even at this distant date I shudder to recall. McNeill, the man in the dock, was well known to me. Indeed, I had counted him among my friends, but the horror that curdled my veins as the posecuting counsel narrated each horrid detail of his crime obliterated every particle of regard I had ever had for him. I had eaten and drunk with him, worked and played with him, but as the appalling story was unfolded I could hardly credit this was the man whom once I had gladly called friend. I looked at the prosecutor, whose head was still swathed in bandages, and thought of my own lucky escape, for I might easily have been in his place. McNeill, the man now standing in the dock, charged with a foul attempt to murder his mate, George Clintuck, had invited me to go shares with ee aY LEO BATES il Sox Hg FRE as A him in a“ two miles north of Coolgardie, on the line of show ” he had pegged out about the famous Durdank reef. At the moment —luckily for me—I had too many irons in the fire, and was therefore reluctantly com- pelled to turn Mac’s offer down. Poor Clintock gladly grasped the chance when it was offered to him, and as I looked at his badly mutilated face—that part of it which was not covered up—I found it difficult to identify him with the sprightly, alert, and vigorous young fellow who had left Cool- gardie so blithely on a certain January morning. Later I heard the whole amazing story from Clintock’s own lips, and I have here set down, as nearly as I cam remember, what he told me in his room after the trial had ended and McNeill had received a sentence of twelve years’ imprisonment. You remember when I went out with him, don't you? Well, everything went as merry as marriage bells for about six weeks, during which time we were thoroughly happv. Mac was one of the best, and hard 10 beat as a mate. I shall never want a better, for if there was an extra bit of lifting to do, he would do it in such a quiet, un- obtrusive way as to suggest that he didn’t like to wound my feelings by so much as a hint that he was much the stronger of the two. And the hardest day’s work never

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seemed to tire him, as it often did me. I hadn't quite got over my dose of fever when I first went out with him. He knew this ; and if he could save me a little bit of toil, or a walk into Coolgardie, he did it so cheerfully that I got a very real liking for him. He was very even-tempered, too, no matter how hot the weather or how annoying the flies. I began to think my tuck had changed for the better in picking up with such a good chap; and when we struck a leader in the footwall of a reef carrying good gold, and which by its direction was plainly an off-shoot of the Durdank main reef, I was sure of it. After we found this we used to spend our evenings talking of the good times we were going to have when we sold out. Even without a scrap of gold our claim was worth a tidy bit on position grounds alone, and now that we had found the right stutt— well, I guess we were entitled to build a few castles. At these times Mac talked of his mother in Scotland, and a little lassie who had promised to wait for him until he amassed enough wealth to make a home for her. It’s awful to think of his poor old mother and his girl, What a state they'll be in when the news gets home to them that he will spend the next twelve years behind prison walls, or labouring like a black fellow on the Fremantle breakwater. It was the tenth of January—I made a note of the date at the time—and so hot that the drills which had been lying in the sun blistered my hands when I went to gather them up before going down below. This was the last straw, so, instead of going t~ work, I lav down on some bags in the cool of the bough shed. Meanwhile Mac was down the shaft slogging into it double- tides, Suddenly a shadow darkened the door of the shed, and, looking up, I encountered the gaze of a fellow dressed up fit to kill. “ Good day,” he said, and, without waiting for me toreply, wenton: ‘‘ Do you want to sell?” Being Scotch, I answered him by asking a question : “ Do you want to buy ?”’ “Yes,” he drawled. “ [I’ve got an option over the big mine ’—he nodded in’ the direction of Durdank—" but the acreage is barely sufficient, and as the reef runs through your property I am prepared to open ne- gotiations with you.” I got off those bags quicker than it takes me to say it, and, hurrying over to the shaft, called down to Mac to come up. To cut a long story short, we agreed to give this Johnny a month's option over our show at a purchase price of five thousand pounds. So far so good ! Vol. xlvi. -33. After he had gone we McNEILL’S LAPSE. 473 talked it over, and agreed that it would be as well to convert our prospecting area into a lease. It was therefore decided that Mac should go into Coolgardie and take up a twenty-four acre lease in our joint names. He went the next day, but took it up—it transpired later—in his own name only. I was feeling better; the good news had no doubt bucked me up, so, during his absence | went down the shaft and con- tinued the drive along the reef. It was an underlay shaft which we had sunk to a depth of about thirty-three feet, following the reef down before we commenced to drive north. In great spirits I worked on for a couple of hours without a spell, and then I knocked off for a bit of a smoke and a think about that five thousand pounds, T actually found myself wishing the money was all mine. Who knows, perhaps if I had been in the sun, and had had a whisky or two, as Mac :iid, I might have fallen to temptation just like him! Presently the whistle at Durdank'’s inter- rupted my dreaming and reminded me that I was hungry. So I went up above, put the “billy” on, and had some food. After a short spell I went below again and finished boring about three o'clock, afterwards firing out six holes. There was still no sign of McNeill; there- fore, after allowing suttcient time to elapse for the smoke to get out of the drive, I went down again—worse luck for me! Honestly, I don't think he wouid have attempted to kill me if I had been on the surface. I was working the “ face” down, prior to commencing drilling again, when I heard a shout. I scrambled out to the shaft, and there was Mac on top. “ Coming up ?”’ he asked. “Yes,” L replied. “All right!” said he, “Vl swing the billy.” Up the shaft I clambered, and when I reached the top there was Mac standing within striking distance, with a two-foot drill in his hand. Before [could say “knife ’’ he brought it down on my head ! “Are you mad, Mac?” [ cried, utterly taken aback; and then he hit me twice or three times—in fact, [ can’t say rightly how many times he struck at me. Dazed and nearly blinded by the blood that poured down my face, I let go and went tumbling to the bottom. As luck would have it, I rolled into the drive, and retained sufficient Consciousness to get farther in as he rained rock after rock down the shaft, Then I must have fainted, for I remem- bered nothing more until I woke up, feeling horribly thirsty, while my wounds were smarting and stinging so that I became

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474 almost mad with pain. I was so weak that I could hardly stand. Why McNeill had not come down after me and completed the job he had begun so well beats me—and always will till my dying day. He was either a very great coward, or he was conscience- stricken. I can’t get rid of the feeling that when he found that I was alive, he got an idea into his head that his guilt would not be so great if, instead of killing me with his own hands, he allowed me to die a lingering death from starvation and thirst. I grant you that it’s a queer sort of reasoning—a madman’s, if you like—but if I’m not right, why didn’t he kill me later on in the evening when—four times in all—I crawled up to the top of the shaft! On each occasion he only tapped me on the knuckles instead of hitting me on the head and finishing me off completely. However, whatever his ideas were then, during his night-watch at the shaft’s mouth he must have come to the conclusion that he had gone too far to turn back. He made this very plain next day—so plain that for a while I gave up all hopes of ever secing day- light again. Heavens! How I suffered that night! I was nearly driven mad with thirst, and at last, in sheer desperation, 1 decided to beg him to lower some water. 1 know it was silly of me, but if you had been in my place you would have done the same. The first problem was to attract his attention, seeing that 1 couldn’t speak above a whisper. Suddenly I remembered there was a rope hanging down the side of the shaft. I pulled it, and he called down: “ What do you want ?” I replied as loudly as I could: ‘“ Water! Water!” 1 can't say whether he heard me, but a few minutes afterwards 1 saw the bucket bump against the bottom. I crawled to the mouth of the drive, and putting my hand out carefully, drew the bucket towards me. I didn’t expose my body, for I half expected he would throw some drills down. But, no! His new plan for dispatching me was far more horrible than that. In that bucket were six plugs of dynamite, with caps and fuses attached— and the fuses were alight and spitting hellishly ! idently he intended to blow me to pieces and thus make discovery impossible. He could have oftered several explanations which would have been accepted in good faith, such as faulty or short fuses, drilling into an old hole, and many others. But 1 beat him. Frantically I searched for my knife and started to cut the fuses as they spat out their fearsome messages of death, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It was an awful ordeal, and I suffered all the tortures of the lost as I sawed away with my knife. I thought every minute would be my last, but I hung on, and finally won the race. Five times this fiend in human form tried to destroy me in the same wicked fashion, and I think he would have triumphed in the end if his stock of caps had not run out. I concluded that it was for this reason he abandoned his attempts, for the fifth time was the last—luckily for me, seeing that shortly afterwards 1 became delirious. These spells of delirium saved my reason, I firmly believe, for I feel sure I could not have stood for long the awful nightmare of my waking moments. Every now and again, when the spells of delirium passed, I crept quietly to the end of the drive and looked up—always to find McNeill, or his shadow, darkening the opening of the shaft. How he kept awake I don't know. Perhaps he didn't ; though it was always my luck to find him watching and waiting when I peeped up the shaft. 1 had lost count of the days, and must have just about reached the limit of human endurance, when, in one of my lucid spasms, I discovered that my attempted murderer was absent from his post. By a strong effort of will-power I pre- vented myself from slipping back into the delirium which the unexpected discovery threatened me with. Somehow I clambered up the shaft, making as little noise as possible, and, peeping carefully over the top, to my great joy could see no sign of Mac. The flap of the tent, which was only fifteen yards distant, was down, so I concluded he had gone in to work off some of his arrears of sleep in comfort. Anyhow, he wasn't visible, so I made off in the direction of Jack Higgins's camp, which was about a quarter of a mile away. Where I got my strength from I don't know, but I managed to struggle thus far, and give them a brief account of what had happened, before I collapsed. When I came to I was tucked up in bed in Cool- gardie hospital, whither Higgins and_ his mate had conveyed me with all possible speed. Then they went over to the police camp, and a couple of troopers found that McNeill had resumed his watch, quite un- aware that his prey had escaped. You know the rest. : And now the long arm of coincidence comes in to provide a fitting climax to my story. In Fleet Street, some time ago, I was accosted by an Australian soldier whom I discovered to be an old Coolgardie friend. It turned out, curiously enough, that he had been employed in the hospital when Clintock was brought in, and he told me that the

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“In that bucket were six plugs of dynamite, were alight!” Mc NEILL’S LAPSE. = 475 resident doctor assured him that Clint 3 recovery was most marvellous, for the brain was actually protruding from one of the cuts, so reminded me that McNeill's crime and Clintock’s sufferings were equally futile, owing to the automatic cancellation of the option because of the absence of the two principals of the transaction—one in hospital and the other in jail. For the rest, I learnt that Clintock had ‘ done his bit ” in France with the Australian one Hazardous as the work there was, it is safe to say that it did not bring him so near to the edge of the Great Divide as his experience s ago on the Coolgardie Fields. caps and fuses attached—and the

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/CLIMBING*. ° THE ! ! ' i) ‘ ‘ ‘ \ a s eee ro Y wife and I were living at Ocean Beach, a summer resort seven miles from San Diego, California, when we read in the newspapers of a big gold-strike at Oatman, a new mining town in Arizona, and made up our minds to have a look at it. A few days later we got off the train at Necdles, California, and hired an automobile to take us across the Colorado River on a ferry-boat and thence ‘WHITE ELEPHANT Hearing that only half-a-dozen men and not a single woman had ever ~ scaled a_ four- \ hundred-foot rock- * needle, known as the “White Elephant,” the Author’s wife vowed that she would climb it. She succeeded, but her undertaking landed if the three persons J concerned in a very perilous trip, which ‘ Mr. Harrell describes ¥¢ and illustrates most graphically. for twenty-five miles through the hot, sun- burned hills to the new town of Oatman. Oatman had just about reached the pinnacle of its boom, and it was certainly “ some” boom. There were gasolene engines in nearly every canyon, hoisting “ dirt ”’ night and day, and swarms of men underground following up ledges that were reputed to be half gold. A small army of carpenters were busy from The Tom Reed Mine at Oatman. The “ White Elephant” is the tower-like mass of rock to the right of the picture.

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CLIMBING THE “WHITE ELEPHANT.” daylight to dusk, building stores, hotels, lodging-houses, and all kinds of homes for the thousands of people who were coming in each day on the big fast automobile stages. Men, women, and children were being un- loaded so fast that there was no place for them to eat or sleep, and any- thing that af- forded a shelter was gladly wel- comed. The night of June 3rd found my wife and me enjoying our- selves in the big dance pavilion of the new Desert Inn, which was crowded to the doors with the finest lot of men and women who ever flocked to a new mining camp. From north, south, east, and west they came— wealthy capital- ists, company promoters, miners, clerks, drivers, mule- skinners, carpen- ters, electricians —truly all sorts and _ conditions of men. Most -of the men had their wives, sisters, or sweethearts with them, and every- body met on an equal footing. During the evening someone suggested that myself and Mr. Rankin, a friend of ours, ought to climb to the top of the ‘‘White Elephant,” a curious crag of white granite and boulders about four hundred feet high, which lay some two miles east of Oatman. It was said that only about half-a-dozen men had made the climb tu the top, and not a single woman. A few women had got as far as the foot, after a rough uphill scramble, and two or three had climbed twenty or thirty feet up the crag, but a glance up the sheer walls towering hundreds of feet above had been too much for them, and they had given it up. On the ae up. Mr. Rankin is at the top of the crevice and the Author’s wife at the bottom. 477 My wife, of course, insisted that women had just as much courage and endurance as men if they were put to it, and to prove her contention she said she would: plant an American flag on top of the ‘‘ White Ele- phant "’ the very next morning. The news spread, and presently every- body at the dance was discussing the matter and pointing out my wife as the woman who was going to essay a climb that was considered diffi- cult and = dan- gerous for men, and an utter im- possibility for a mere woman. Rankin and myself, knowing the tremendous strength and courage required to make the climb, tried to dissuade her from the under- taking, but all in vain, ‘ Whena woman will, she will, and there’s an end on't.” We danced until two o'clock in the morning ; then went home and had a courle of hours’ sleep, followed by a five o'clock breakfast with plenty of hot coffee. We hit the trail for the “‘ White Elephant ” just as day was breaking. I had with me my indispensable Kodak and a three-quarter- inch rope sixty feet long. Mr. Rankin carried a one-gallon canteen of water, and my wife a light lunch. Our climb to the foot of the ‘‘ White Elephant ’”’ was slow, and the way rough. At half-past six we were at the foot of the crag—a giant needle of grey rock rising straight into the air, with the sun shining on its rounded top four hundred feet above our heads. There was only one way to reach the

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478 summit, and that was on the east side, where the mountain had split apart, leaving a crevice from four to ten feet wide and ex- tending inwards from ten to twenty feet. This crevice, or ‘‘ chimney,”’ extended from the base of the crag to a little more than half way to the top. It was blocked here and there with huge boulders and fragments of rock that had broken loose from the summit and, rolling down, had become wedged in the cleft. Both Rankin and myself thought that, having reached the foot of the ‘ White Elephant " and realized the difficulties, my wife would make two or three attempts at the climb and then give it up, but she showed no signs whatever of nervousness. She wore for the trip a suit of men’s overalls, heavy shoes, a blue shirt, and a soft cap. 1 fastened the rope securely around her, under her arms, and then made THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, of us, for Rankin was following her up just as close as he could, and her fall would certainly have jerked me from my position. Giving her careful instructions where to put her feet, I told her to start, and cau- tiously pulled in the slack rope as she slowly worked her way upto me. It was slow, hard, and dangerous work, but luckily for all of us my wife proved conclusively that she was a woman of nerve. She took her time, testing each hand and foot-hold as she advanced, as cool and steady as a born cliff-dweller climb- ing to some mountain eyrie. A few feet below her Mr. Rankin clung to the side of the crevice like a huge fly, advising, en- couraging, and helping all he could. Soon my wife was safely up beside me, full of life and happiness, and after a few moments’ rest I started climbing again. The next twenty feet found me ina very dangerous flace. A huge boulder the other end _— fast round my body, passing over the left shoulder. Then, putting the strap of the Kodak over my other shoulder, I started to climb, The crevice was full of loose rock and sliding earth, and I had to be very careful not to dis- turb any fragments and start them rolling, for my wife and Mr. Rankin were directly under me, and there was no room for them to dodge any- thing that came from above. About forty feet up I found a good resting- place. At this point the chimney was only about three feet wide, and afforded good foot- hold on either side; there was also a small ledge where my wife could stand, provided she could climb to where I was without falling and dragging me down with her. Just one little mistake on her part at that junc- ture might easily have caused a tragedy. If she trusted her weight ona loose bit of ledge, or her hands or feet slipped from a_ rolling stone, it meant almost sure death for the three Crossing .a dangerous ridge just below summit. was lodged in the crevice and therewas noopening through which I could crawl from underneath and come out on top, nor was there any way of getting round the obstacle on either side. After surveying the posi- tion I heartily wished 1 had my wife back home, where I mentally de- clared I would keep her at all hazards. Just then her merry voice Tang out, calling up to me to know if I was “ stuck"! That was enough! I answered back that I was only resting. The crevice at this point was about four feet wide. I put my feet onone side, my shoulders against the other, and braced myself. Then, using my hands, feet, and shoulders, I slowly worked myself out from under the great stone and began to edge up- wards. When, lifting myself by inches, I was almost level with the top of the rock, we all heard a huge boulder break loose far above us and come plunging down the crevice ! That was a terrible moment! It seemed that the end had surely come ‘als

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CLIMBING THE “WHITE ELEPHANT.” = 479 Mrs. Harrell on the summit—the first woman to scale the “White Elephant.” for the three of us. I did not dare to move. Twenty feet almost directly under me were my wife and Rankin, clinging to the side of the crevice for dear life. If I fell, I should inevit- ably carry them both to the bottom with me, and fall I must if that great stone now hurtling down from above hit me. The rock came plunging inexorably down, bouncing from one side of the cliff to the other. Even while I waited for the end, it hit the huge boulder just above me and bounced out into the air, missing me by about four feet, and clearing my wife and Rankin by perhaps twenty feet. Then it plunged to the bottom, more than a hundred feet below, where it landed with a crash and went rolling out of sight. My knees were shaking badly from the suspense and the strain of holding Mrs. Harrell after the climb. She was so tired she could hardly stand. myself in place, but as soon as_ possible I scrambled up on top of the boulder that had just saved my life. From this point of vantage I called to my wife, as cheerily as I could, to get ready, and to help whenever she could. Then, for about twenty-five feet, I -pulled her, hand over hand, up over the big boulder to where I stood. I shall not forget that pull in a hurry, for she weighed a hundred and sixty- five pounds! If I had lost my grip on the rope, or my foot had slipped, it meant instant death for the pair of us. This was the only place where I lowered the rope to Rankin. He could have accomplished the climb un- aided, but we did not want him to take chances when there was no need to do so. On the top of this huge boulder, wedged securely into the crevice, we took a good rest, and had a » drink of water from Rankin’s can- “SS teen. All three of us had been considerably upset by the fall of the big rock that had plunged down our path, but no one said anything at the time. After a while, as we still had about three hundred feet of hard and dan- gerous climbing ahead of us, I started out to work my way farther up the crevice, keep- ing a close look out for a place where I could get a footing solid enough not only for myself, but for my wife and Rankin, when they had climbed up to where I was. I was almost at the end of the sixty- foot rope before I found the smallest kind of footing that I thought would hold the weight of the three of us. ‘Then I braced my- self as firmly as possible and called to my wife to start, telling her to use extra caution in testing each rock before trusting her weight to it. The sides of the crevice were not eZ

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480 solid rock, but were composed of thick slabs or layers, some of them loose enough to pull apart. My wife was climb- ing splendidly, and everything was going nicely, when all of a sudden the little shelf of rock she had her foot on gave way. Her weight pulled her left hand loose from the sharp rock she was hanging on to, cutting and skinning her fingers. 1 pulled up the slack of the rope and caught her just as her right hand, in turn, was torn loose from the rock. She swung out into space, at the end of the rope, over Mr. Rankin’s head. It was all I could do to keep my footing and hold her weight, swing- ing at the end of the rope. At this critical moment Rankin came to the rescue. He climbed up to where she hung helpless, and pulled her bodily in to the crevice beside him. It took nerve, strength, and a cool head to get her safely landed on the crumbling shale, but Rankin managed it. After a few minutes’ rest my wife called out that she was ready to climb again, and soon she was up beside me. I then saw how badly her hands were torn. Twenty feet more of climbing up the big crevice brought us to a shelf of rock large enough for the three of us to stand on at the same time—a great relief after our exertions. Here I took a snapshot of my wife and Mr. Rankin. From here we had about fifty feet of casy climbing, with good hand and _ foot-holds. Then we came to another large crevice. It was, on an average, about three feet wide, the walls being very smooth, with the right side overhanging, so that we had to climb on the bottom, or left side. In the second photo reproduced Rankin’s head is seen pro- jecting over the top, and my wife, hanging on to the rope, is posing for the picture. In order to take this I had to cling to the side of the crevice below like a lizard. To get a proper idea of the photograph the page should be held vertically above the eyes. The real test as to whether a woman has as much nerve as a man came when my wife had to crawl up the steep ‘‘ hog’s back ’’ or ridge to the left of Rankin’s head in this photograph. A fal! to either side, if the rope broke or Rankin lost his footing, meant destruction on the sharp rocks three hundred feet below. This ridge led to the actual summit, about a hundred feet above our heads. Rankin had been taking the lead jor a short time, to rest me, but when we teached this place, my wife sized it up from top to bottom, and asked me to take the lead again and the other end of the rope. This I did, Rankin following us as closely as he could, I had just reached the top, my wife was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. twenty-five feet below me, and Rankin a few feet below her, when suddenly a stiff whirlwind came up. My wife-and Rankin lay close to the narrow ridge and hung on for their lives. The wind went as quickly as it had come, but it came at the most dangerous place, and left three badly- fiightened people. Soon after this my wife and Rankin were upon the summit with me. We had brought a four-foot American flag, with our names on the stick, and we fastened it securely in a crevice of the rock. Then we looked down into the town of Catman. The main street in front of the two big grocery stores and the Desert Inn was literally swarming with men, women, and children. They had been told that a woman was trying to climb the “White Elephant,” and they had been watching all the morning. It was now twelve o'clock, and suddenly they caught sight of us on the summit. Instantly the whole town went mad. They waved flags, handkerchiefs, hats, papers— anything they could get hold of, and they cheered till they were hoarse. The crowds looked to us like little black ants, for we were two miles away. The top of the “ White Elephant ” is about four feet wide by seven long, and very rough and full of cracks, so we had to sit very close together as we ate our lunch. After lunch I took several pictures of my wife and Rankin on the summit. In order to get them I tied one end of the rope around a large rock, and then let myself down on the west side of the ‘‘ White Elephant.” It had taken us six hours to climb to the top of the ‘“‘ White Elephant,” and at one o'clock we started down, Rankin in the lead, my wife following with the rope under her arms, and me bringing up the rear. Our trip down went quite nicely until we reached the big boulder that had given us so much trouble on our way up, and here our troubles began again. I took the rope off my wife and helped Rankin down to a small ledge twenty-five feet below ; then I lowered my wife to the ledge alongside him. So far so good, but there was no one to lower me. It was lucky our rope was a long one. I put the line over the big boulder, letting one end hang down on either side. Rankin held both ends and then J slid down. Once down, by tossing and jerking, I got the rope loose from the big boulder. From this point onwards it was just a case of being careful and taking plenty of time. At the Big Jim Mine I took a final picture of my wife. She was so tired she could scarcely stand on her feet, and her clothes were badly torn, but she was quite happy, for she had accomplished a feat that no other woman had ever achieved.

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The FS 4, G.OHARA ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY-L: WOOD Il. N our arrival at Ottawa we had to search for immediate employment of some sort, so we wandered round look- ventures Rollin: OINE C Some people call it the wander-lust, some “go-fever,” and others merely tell you they are “fed up.” But whatever the name, all of us experience it at some time or other—that curious distaste for one’s present circumstances and surroundings, that longing to go away somewhere in search of adventure and a fuller, freer life. This absorbing narrative deals with the variegated experiences of two young naval officers who — suddenly becoming tired of the cast-iron routine of the Service—threw up position and We ing for something to turn up. prospects and fared forth to see the world with five noticed that all the employment dollars between them and starvation. They tried agencies had notices stuck up in their hands at many strange jobs; they passed their windows —‘ River Drivers through many strange adventures; and our readers Wanted?’ and as 0 thoveht tat will find this record of their doings extremely uae as Oug = interesting. this referred to teaming of some kind I told Basham that, in spite of the disastrous ending of my last attempt at teaming, I was willing to try it again. He also agreed to have a try at the job, so we turned into the nearest agency and “' braced ”” the man in charge for a job. ‘I see you are in need of drivers,’’ said 1. ““¥es,"" replied the man, “ we are hiring all we can get hold of; do you two boys want a job?” We told him we did. * Did you ever drive before ? “ Yes, lots,”’ said we. “What river?” was the next question, to which I replied that we had never exactly driven a team close to a river, all my teaming having been done on farms, but I supposed driving horses along a canal bank was Just about the same as driving them when hitched to a plough. The man looked at us in a pitying way. “All right, kids,’”’ he said. ‘* The bluff was a good one, but it don’t go here; what we want is experienced river hogs to drive logs, not teamsters. So long!” Crestfallen, we slunk out of the office and continued our ramble for knowledge, and wanted to know what the man meant by “ river hogs,” so, seeing a big, husky-looking fellow in a gaily-coloured Mackinaw jacket, ‘ stagged,’”’ or short, pants, and moccasins, leaning up against the door- way of a saloon, I approached him and re- spectfully asked him what a “river hog” might be. He looked me over silently for a moment, then, emitting a thin stream of tobacco juice from between his lips, remarked, ‘ Waal, where did you kids ever come from that ye niver heard tell of river hawgs ? ” I informed him, and also told him of the happenings in the employment office. He laughed loud and long, called inside to two other fellows dressed in a similar manner to himself, and retold the tale to them with many embellishments. They also were highly tickled and laughed uproariously, then haled us inside and made us drink with them, after which, as we seated ourselves alongside the glowing stove, they explained to us the whole system of logging and river-driving. They told us that the logs cut during the winter I was still thirsting

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482 months were hauled on to the ice of the river, and, when the thaw set in, were floated down to the saw-mills by a gang of men known as “river hogs.” Far into the night they re- galed us with great tales of driving the Rouge River under “ Red McCarthy ” as foreman, of the trials and hardships endured, and above all of the marvellous feats performed by the afore-mentioned ‘ Red ’’ and his gang. At last, full of information, we wandered back to our rooming house firmly determined to become river drivers ourselves and to view all the wonders that we had been told of. Next morning, getting up early, I borrowed a pair of shears from the clerk and we solemnly “stagged ”’ our trousers just below the knee in imitation of our friends of the previous evening, donned our pea-jackets as the nearest approach to ‘ Mackinaws ”’ that we possessed, stuck our hats well for- ward over our eyes, tilted at a slight angle, in faithful representation of the “ river hogs’ ”’ style, and sallied forth to the nearest employment office—needless to say, not the one that we had visited the previous day ! Basham left the talking to me, as he said I had the gift of being’able to lie more out- rageously on the spur of the moment than any man he ever saw. Copying as nearly as possible the nonchalant swagger of the river man, we lounged into the office and leaned negligently on the desk. “Morning, boys,”’ said the man in charge. Without deigning to reply to his greeting, I began: ‘‘ Say, I see you're hanging out for river hawgs. What wages yer payin?” “Well,” returned the fellow, ‘ we're paving forty-five dollars and board to the right kind of men; did you ever drive any before 2?” The look of contempt that I threw him, I flatter myself, was a masterpiece, and I con- tented myself by saying, pityingly, ‘‘ Waal, I guess.” ‘‘ What rivers ?” he persisted. The recollection of my A Big friends of the night before Bluff. rose to my mind. Patiently, like one talking to a babe, I went on :— “Waal, me and me brother drove the Rouge River for three seasons ; was up with ‘Red McCarthy’ last year when he broke the big jam at Horseshoe Bend.” The man looked impressed. ‘ Pretty young for ‘ Red's’ gang, ain’t you?” he suggested, { looked scornful. ‘In our family,” I said, ‘‘ we start young ; me brother here was riding logs before he was out of petticoats.” “All right,”’ said the man. “ You’re the kind of boys we want. ['m_ hiring for McClaugh Brothers, of Brule Lake, and their THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. walking boss is in the back room now ; wait a minute and have a talk with him.” Turning round, he called through the door, “Jack, come here a minute, will you?” The door opened and a grizzled, pleasant- looking man came into the office and was introduced to us as Jack McManus, the “walking boss ”’ for McClaugh Brothers. * These two boys drove the Rouge under ‘ Red’ last year, and want to sign up with McClaugh ; look pretty likely boys, don’t they?” Jack nodded pleasantly, and asked us if we were with ‘‘ Red ” at the time of the big jam. I answered in the affirmative, and, having a good memory, gave him details borrowed wholesale from my friends of the previous evening. Graphically I discussed with him the cause and effect of that jam, gave him my opinion of how, in my estimation, it might have been prevented, and then, warming to my task, I proceeded to describe to him the methods employed in breaking it. With unholy levity and familiarity I handled the names of those mighty heroes, and described at great length the feats per- formed by ‘‘ Whitewater Jim ” and ‘‘ Frenchy La Pierre,’’ tearfully lamenting the death of “ Roaring Bob.” In fact, almost word for word I wove my gathered information into a complete description of that big jam, while Jack McManus and the agent listened silently, only nodding once in a while and remarking, “ Yes, I heard tell of that’; and even old Basham, who knew my accomplish- ments in that line, listened open-mouthed. Presently I found myself signing up with the McClaugh Lumber Company, and came to earth with a bang when I realized what a glorious web of fiction I had been weaving. When we had signed, Jack informed me that the drive would not start for a couple of months, but that we could go up to the camps and work in the woods until it did. Thereupon we explained the depleted con- dition of our purse. , “ That's all right, boys,” said the walking boss; ‘‘just bring your turkeys (bags) in here and I'll arrange with the hotel for your keep for a couple of days until I can get a gang together. I'll want you to take charge of them and see that none of them jump.” He shook hands with us, and we departed in search of our turkeys, which we deposited m the office as a surety for our good faith. Jack then took us over to the hotel and arranged for our board and lodging until such time as we should be shipped up to the woods. We were delighted. What matter if later on we might have to explain our lack of skill in the face of my yarn? That dread con- tingency was some way off, and we were at last enrolled as lumber jacks and river hogs,

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483 “He laughed loud and long.’ te] 4 & na 9 4 — ro) ° =] a < z

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484 and about to view all the wonders that we had been told about. Two days later we called at the office and discovered a motley crowd of French Cana- dians ready to go up to the woods. Jack took us down to the depot, bonght tickets for all of us, checked the baggage, and handed all the checks and tickets to us, with strict orders not to deliver them to their owners until we arrived at our destination—a little town called Brule Lake away up in New Ontario. He then put us on the train, wished Basham and me good luck, and left us to continue our journey alone. Basham and I lay back on the cushions and burst out laughing. There we were, two boys who had never seen an axe handled before or “ridden” a log in our lives, in charge of a dozen or more men who had spent all their time in the lumber camps and on the rivers! The situation was irresistibly funny. After travelling the whole of that night, on the evening of the second day we arrived at the little village of Brule Lake. It was nothing more than a siding, and the only buildings it contained were two saloons, a shingle mill, a few workmen's cottages, and the receiving camp of McClaugh Brothers’ Lumber Company. Having delivered the baggage checks to their respective owners and collected our own “ turkeys,” we all moved over to the log house which bore the sign of McClaugh Brothers. The weather was freezing outside, and as we threw open the door our eyes were gladdened by the sight of a huge tin stove glowing red-hot in the centre of the room, while seated around it in picturesque groups were a number of roughly-clad, unkempt-looking men, all either smoking or chewing tobacco. Our entry caused not a moment's cessation of their pursuits. In a civilized community a gang of men tramping suddenly into a silent room would cause every member in it to look up and stare, but not so these children of the woods. Beyond an cccasional nod and a “ How, boys?” fro one or vo of the more sociably-inclined Canadians, and a_ jovial “ Cominent se va ?”” from a Frenchman, not one of these men even took the trouble to look up. In fact, beyond moving along the benches to give us room to warm ourselves, they gave no indication of having noticed our presence. Presently the cook appeared in the doorway and banged lustily upon a tin pan, indicating that supper was ready. Instantly every man became endued with life and made a rush for the cook shack. The food, whilst not rich, was wholesome and palatable, the mainstay of the meal being baked beans and fried bacon, or ‘ Grilliards,” as it is termed by the lumber jacks; pie, and as much bread THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and jam as a man could eat, washed down by copious draughts of green gunpowder tea sweetened with brown sugar. During the meal not a man spoke. In fact, the whole of the dining-room was pasted with notices such as these: ‘ Talking not allowed during meals,"’ ‘“Use your mouth to chaw your food, not to wag your tongue,” “This ain’t a debating house,”’ and so on. At first I thought that it must be a regulation peculiar to that camp, but later discovered that it is an almost universal rule in all logging camps. The rule is a good one, as it keeps men from lounging in the cook shack or lingering over their meals, the law m camp being ‘ fill up and get out,”’ and a seasoned lumber jack would just as soon think of swearing out loud in a Methodist church as of talking in a camp cook shack. After supper we returned to the stove, and presently the foreman in charge of the place came in and we presented our credentials to him in the shape of a list of the men we had brought up, and signed by Jack McManus. Having inspected them and called over the list, he served each of us out a couple of heavy woollen blankets, told us to occupy any bunk we might find empty, and left the room. Basham and I tucked our blankets into a bunk close by and went back to the stove. Supper seemed to have loosened the tongues of the sombre men, and they thawed sufh- ciently to ask us how the city was and a dozen or more other questions, by which we gathered that they were ‘just down ”’ or, in other words, had spent the winter up in the woods and were going back to the city to “ blow their winter's take’ in riotous living and be back again, “ broke’ and happy, in time for the spring drive. As we sat over the stove, I thrust my feet out to the grateful blaze. The shoes I was wearing— they were the only pair I possessed—had seen considerable hard wear, and Basham’s were in no better condition than mine. Suddenly I became aware that a silent bearded giant across the way was regarding my dilapidated footwear very closely, and being somewhat conscious of them, I drew my feet in under the bench out of sight. Presently the man took his pipe out of his mouth and, looking at me critically, said : * Say, sonny, you ain't a-going to hike up in them there kicks, are you?” I felt. myself getting rather red, and answered that as they happened to be the only pair I possessed, I supposed that I would have to. “Waal,” he replied, “if ve try to make it in them things you'll get the swellest dose of frostbite you ever cottoned on to; and your pardner ain’t in no better shape either, is he?”

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THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. He got up and went over to A Friend his) bunk, pulled out his in Need. turkey, and fished out four pairs of light cotton socks, one pair of heavy woollen stockings, and a pair of moose-hide moccasins. Then he called out to his partner, “Hey, Bill, give the other kid your old shoepacks and socks ; you don’t need them, and he is nearly barefooted.” Coming over to me he presented this foot- wear to me, and delivered himself of the following oration : ‘* Here y‘are, kid. When ye starts out to-morrer, jest wind these around yer kicks, and ye'll be able to hike from Hades to breakfast.’ As I started to thank him he cut me short with the gruft injunction 0“ hold my yap and freeze on to the shoe- packs,” as he didn't need them, anyv That was my first introduction to the much- abused lumber yack, and for the most part IT found them all that way. True, some of them are foul-mouthed, coarse, and = un- kempt, but they are always ready and willing to help a comrade in distress or to share their last nickel with a friend, and they are as tender as a woman when it comes to nursing a sick man. At nine o'clock the “ bull cook” or “ flunkey "' started to put out the lights, and the men proceeded to clamber silently into their bunks. And here I came across another inexorable law. The ethics of a lumber camp decree that the hours between nine p.m. and five a.m. shall be given up to slumber. At nine the lights are extinguished, and with their extinction all conversation ceases and not a sound disturbs the quiet till the clang of the getting-up gong rouses the sleepers. The next morning after breakfast the boss of the receiving camp called Basham and me over to him, and told us that he intended to send us both up to the farthest camp, some forty miles back in the forest, and as there was no team going up for a day or two we would have to walk. The road, he said, was impossible to miss, being the only track through that part of the woods. He in- structed us to leave our turkeys with him and he would have them sent up by the first available team. There was one camp be- tween our destination and our starting point, where we were to spend the first night, and that was some twenty miles from the re- ceiving camp, so that if we wished to make it before mghtfall we should have to hustle. Having put on five pairs of socks and our moccasins, we hit the trail, which led from the front door of the shack nght into the heart of the virgin forest. T have been on many walks and expeditions of various kinds since then, but I think that walk through the woods was one of the grandest I have ever taken. The part of the 485 woods where we were situated was an im- mense Government game reservation known as the Algonquin Park, so that no hunting had been permitted in its confines, leaving the wild animals in it totally unafraid and ignorant of the sound of firearms. As we swung down that trail, shut in on all sides by immense towering pine trees, the powdery snow crunching under our moccasined fect, and the early morning sunlight filtering through the frost-covered trees, our spirits seemed to revive. We threw back our shoulders, took deep breaths of cold, pure air, odorous with pine and balsam, and decided that life was once more worth while. Tor the most part an intense stillness per- vaded the surrounding woods, broken only by the crunch of our feet as we tramped through the snow, our breath forming clouds of vapour in the frosty air; but here and there as we rounded a sudden turn in the trail we would come unexpectedly upon a deer or an immense mouse feeding alongside the trail all unconscious of our presence. The majority of these would throw their heads back and = go scampering helter-skelter through the underbrush immediately they caught sight of us, but some of them, especi- ally the moose, would stop, throw their heads snort, and gaze at us curiously, and tamp and take a step in our direction. at first this caused us quite a little nervous- ness, a bull moose not being a very amiable- looking object, standing, as some of them do, as high as a large steer and measuring in some Cas x feet between their huge horns. However, we found that a wave of the arm and a shout were sufficient to send them crashing into the forest, so we lost our nervousness and enjoyed the sight immensely. Finally, tired and hungry, we hit the first camp just at dark, in time for supper. This camp was almost a replica of the other, except that 1t was larger and contained more men. However, we did not spend much time in making comparisons, but, having secured blankets from the foreman, rolled into an empty bunk and slept like logs. Next mornmg we started off again, and after a journey which differed in no material way from that of the previous day finally reached the camp we were headed for, which was run by a man of the name of Danny Calhan. Having had supper we again rolled into bed, too tired to worry about anything. After breakfast Danny Calhan set us to work clearing a trail through the brush, a job that would have taken an experienced lumber jack about half an hour. We strove until noon, and by that time had managed to break an axe handle and clear about ten feet of trail, When Danny saw it he was wroth, and justly so. Two Rouge River lumber jacks—and couldn't cut a trail!

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486 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. We saw that the game was the ice breaks up the logs are floated down Found Out! UP: and accordingly con- the stream to the nearest saw-mill. This one fessed everything, throwing floating down is called “ driving.” In order ourselves upon his mercy. The tale tickled Danny so much, especially the way that we had bamboozled Jack McManus, that he promised to keep us on and make real lumber jacks and river hogs out of us; and he kept his word. It is not my intention to indulge in a long dissertation upon the methods employed in logging, but perhaps it would not be amiss to give a rough outline of a few important things, as it will serve to show the sort of life we were leading and the kind of men we were working with. In the first place, the camp consisted of two log houses, the cook shack and the bunk house, Of the former not much need be said. It was a bare log house, chinked at the cracks with moss and mud, and contained long rows of rough tables and benches where the men ate, with a range and store house at the back where the cook prepared the food. The bunk house was another log building a little larger than the cook shack. All around the walls were bunks, arranged in tiers like those on board ship, each bunk amply wide enough to hold two men. At the beginning of the season, when the men first come into camp, they pair off and choose their ‘‘ chummies ” or “ bunkies,’” and these couples sleep to- gether and generally fraternize all through the winter. It is no uncommon. thing, where men follow the game as a profession, for men to have the same bunkies year after year, and friendships are thus formed which often last a lifetime. All around the shack, on a level with the bottom tier of bunks, is a rough bench, while in the centre of the building is a huge iron stove capable of taking logs six feet long. All around this stove is a rack upon which men hang their clothes to dry when they come in of an evening. The shack is kept clean and the fire lighted and wood supply kept up by a man who is called the ‘ bull cook,” whilst the cook shack is looked after by “ flunkeys ” or “ cookies.””. The average force of a lum- ber camp is divided into four gangs— sawyers, swampers, teamsters, and loaders. The sawyers cut down the trees and cut them up into logs, while the swampers trim off the limbs and cut trails from the fallen tree to the main trail, so that the teamsters can get in with their horses, hitch on to the logs, and haul them to the loaders, who, in turn, load them up on chocks or skidways situated at convenient points along the logging trail. In the spring, the logs from these skids are loaded up on sleds or sloops, hauled to the river's edge, and deposited upon the ice to wait for the thaw. When to make the roads slippery a water wagon is driven over them every morning, sprinkling them copiously with water, which quickly freezes, leaving a surface like glass. Thus, immense loads can be hauled with very little exertion. The morning after our confessions Danny put us to cutting trails under the instruction of a young French Canadian no older than ourselves, and for two days our lives became unbearable. So conceited was this man with his post of instructor that he treated us like galley slaves, and for two days we endured it in silence, learning all we could. By the end of the second day, while still far from being even passable in the use of an axe, we had at least acquired the rudiments of swamping, and the revilings of our instructor made our fingers itch to come into contact with his snub nose. On the third day, seeing that we did not resent his abuse, that idiotic young Frenchman got the idea into his head that we were scared of him and got more and more uppish, till finally he took to calling us names. This was more than we could stand, and as soon as he started it Basham walked up to him and hit him with great gusto on the tip of his ugly nose. The fellow gasped ; for a second or two he failed to realize that his judgment as to our being scared of him was at fault. When he did, he picked up his axe and started for Basham with the cheerful intention of splitting his head open. Then I thought it was time for me to interfere, so I lent a hand and took his axe away from him, after which I stood off and watched Basham give the youth a thorough hiding. Deprived of his axe, the Frenchman didn’t put up much of a scrap, and presently fled to camp nursing what promised to be two really good specimens of black eyes. Naturally we thought that we should get “ fired’ that evening, and that our career as lumber jacks was for ever ended. However, we kept at work, and by dint of hard striving managed to keep up with the two “ fallers."”. Towards quitting- time Danny visited our section of the woods and, secing him coming, I remarked to Basham, “ Here’s where we get it.””. Danny came up, looked around, saw that we had been keeping our end up, and walked over to the “fallers”’ and talked to them for a while. Then he came over to us, sat down on a log, and started to fill his pipe. For a while he smoked in silence; then, looking up, he said: ‘‘ The kid tells me you poked him one in the jaw. He came into camp hollering murder, a-nurs- ing two shiners and a bleedin’ nose. How about it?"

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THE ADVENTURES OF A ROLLING STONE. 487 é ee started for Basham.” “He picked up his axe and D * Well, we told Danny all about Danny for giving trouble, we informed him Verdict, it—how the fellow had called that we were not in the habit of taking us names ; and we gave him anything like that. a list of the names. Then, apologizing to Danny chuckled. ‘It's an all-fired pity

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4838 ye didn’t knock the head often him,’ he said. “Any time that a man calls ye them kind of names on these works, and ye don't pile into him and try to kick the stuffin outen him, Ill fire ye higher than a kite.” Next morning Danny put a new gang of fatlers to work, consisting of a big jovial Frenchman called Jacques La Pierre and a half-breed Algonquin Indian named Louis. What his other name was I never knew, and I doubt if anyone else in camp did. Danny put us with these two as swampers, with the laughing injunction not to lick them if we could help it. From that time on our life in the camp was, if not happy, at least bearable. For a pair of partners, one would find it difficult to come across two men so different in their characteristics as Jack and Louis. The latter, like all Indians, was as morose and silent as a bear; one rarely got anything out of him except a grunt; in fact, he had got the art of expressing himself in grunts down to a fine point, but on the very rare occasions upon which he did loosen off and talk he was one of the most interesting men I knew. What that man didn’t know of the habits of fowl, fish, and the wild animals of that part of the country will not be found in any natural history book that has ever been written. To him, the habits of every denizen of the forest were as an open book. He could tell by looking at a track exactly how old it was; whether the animal making it was male or female, whether hunting or travelling, whether hungry or gorged. One time, whilst walking to work with him, he stopped over what looked to me like a jumble of footprints in the snow, considered them for a while, and then told me to go to a thicket near by if I wanted to see a deer witha broken leg. Noticing my incredulity, he went on totell me that it would bea doe, with the left foreleg broken just below the knee. When we went over to the thicket, there was the doe sure enough, her leg broken exactly as he had described, and my estimation of Louis’s powers of observation went up im- mensely, The one other thing that made him extraordinary was the abnormal de- velopment of his sense of hearing. Often while at work, when our untrained ears could hear nothing but the “ zip’ of the saw and the ringing blows of the axe, Louis would stop work for a moment, listen intently, and re- mark ‘ Huh, boss come,” or “ Timekeeper come,” or whoever it was whose footsteps he recognized. [ never knew him to be in error as to who it was or what direction he was coming from. Jacques, or Jack, as we used to call him, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. was of an altogether different type. Big, jovial, and as strong as a bull, his tongue was never still a moment; when he wasn't singing or whistling he was cursing cheerfully in French or broken English, *‘ joshing ”* Basham and me, or telling some funny little story or joke. Poor old Jack! I can hear him now singing his quaint old voyageur songs, telling of the girl who lived in Sault Ste. Marie, ‘a mighty fine girl by dam, the figure superbe, les yeux noir; this summer she marry me, by gar, and I no more work in ces maudits woods, mo'je non, no, sir!” Then, without any interval, he would break into a little chanson du bois, attacking a huge pine and making the chips fly around him like hail. Basham and I began to put on weight and brawn ; the life we were leading was about as healthy a one as a man could lead—out in the cold, crisp air all day long, working like Trojans, eating enormously of good, plain, healthful food, and sleeping like logs at night. Sitting around the red-hot stove at night, stripped to our undershirts, or lounging in our bunk listening to the songs and stories, with an occasional fight to enliven the pro- ceedings, time seemed to fly along. There were one or two fiddles in camp, and in- numerable mouth-organs and melodeons, and every Saturday night we used to have a dance. The woods lost their covering of white ; brown spots showed here and there through the snow ; green things started to shoot up through the ground, and every little spring that had been frozen up all winter started to trickle and splash merrily. The air was full of the drumming of partridges and the songs of countless birds, all singing to notify the world that the cold, hard winter was over and spring was at hand. As one cut into the trees the sap ran from them, and the air was fragrant with the scent of green and growing things. Now when one came across tracks in the snow they were never single tracks of the lone animal in search of food, but always the double tracks of a female and her mate. The lumber jacks dived into their “ turkeys ’’ and produced their caulked driving boots, which they oiled and fitted with fresh spikes, and the main topic of conversation was when the ice would break on the river. Work in the woods was impossible now, as the bottom was out of all the trails and hauling logs upon them was no longer practicable. The men lay around the camp in idleness, waiting for the river to break up. It was at this time that I had one of the most unpleasant adventures of my life, and the memory of it will go with me to my grave. (To be continued.)

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Lion HUNTING Major: AFI Morvan} ‘ (ILLUSTRATED BY 5 . £.G.OAKODALE. / Arm NYFZ.S. The man who is looking for “thrills” in big-game shooting can find them with ease in Somaliland, if Major Morse’s experiences are any criterion. In this article the well-known African hunter and writer describes his a oors with Somali lions in most interesting fashion. OW that the Royal Air Force have given the ‘*Mad Mullah” of Somaliland the most severe lesson he has ever received, it may be hoped that this interesting country will soon be open again to the big-game hunter. This is perhaps an opportune time, therefore, to recall some personal experiences there with the King of Beasts. I first spent a month in Somaliland one February some years ago, and a very good time I had; but beyond a fleeting glimpse, which afforded no chance of a shot, on two occasions, I never saw a lion, and departed determined to come and try again. My opportunity arrived two years later, when I was able to make an expedition of some two and a half months. I arrived at Berbera, where I got together my caravan and shikarees at the end of July. In Somaliland one’s baggage is carried by camels, to my mind a much more satisfactory form of transport than the human porters on whom the big-game hunter is dependent in East Africa. My caravan comprised a dozen camels and fifteen men; of shikarees to do the work of gun-bearers and trackers I had three ; the remainder of my following Vol. xlvi--3. 4 included a personal orderly, a cook, camel- men, and so on. Space will not permit me, in the present article, to go into the details of the general arrangements for the expedi- tion. I may perhaps, however, mention that in those days the cost of such an ex- pedition as mine worked out at about seventy pounds a month. This estimate does not include cost of rifles, etc., nor of the journey from England ; and, with the great increase in all expenditure during and since the war, would not improbably be doubled at the present time. Up-to-date information could be obtained from the local authorities at Berbera. Fortune was not long in showing that this time she was disposed to smile upon me. Only a week after leaving Berbera I was out one morning with my three shikarees when, at about 9 a.m., we struck the trail of a troop of six lions! There appeared to be three or four adult lionesses and two or three nearly full-grown youngsters. We wasted no time in discussion, for the tracks were quite fresh and the nature of the ground was such as to render the tracking of this large party no very difficult task to my Somali experts. Except for occasional checks at a thorny

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49 THE WIDE WORLD One of the Author's best lions. patch of bush, or where the going was stony, we proceeded at a slow but steady pace for a couple of hours or more. Then we came to an area about twice the size of a lawn- tennis court, covered with dury grass, which grass grows to a height of from four to six feet in close clumps and is a favourite cover for nocturnal animals in Somaliland. This seemed a likely spot for our quarry to have selected in which to lie up for the day, and presently Henduleh, my second shikaree, spotted a movement in the grass. Leaving him and Elmi, shikaree number three, on guard, Abdilleh, my head shikaree, and I hurried quietly round to the far side of the cover. Then there was no need for further in- vestigations, for only twenty-five yards away, standing at the edge of the grass, with her back towards me, I beheld a full-grown lioness. I should have mentioned that my battery He measured nine feet four inches. MAGAZINE, consisted of a twelve-bore Mag- num Paradox ball-and-shot gun and a ‘400 cordite double rifle for lions and similar game, supple- mented by a °318 Magazine ‘‘Acce- lerated Express ” rifle for the ante- lope tribe. On this particular morning, unfor- tunately, we had not expected to meet lions, and I had left the ‘400, my _ second lion gun, behind in camp. The -318 is a splendid rifle, and one I should not hesitate to use on a lion in the absence of anything heavier; still, as a small-bore and single-barrel, it is not the sort of weapon that I should choose for the close-quarter encounter with several lions which I now found myself in for; consequently, I really only had the Paradox upon which to rely. The lioness offered a chance not to be missed. I fired, and she disappeared in the long grass. Then, at the sound of the shot, came the sight of a lifetime—five lions dashing out of the cover almost simul- taneously, and all from the side nearest me, only twenty-five paces distant. One of them went straight away to the right, three checked at the unexpected sight of two humans in their way, and then dodged back in and out of the grass, uncertain what to do, while the fifth, a big lioness, at first Major Moree’s caravan

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LION-HUNTING IN SOMALILAND. 491 came straight to- wards me. Then, realizing our ex- istence, she pulled up and swung round towards the cover again, re- ceiving the bullet from my _ second barrel as she went. By the time the Paradox had been hastily reloaded the remaining lions had made up their minds it was time to go, and were racing off to the left. 1 might have fired at one of these, but did not think a galloping shot at sixty yards good enough in the circumstances. I had two lionesses down in the long grass, but both were out of sight, and I had no certain knowledge whether either was dead or disabled. Without a second double- barrel I was not keen on having a possible third wounded beast on my hands at the same time. We now proceeded carefully to reconnoitre the patch of grass, and presently found the first lioness lying just round the corner, still alive. She made an effort to rise on seeing me, but could not manage it, and a second bullet finished her. Listening and watch- ing, we discovered that lioness number two was also alive and able to move. So we decided to fire the grass, first moving the body of the first animal out of danger from the flames. The grass blazed up quickly, and in a couple of minutes a growl! or two The lioness of Aror, who gave the Author a very awkward moment. and the waving grass showed that the lioness was on the move. She came out on her fore-paws, her hind quarters dragging useless behind her. Catching sight of the body of her companion close by, she made for this and, sitting down beside it, bit viciously at the poor carcass. Curiously enough, I had had the experience, only a few days before, of seeing a partridge run up to and peck at the body of another of the covey just fallen to my gun—an interesting instance of the peculiar instinct which exists in the animal world that seems to impel to the hitting of a friend when he is down. In the present case, however, it may rather have been a matter of helpless rage, that had to ° wreak its vengeance on something. Which- ever it was, another bullet quickly put her out of pain.

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492 THE WIDE WORLD And now for the camera and tape! There they lay, two adult lionesses, after an ex- perience which, for a first encounter with lions, must be nearly unique. These two lionesses taped eight feet three and three-quarter inches and eight feet one and a half inches, “ straight measurement,” respectively, as they lay. After the camera the skinning-knives came into play, and at length we began the homeward march. As soon as we were within hearing of camp Henduleh burst into song to announce our success, which brought everyone out to mect our triumphal procession. I was not sorry for a cup of tea, and after an early dinner I was in bed by nine, and slept the sleep of the just. The following morning we were out early to try and locate the remaining lions, but without much hope of coming up with them again. However, luck was with us once more. On arriving at the scene of the pre- vious day’s encounter we found the usual concourse of vultures around the skeletons, already picked clean. More to the point, we found signs that the remainder of the troop had paid a visit to the place during the night, and promptly took up their trail. After an hour’s tracking we reached the spot where they had killed a gerenuk (Waller's gazelle). This circumstance afforded ground for hope that, delayed by the kill and feast, and no longer particularly hungry, the lions might not have gone far. This hope was justified, for, after another couple of hours’ tracking, with one or two false alarms, we found the tracks lead into a big patch of durr grass, from which careful examination could dis- cover no sign of their having emerged. - Setting fire to the grass seemed the best course to pursue, and it was done accordingly while Abdilleh and I took up our position behind a thorn tree, twenty yards from the other end. Behind us again, to the left, was a small patch of high grass that the lions would probably make for in the first instance, and have to pass us in so doing This time Abdilleh had the ‘4oo ready beside me. The blazing up of the followed by flames was MAGAZINE. several growls ; then a cub broke and bolted away to the right, but he was only half- grown, so I let him go. Next moment a head appeared te my right front, looking at us and snarling; it disappeared, and then again came into view on the other side, making a show of attacking. I did not wait to see if this was bluff, but fired at his chest, and he collapsed where he stood. At the report a lioness broke directly in front, and, secing me, swerved and dashed past on the left about ten yards away. As she did so I gave her the left barrel of the Paradox behind the shoulder ; she staggered but went. on, vanishing behind the next clump; how- ever, I had seen the spot of blood over the heart, and knew that she was done for. The next thing was to snatch the ‘400 from Abdilleh and push the Paradox into his hand to load. Then, seeing that number one, lying in front, was trying to raise his head, I gave him a finishing shot. Handing the *400 back to Abdilleh, 1 took the twelve-bore, which he had reloaded, and aimed at a third lion which appeared and stood for a moment close to the body of number one. I pressed the trigger—and nothing happened! Now, 1 had had my Paradox built specially with a non-automatic safety mechanism, so that with the closing of the breech the gun is teady cocked. Abdilleh, however, in his excitement and excess of zeal, had pushed back the safety bolt after loading. It might have been an extremely awkward mistake ! It only took a moment to rectify, but my chance of a standing shot was gone, as the third lion, like the second, made past me on the left, going at a trot only and disdaining any show of haste. He fell to my shot at no more than five or six paces distant, but was up again at once and turned as if to charge ; but the heavy bullet had taken all the fight out of him, and he swung round again so suddenly that my second barrel missed him clean, and he, too, disappeared behind the grassinrear. Just at this moment a big lioness broke on o the right and dashed away across the open, Before I could change rifles and get in a shot she had vanished Two adult lionesses shot during the Author's first encounter.

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LION-HUNTING IN SOMALILAND. 493 The Author’s shikarees, with one of the dead lions. behind some bushes sixty yards away. All this had occupied a very short space of time, and the grass patch was only burnt half way through. The first thing was to drag the body of the lion out of danger of being singed. Behind us we found number two lying dead forty yards away. Number three we discovered lying in the open, a hun- dred yards distant, alive but unable to move. He was quickly finished by a bullet in the brain, and dragged with some difficulty up to the others. A group of three lions for the Kodak this time! True, two of them were young males, not fully grown, and with manes as yet undeveloped, but they measured well over seven feet and were imposing enough. Five lions in two days to a single gun, all fairly tracked down and shot on foot at close quarters! Of course it was extraordinary luck, especially in respect of the favourable ground I found them in and the easy shots Thad. But honour where honour is due: 1 could have done nothing but for the skilful, patient tracking of my three shikarees, backed up by Abdilleh’s knowledge of the game. Well, it certainly had been a great experi- ence, but I had still to bring to bag the big maned lion of my ambition. About a week later a goat, tied up near my zariba at night, was killed by a lioness, but in the dark I shot too high and she escaped. Consola- tion, however, was in store. At davlight an old man turned up with news: a lion had invaded his karia (Somali encampment) the previous night, knocked down, without hurting her, a woman milking a goat who was in his way, and jumped the zariba fence, taking a sheep with him. A hasty snack and a cup of cocoa, and we were away. By the time we had reached the Aaria and taken up the trail—that of a single big lion— it wasonly 7a.m. It was plain sailing follow- ing the ‘‘ drag "’ of the sheep's body to the spot, a thousand yards away, where he had finished off his mutton ; then the real work began. We knew that our quarry had dined well; he had demolished the whole sheep, and we hoped in consequence that he had not gone far. Great as is the weight of a big lion, he remains a cat, and his walking tread is marvellously light. This time, moreover, there was but a single animal, and the track- ing was correspondingly difficult. The tracks went on as though our lion had eaten nothing for a week. So on we had to go, too, with frequent checks when the spoor was tempo- rarily lost, or to examine likely bits of cover. At length we came to more open country— trees, but hardly any grass or bush at all. We began to be afraid that our lion was Iving under a single tree and would detect us in the distance and be off, so I put Elmi up on the pony to ride and try to round him

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. 494 up if it should prove necessary. However, he was not required ; bush and high grass began to appear again, and at 2 p.m., after seven hours’ tracking, we came to a patch of dury grass growing round a couple of thorn trees, which looked really promising, though from its shape not a very easy one for a single gun to attack. A careful, silent circuit of this grass dis- closed no sign of any outgoing tracks, and though, from the nature of the ground, it was impossible to be quite certain, it looked as though his majesty was probably at home. The cover was in the shape of a rough tri- angle, with open ground at the base in rear where the lion had entered. On the opposite side, roughly parallel with the base, there was a line of bush and more grass, almost met by the apex of the triangle, with thicker cover again beyond. Now as a rule, a lion, when disturbed, prefers to return by the way he came; but as things were in the present case he was more likely to choose the oppo- site direction, which offered much the least exposed line of retreat. For this reason 1 took up my position behind a thorn bush, about four feet high, at the extreme apex of the triangle. Here I commanded its two front sides, being myself more or less concealed. As this position was also down-wind, and I had only three men with me, the wisest plan seemed to be to fire the grass from the rear in two or three places. Abdilleh, therefore, placed the ‘400 ready cocked, leaning up against the bush beside me, and then went off to instruct Henduleh and Elmi, who had remained at the rear side, where to set fire to the grass, intending then to return to me. We did not yet know for certain that the lion was there, so it was with a sudden thrill that, barely a minute after Abdilleh’s depar- ture, I saw the top of a great shaggy head and neck come silently into view through the grass and stand, just within the cover, about twelve yards to my right front. We had to deal with an old hand this time. He had evidently been wide awake, and had heard the shikarees on the other side. He had no notion of waiting to have his mane singed, and having, on principle, a dislike to the presence of human beings, unless in the occasional necessary rele of commissariat suppliers, he was looking to see if the coast was clear before moving on. That did not suit my book, and 1 fired, aiming for his partly exposed neck, none of the body being visible, He ought to have dropped on the spot, but, as it turned out, I had not made sufficient allowance for the thickness of his mane, and the bullet passed through the muscles at the back of his neck, just missing the spinal column and doing no real injury. At the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, shot he dashed back into the cover with a tumbling growl, then, changing his mind, swung round and came out at a gallop, passing me at only four paces distance! He did not know’ where the shot had come from, and, close as he was, did not sce me at all. I let him get well past, and then gave him the second barrel behind the shoulder at eight yards. He dropped in his tracks. 1 snatched up the ‘400 to ‘‘ mak siccar,” but there was no need. The Paradox had scored again, and the King of Beasts lay at my feet. Could life hold a prouder moment for a shikaree ? I remember the day I had shot my first panther, bigger than any I have shot since—but what was the biggest panther that ever lived compared to this ? A tiger might show the equal of those mas- sive forearms, but that grand head, set in a mass of beautiful black mane, could have no rival. And the circumstances had a glamour that was all their own. I stood and gazed my fill, I was utterly content. He mea- sured nine feet three and three-quarter inches “straight ” as he lav—good for the Somali lion, which is reckoned a comparatively small race. to his looks, his photograph, I think, does him justice. As a rule an unwounded lion, unless he feels himsclf cornered, is rarely dangerous. Hence the importance of inflicting a fatal or disabling wound at the first shot. So far I had been able to do this in each case, except on the last occasion, when I managed to remain unobserved by the lion until I had succeeded in getting in my second barrel. The next time I met a lion, however, I madea bad beginning, and it was not my fault that the encounter did not have a disastrous ending. This was the way of it. About a month after the incidents just related we arrived in a district called Aror. Fortune gave another shake of the dice, and after a few days there were happen- ings. First came in news one morning of a sheep taken during the night from a kana four miles away. We made our way there and took up the tracks—those of a single lioness. After following her trail with con- siderable difficulty for two hours, we struck a likely patch of high grass beyond which the tracks did not seem to go. The grass and bush were rather too continuous to make it a nice spot; however, I took my stand in a position that seemed to afford the best command of the situation, but was entirely exposed. I kept Abdilleh, carrying the -400, by my side, sending Elmi with four trackers we had brought from the kana to throw stones and sticks into the grass from the other side. The lioness would not budge for some minutes, but at last sprang out from the thickest part and stood where the grass was

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LION-HUNTING IN SOMALILAND. 495 “I let him get well past, and then gave him the second barrel.”

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406 thinner, looking to see who was disturbing her. She was twenty vards from me, but I could only see part of the back of her neck and one ear. I fired, and saw head and neck go down out of sight in the grass ; then, after a moment, they reappeared in almost the same place. I had no more to aim at than before, and, having emptied one chamber, should) ordinarily have reloaded it) and probably waited for the enemy to show herself better before firing again. But I saw that one of the beaters on the far side had foolishly come much too close, and, ignorant of her whereabouts, was actually within ten yards of the lioness. What was more, I realized, from the fixed position of her head, so far as I could see it, and froma giimpse of a switching tail, that she had detected and was watching him. Uncertain also whether I had not wounded her, I feared that she was on the point of going for the man, and so I fired again at once, rather hurriedly. At the shot she turned and dashed out into more open ground to my left; then, catching sight of us, instead of continuing her flight, she checked with startling sudden- ness and stood for a second or two only fifteen yards away. She was the picture of rage ; her eyes flashing fire, very different from the brown sleepiness sometimes seen in a lion in captivity. Her muscles were tense and ready for action; her tail switched once to the side and then stiffened like a pointer’s— infallible indication of a coming charge. i turned to Abdilleh for the ‘400, but, instead of handing it to me, he fired both barrels rapidly. The lioness shrank at the t shot in a way that showed she was badly it, and then bounded into an adjoining p of grass. There might be trouble to come if her wound were not mortal, but for the moment I felt I was well out of an awk- ward situation. For it had been awkward : an empty gun in my hand, and a wounded lioness only fifteen yards away! Of course, at the moment I was mad with Abdilleh for shooting instead of handing me the rifle; but, as he said, the distance was so small and she so obviously meant mischief that he was doubtful whether I should have hid time to get rid of the Paradox, take the rifle, and get in my shot if she had charged the next moment. I wight have done it, but it would have been a very close thing, and in the circumstances he was quite justified in acting as he had done, seeing that for the moment she offered him an easy shot. At the same time, although he could use a rifle, Abdilleh was far from being a practised shot, and if his first bullet had not, as it turned out, been fortunately placed—his second proved to have been a miss—the result might have been disastrous. For as it THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, happened—a fact of which we were not at first aware—this lioness was that most dangerous of foes, a mother with voung cubs in the grass before us, while my bad shooting had merely hurt her enough to enrage. However, to finish the story. The new patch of grass was not a large one; I sent two men up trees with orders to fire into it, which they did, but without result. At length one man om a tree said that he could see her. I climbed up to his point of vantage, and made her out lying on her side in an open space in the middle of the cover, apparently dead. Another bullet to make sure, and we dragged her out and examined her with interest. I found that one of my shots had been a clean miss, while the other had been unfortunate in striking the neck just to the right of the spinal cord, and had passed out through the side of the throat without causing any serious injury. This, as in the case of the big lion, afforded another illustration of the risky character of the neck- shot, even at close quarters, unless the whole of the neck is ble, and preferably broad- side on, though no shot can be more effective if correctly placed. Abdilleh’s first shot had found the heart, luckily for us both; his second had been a miss. The lioness was dead, and we proceeded to look for the cubs, but without success. As it happened, we were quite close to camp, so I at once dispatched a man there to bring Iddu Khan, my Indian orderly, as hitherto he had seen only the skins of lions, and it was not right that he should go back to Aden without having seen something more to spin yarns about. Meanwhile I sat down to have a smoke. When Iddu arrived I photographed him sitting on the lioness, to his great delight. When she was skinned he insisted on carrying off a hind leg! He said he was going to dry the meat and take it to Aden, the Subadar Major of the Indian infan- try regiment stationed there attributing great properties to it. Both in India and Somali- land great store is set by the fat of a lion, tiger, or leopard for various medicinal pur- poses, among others the cure of rheumatism, and it is always carefully preserved ; but this was the only time I have heard of any such value attaching to the lean meat. Somalis also preserve the liquid oily secre- tion found in the liver of a lion for use as a wash for sore eves. Western physicians have evidently still a lot to learn! 1 never actually shot any lions except by tracking them down in the daytime. But this was not for want of trying the often successful method of watching at night over a live bait—usually a donkey—tied up close opposite a loophole in the thorn fence of one’s zaviba. It’s rough on the donkey, undoubt- edly; but to suppose he is troubled by

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LION-HUNTING IN SOMALILAND. anticipations of his possible fate, as I have heard suggested, is ab- surd; while the sacrifice of one donkey or goat may mean the sav- ing alive of many. Not long after thelast-mentioned occurrences I had an exciting night. There were three Somali karias near, at distances varying from four hundred _ yards to amile. Fromeach in succession, between 7.30 and 9 p.m., came the noise of a sudden uproar, indicating the attack of alion. From the nearest shouts, we gathered that at at least one zaribathe attempt had been successful and a sheep had been carried off by a tri- umphant marauder. It would be hard if our encampment alone was to be ignored! We had a donkey and goat tied up on opposite sides. At about ten o'clock I had just lain down when a sudden agonized bray from the unhappy donkey was followed by sounds of a scuffle and fall, to the accompaniment of deep, menacing growls. I was up in a moment and at the loophole. Unfortunately the donkey had been tied too close to a small tree, with the result that the lions—there were two—had contrived to drag the body partially round the tree, and, lying down to feed on the hind-quarters, were, in the dark- ness, concealed behind the carcass and the tree trunk. It was impossible to distinguish any- thing definite at which to shoot, even when a lantern was held up above the zariba fence. Meanwhile the lions were feasting at a furious rate, the sounds of the tearing of flesh and cracking of bones, with a con- tinuous deep growling, testifying to a hor- tible orgy. The sight of the lantern merely provoked intensified growls. 1 thought of turning on my little electric hand-lamp, but could not manipulate it and use my gun at the same time, and was afraid that in the unaccustomed hand of a Somali it would not be pointed accurately enough to allow me a fair shot before its bright light scared them away. However, at length I resolved to try it, but just then a shadowy figure moved away to the left, and the other departed un- seen. Of course we supposed they had only gone temporarily, and now was our oppor- tunity to improve matters; so we sallied forth and moved the dead donkey—a fifth es ‘ Another fine lioness shot by Major Morse. 497 7 part of him already devoured—clear of the tree, fastened him down, and then retired to the zariba again. I have mentioned that there were two lions ; the Somalis said probably a pair, and that from his voice one was a big male. Now, in such cases, it is invariably the female who returns first to the kill, so I determined to hold my hand when she arrived and wait for her less impetuous lord and master. I had not been watching for more than ten minutes when a low, purring growl announced the return of the lioness, and presently she appeared, sniffing at the spot where the donkey had lain; then stood looking at the present position of the kill, never ceasing from the utterance of that low but intimi- dating growl. For perhaps half a minute she stood, offering a perfect broadside shot at about four yards distance. Then she walked away to the left out of sight. For an hour I waited in vain, but finally turned in. At about 2 a.m. Abdilleh roused me, saying there was something about. I sat down to watch, and in a couple of minutes it ap- peared by the kill—a wretched jackal! The moon had now risen, and I saw him clearly as he took hurried snatches at his meat, looking all round him after each bite with a furtive, uneasy air. It was too obvious that there were no lions anywhere near, so I went back to bed disgusted, reflecting on the finicky objections of the lions of Aror to their kills being moved. The morning, however, furnished another explanation, when we learned that two sheep had been taken from two adjacent encampments by the same pair of lions, so that my donkey was their third meal in the space of two or three hours. With waist-belts as tight as theirs must have been, why, indeed, should they return ?

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498 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, At about 7 a.m. we started on their tracks, and at midday came up with them. My men put up the lioness, which came out just in front of me and immediately put on the pace, going past me at about twenty-five yards distance in great bounds. At my shot she went heels over head like a rabbit. She picked herself up and struggled gamely on, taking a stern shot from the second barrel with hardly a sign of feeling it ; but another thirty yards farther on she collapsed, dead as the proverbial mutton. She was in excel- lent condition, and measured eight feet two and a half inches in length. Her mate mean- while had broken away to one side without coming into view, and we did not succeed in coming up with him again. Perhaps I have written enough to indicate that this game of hunting the lion on foot in Somaliland is one eminently capable of providing “ thrills’ for a man who likes such things and does not mind working hard to get them. But I cannot close without some mention of *‘ Sonny.” Two days after the close shave I had with that first lioness at Aror we went to the spot again and made a thorough search, which at length resulted in the discovery and capture of one of the two motherless cubs. He was a fine little fellow, not more than three weeks old, with quite a long coat, spotted like a *pard, after the manner of lion babies, and about the size of a three-parts-grown fox- terrier. I called him “ Sonny,” but more import- ant than a name was the question of feeding him. However, with some difficulty he was persuaded to adopt a goat as foster-mother— much to the latter's disapproval. Poor little beggar, he was not very happy the first night, and cried continuously until I took him into my. bed and put him to sleep, petting and soothing him like a baby! It was not long, however, before he became quite at home. The Author's lion-cub “Soany” and a pet lyax. My “ family ” at that time included two other babies—a little caracal, or lynx kitten, and Jennie, an aowl (Sommering’s gazelle) fawn. ‘‘Sonny’”’ used to have great games with the little lynx, which loved to bite his ears; and he was fond of stalking Jennie, who would put down her head and knock him over, producing a quaint puzzled ex- pression on the cub’s face. He delighted in chewing a boot—or a bare ankle !—and was always strolling about the camp _ investi- gating things, but showed no inclination to wander away. He also took a great interest in the camels, though rather nervous of such big creatures. He was altogether a charming and gentle- manly little beast. The lynx baby, too, was as tame as possible—until feeding time, when it became an absolute little fury. “Sonny’’ was soon promoted to scraps of meat also, over which he was apt to become impatient, but on the whole his table manners were good. On the march they both used to travel in baskets on camel-back, and one day I found to my sorrow that the baby lynx was gone. He had somehow contrived to squeeze out of his basket, and then fallen or jumped from the camel's back unnoticed during the march. Poor little beggar, I am afraid he starved, unless something bigger put an end to him first. The jungle has but a cold welcome for her children who have once forsaken her, if ever they seek to return. Nor did Jennie last to the end. One day she became suddenly lame, with one hind leg much swollen, but I could not discover the cause. I applied fomentations, but it was of no use; she went off her feed and died. “Sonny,” however, remained full of beans. He accompanied me eventually to India, and was a personage of importance on board the steamer. He was a dear little beast and I became very fond of him, but I knew it would not be possible for me to keep him as he grew up, so allowed cir- cumstances to part us in Bombay — much to my subsequent regret, for he died soon afterwards. With him went my last living link with the Land of the Lion—for that time, at any rate. Africa has a way of putting upon a man the spell of her desert and jungle, and he who has once felt it is rash indeed if he asserts that he will never yield again to that mysterious insistent Call of the Wild.

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The instalments of “ The Cruise of the Dream Ship” and the May 1921 issues of in this “Wide World Magazine” are printed with the consent of the National Geographic Society, entitled “ Be Washington, D. C., which is the owner of the United States copyright and which copyrighted and published the entire article Dream Ship” ssue of the National Geographic Magazine. and photographs in the January, 1921 Sy PUISE of the Most of our readers are familiar with the delightful writings of Mr. Stock, who has contributed to our pages for many years. After the war he set to work to realize a long-cherished dream— to sail to the South Sea Islands in a little vessel of his own, obeying only the call of adventure and the open sea he loves so well. Mr. Stock told us about his great scheme, and we commissioned him to write a description iy for “The Wide World Maga- zine.” Here is the fourth instalment of what you will find to be one of the most entertaining stories you have ever read.2 Many a stay-at-home will wish himself with Mr. Stock, tied to no time-table, and sailing through enchanted seas to the Isles of Adventure. IV. THE PEOPLE OF THE ATOLLS. ROM the moment I first set eyes on an atoll it fascinated me, and its lure has not departed with the years. Think of any place in the world that you have seen, and an atoll is different. It is the fairy ring of the sea. Out of the depths it comes, rearing a vegetation and a people of its own, and often into the depths it goes, leaving no trace. How? Why? Scientists murmur something about the vagaries of the colalactic polyp, but—not being a scientist—I prefer my theory of the fairy ring. That was how it looked to me several years ago, and that was how it looked again from the masthead of the Dream-Ship. We had left the Marquesas seven days ago, and were now becalmed in that maze of atolls known as the Paumotu or Low Archi- pelago. Imagine a circular beach of glisten- ing coral sand and green vegetation from five to fifty yards wide, thrust up through the sea for all the world like a hedge, and en- closing a garden of coral fronds submerged under water so still and clear as to be hardly visible, and you have an atoll as I saw it from the masthead. And there were myriads of them—big atolls, little atolls, fat and thin atolls, fading away into the shimmering heat-haze of the horizon. The fairies must have been mighty busy down this way. I descended to the deck and things mun- dane. What to do when becalmed in a network of coral reefs and seven-knot currents was the problem that now con- fronted us. I had no text-book on the subject, but by some miracle the thing we called an engine was persuaded to fire on two of its four cylinders, and the Dream- Ship tottered through the narrow gateway in the hedge—1 should say pass in the reef— and came to BNCOE in the garden—I mean lagoon. it was sunrise, and already the pearling canoes were putting out from the village and scurrying to the fishing grounds over the glassy surface of the lagoon. A fine people, these of the atolls, upstanding, deep of chest, a race of mermen if ever there was one. From birth up if they are not in the water they are on it, or as close to it as they can get. Take them inland and they die. So they squat on their canoe. outriggers smoking,

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seo THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, chatting, laughing, until the spirit moves them (nothing else will), and one of their number drops from sight feet first, with hardly a ripple. You look down and you see him as though through green-tinted glass, crouched on the sloping floor of the lagoon. He is plucking oysters as one would gather flowers in a garden. There is no haste in his movements, nothing to indicate that there is any time limit to his remaining down there under any- thing from five to fifteen fathoms of water. A minute passes, two minutes, and still he pursues his leisurely way, plucking to right and left and thrusting the shells into a network bag slung about his neck. The man of the atolls is in a world of his own, where none but his kind can follow, and they still squat on their outriggers chattering and laughing like a crowd of boys at a swimming pool. One alone seems interested in the diver’s movements —his mate, a fair-skinned woman with streaming blue-black hair. She leans over the gunwale of the canoe looking down through a kero- sene tin water-glass. The diver’s dark figure against the pale green coral becomes more blurred, a stream of silver air-bubbles floats upward. Three minutes by the watch have come and gone. To the landsman it seems Bartering for trade goods. A native poling his canoe to the pearling-grounds. incredible ; and even then there is no haste, no quick shooting to the surface and laboured gasps for breath. The dark body becomes clearer in outline as it emerges from the depths, and slowly, quite slowly, floats up- ward until a jet- black head breaks water and the diver clings to the gunwale of the canoe, inhaling deep but unhur- tied breaths, and exhaling with a long-drawnwhistle peculiarly his own. In what way this whistle helps matters it is im- possible to say, but whether a habit, a pose, or an aid in the regaining of breath, it is uni- versal throughout the Paumotus; so much so that a busy afternoon with the pearlers sounds more like a tin-whistle band than anythingelse.

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THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. 501 utmost conservation of energy. Yet a good diver can bring up one hundred and fifty kilos of shell in a day, which means six hundred francs, or in the neighbourhood of forty-six dollars. And it is just these same nimble dollars that tempt the Paumotan to abuse his talents even as others are tempted the world over. For the sake of a few more shells, another cluster a little farther down, he remains below just that trifle longer than is good for him. And in time it tells. The eyes become bloodshot and start from the head and he goes deaf, or paralysis seizes him. ‘But the women are the worst,” a sun-baked trader informed me ; “the worst or the best, as you like to put it,” he added, grinning. “They'll go on till they burst, or pretty near it. Bargain-counter instinct, I guess. We call it the ‘ bends.’ ” “The bends ? ” “Yes; one of ’em goes down and down, sees some more shell a little lower, and some more a little lower than that. Then she’s reach- ing out for one last flutter at some- thing like twenty fathoms when they get her—the bends, I mean. You can see her fighting against them, but it’s no good; they bring With the people of the atolls the ability to her knees to her chin and she can’t remain under water for long periods is more straighten up, and she drops the last lot than an art; it is second nature. * Instinctively they ‘ do just those things that make one breath suffice for three minutes, and sometimes four. £ Preparatory to a : descent they do not take a deep breath and hold it until the surface is reached again. They fill their lungs witha normal amount of air, which lasts them about a minute and a half; the other minute and a half is occu- pied in its exhala- tion. Then, too, every movement below water is * made with the MN f) 8 i H * 6 ¥ 6 s

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502 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Some of Mr. Mumpus’s pearl blisters. of shell she’s gathered, and hates that worse than the bends.” ““ What does she do ?”” “Nothing except lie there crumpled up until her mate fetches her up and massages her back to life. Then she’s no sooner conscious than she’s down again. Water never killed this crowd ; it takes dry land to do that. Why, there’s a diver close on fifty years old here, paralysed clean down one side. He can’t walk, but he can swim. He gets them to carry him down to the reef and heave him in. Says it’s the only place he can get any comfort.” * How about sharks ? ”’ I asked. “Oh, there are sharks all right, but the diver’s mate looks after them ; he gives the signal and they're all in after him double- quick.” “ Finish him off with knives, eh?” The sun-baked trader smiled reminis- cently. “Well, hardly,” he said. ‘ A dead shark makes a square meal for the others, and that’s all. What they want is an example, and they get it. The sharks are cruising about when they come on: one of their number with no tail, one fin, and sundry other decorations that wouldn't exactly please the S.P.C.A. He is not nice to look at, and his neighbours clear out of a place where such things are possible. When an island’s thrown open for pearling we spend weeks mutilating sharks before the divers will go down—and small blame to them, I say. Sharks are—well, sharks.” The casual reader picks up a good deal of information about “ gold rushes ’’ and such- like romantic undertakings from the plethora of novels on the subject, but who has ever heard of a pearl rush? Yet they occur every year in the Paumotus. The group belongs to the French, and is administered from the local seat of Government at Papeete, Tahiti. Here a heterogeneous collection of humanity awaits the opening of the pearling season like a hovering cloud of mosquitoes. There are pearl-buyers from Paris and London; representatives of shell-buying concerns from Europe and America ; British, Chinése, and’ Indian traders, speculative schooner skippers and supercargoes, not to mention the riff-raff of the beaches, ail intent on pickings from the most prolific pearling islands in the South Pacific. And this is the law of the group, infringed, circumvented, broken, but still the law, that, although under French government, the Paumotus and all they produce belong to the Paumotans. To still further protect the native, diving apparatus is banned throngh- out the group. The oyster as he brings it from the water is the diver's property. He must open the shell aboard his canoe before touching land, remove the flesh, and, after testing it for pearls (usually by kneading it so thoroughly between finger and thumb as to crush the life out of it), throw it back into the lagoon to propagate its species. Should he find a pearl, it is his also. It is then “ up to’’ the cloud of human mosquitoes before mentioned to get both shell and pearl out of him as best it can. One can imagine the buzzing and biting that ensue ! From the buyer's point of view the sooner . and the deeper he gets a good diver into his

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wow ce we we rm — THE CRUISE OF THE DREAM-SHIP. 503 debt the better. He then has some hold. Consequently he spoon-feeds his selected divers like the infants that they are. Tinned delicacies of all sorts, Prince Albert suits of unbelievable thinness and cut, silk socks and stockings are a good diver’s for the asking— during the closed season. With shell at a thousand dollars a ton in Philadelphia (the largest consumer at the present time), and pearls soaring to apparently limitless heights, all will be well when work starts. And the diver? From long experience of human mosquitves he is by no means slow. Shortly before the season opens he is presented with a bill that would cause most of us to register apoplexy. He looks at it, grins, and proceeds to dive. He also proceeds to make caches of shell on the floor of the lagoon, only bringing up half of what he collects in payment of his debts. At night he retrieves his cache and sells for cash to the smaller mosquitoes who infest the beach. As for pearls, from the moment the diver’s finger and thumb encounter foreign matter in the flesh of the oyster he becomes about as communicctive on the subject as his catch. Should the truth leak out, his find will promptly be confiscated in payment of his everlasting debts, or the wily pearl-buyer will use threats of exposure to reduce the price. No; the diver, if he is up to snuff, will work his passage to Papeete on a schooner, sell to a Chinaman who neither asks questions nor tells tales, and proceed to enjoy himself according to his lights. Blossoming into a Prince Albert suit, a red tie, and silk socks, he will hire a car, load it up with lady friends and execrable rum, and vanish into thin air for a fortnight, at the end of which time he has somehow contrived to get rid of all he possessed and is perfectly prepared to return to his atolls and his debts. He has lived like a white man and cheated the mosquitoes. What more can Paumotan heart desire ? The thing we call progress has slain the picturesque in most industries of this world, but not so with pearling in the Paumotus. During the season the beach of one of these atolls resembles an old-world fair more than anything I can call tomind. <A crazy merry- go-round brays and rocks in the shade of the palms, luring the adventurous to invest three pearl shells in a ride on a broken-necked camel. The ubiquitous movie-palace has reared its unlovely head, and for more shell, or five coco-nuts, one may witness on the shores of a South Sea lagoon the battered remnants of a love affair enacted not far from Los Angeles. I have often wondered what happens to all the worn-out films in the world. Now I know. Then, this season, and for the first time, the people of the atolls are to be initiated into the mysteries of ice-cream. Truly the mosquito stops at nothing. It was down in this part of the world that I met Mr. Mumpus, though that is not his name. To reach him you must pick your way on the motor auxiliary through a maze of reefs, lie off and on because there is no pass into his lagoon, and plod through Typical people of the atolls.

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504 THE WIDE WORLD blazing sand in a temperature of ninety in the shade. But it is worth it. You will probably find him in the pearl orchard, a green-lined umbrella in one hand and a dripping oyster shell in the other. He will stare fixedly for upwards of half a minute and then say: “ How the devil did you get here ?”’ with a brusqueness that is alarming until you get used to it. In my own case I indicated the Dream- Ship, looking particularly smart in her recent coat of white paint. “ What, in that thing?’ remarked Mr. Mumpus. I was smitten to silence for a space. “‘T heard you were making pearls,” I told him on regaining something of my equanimity, “and thought you might be so good as to tell me about it.” For some reason, probably the appearance An island taro patch. of myself or my ship, Mr. Mumpus took pity on me. ‘*Come up to the house,” he barked, and led the way to a rambling erection of corru- gated iron and palm-leaves, containing, as far as I could make out, a gaping “ boy ” of uncertain origin, some empty soap boxes, and a microscope. “There's nothing new in what I’m doing here,” he told me over two brimming shells MAGAZINE. . of covo-nut milk, ‘‘ nothing that the Chinese have not been doing for centuries. .The pearl is a disease of the oyster; introduce the disease and you will get a pearl.” “‘ Quite,” said I. . “‘ No one has succeeded up to the present,” continued Mr. Mumpus, “but there is no reason why it should not be done in time, no reason at all. I am appreciably nearer than I was a year ago, for instance. In the mean- time I am producing the ordinary blisters or half pearls with various foundations. You see, the cestode en But I cannot hope to set down here all that this amazing man told me in scientific jargon as he strode backwards and forwards across his mat-strewn floor. He was a doctor by profession, had tired of it, and had come to the islands to pursue his hobby of pearl-culture. He takes an oyster from the lagoon, opens it very carefully by the slow insertion of a wooden wedge, and places a pilv'e of bees- wax against the main muscle. The mantle of the .oyster then covers it with mother-of- pearl, and in the .course of a few months our friend cuts from the shell a very fair imita- tion of a half pearl. - But, as most people are aware, the real pearl comes from the flesh of the oyster, and it is on the production of the genuine article that Mr. Mumpus centres his efforts. He breeds oysters in the lagoon and dissects them under the microscope for signs of the parasite that undoubtedly causes the pearl. He injects into the flesh of others all manner of foreign matter. Down there on ‘his speck of an atoll he treats the oyster as a surgeon treats an interesting case. Who knows ? Some day there may burst upon an astonished world the name of a man who can make pearls—and that name will not be Mr. Mumpus. (To be concluded.)

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SHORT STORIES. I.—TRAPPED IN A FLOOD. By FLORA ILIFF. ILLUSTRATED BY W. E. WIGFULL. How would you like to be caught by a cloud-burst at the bottom of _& canyon a mile deep into which hundreds of miles of surrounding country are pouring their storm-water? That is what happened to the Authoress of this story. RDINARILY the education of the Indian youth of the U.S.A. of America entails no great danger or special hardship for anyone concerned. The Government has provided splendid buildings and equipment, and the schools are more or less accessible, although it is true that some of them, in the unde- veloped Western States, are seventy or eighty miles from the railroad. The school which seems to be generally considered the most inaccessible of any in the Indian Service is the one to which I was sent a few years ago to act as temporary superintendent. This school is located on the floor of a canyon which is a mile or more in depth. To reach it one takes a long journey over a rough road leading through the desert for seventy-five miles if you leave the railroad at Seligman, Arizona. At the end of the road a steep and treacherous trail winds like a thread down the rocky canyon-sides for seven long miles. Here my work was indeed strenuous, for T was temporarily in charge of the affairs of the tribe of two hundred and fifty Indians. My duties were so numerous that no day was long enough to enable me to fulfil them. Although the position was officially known as that of superintendent of the Havasupai Indians, the duties of it were not only to have charge of the affairs of the tribe, but to teach, unassisted, a school of seventy-one pupils, keep up the official correspondence act as physician in treating all ailments, and as judge in settling the disputes that arose among members of the tribe. The Indians must be handled tactfully. On two separate occasions the people of this tribe have risen in arms and, coming up to the Government buildings, have surrounded Vol. xivi.- 35 them and made hostile demonstrations against the employees. In fact, it was only the fear of the power behind the throne that prevented the shedding of blood. The men of the tribe were all well armed, with guns A view in the canyon, showing the outer and inner wi

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506 of all kinds, and as there were only four white people in the canyon and no others within call, we did not care to match our strength against that of the tribe. But this was not the danger which so nearly became disastrous tome. I had been warned of what proved my real menace, but had never really given it any serious thought. To understand the seriousness of the situ- ation one must form a clear idea of the canyon and our location within it. The canyon is one of those decp, narrow clefts through the mesa that are so common in the region of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Its two walls stand close together, at some points no more than fifty feet apart, forming narrow passages in the deep gorge. At the place where the Government buildings then stood the walls were possibly a hundred and fifty.or two hundred feet apart. Our scenery was limited to the strip of earth beneath our feet, with its mantle of green grass and its swift mountain stream, the red-and-grey stone walls rising sheer above our heads, and a long narrow strip of blue sky in which the sun appeared each morning at nine o’clock and disappeared at three in the afternoon. The walls are composed of two distinct parts, the outer and the inner walls. The latter rise perpendicularly for six or seven hundred feet from the canyon floor, and from the rim of these inner walls the outer walls slope back in graceful upward curves to the point of junction with the mesa above. But the canyon does not end here. There is a great depression on the mesa extending back to the southward for some seventy miles, and this vast territory drains its surplus rainfall into the canyon. Also, there are long slopes to the east and to the west that pour their torrents into the canyon during the rainy season. We had had some very hot weather, the thermometer often registering as high as 117° in the shade; and we were beginning to long for the rainy season, which in this section of Arizona comes in July or August. Then one brilliant sunny afternoon a mass of black cloud boiled over our little strip of sky from the west. We could see only a narrow strip of the cloud when we looked up, but the way it tumbled and rolled, and its inky blackness, filled us with awe. Then it began to rain—great misshapen drops that hit with a vicious spat. They came faster and faster. An Indian girl, who had come up from the village for a lesson in cooking, hid her face in her sutam and began crying. This rather alarmed us, for the canvon was her native home and she knew its strange wavs in all sorts and conditions of weather. We realized that she was thinking of some danger the nature of which we could not guess. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, She led us to the door and pointed to one of the canyon walls which was within fifty feet of our house, and there, indeed, was sufficient cause for alarm. The wall was covered with a solid sheet of water which, as we looked, extended rapidly up and down the canyon. Almost instantly a similar sheet of downpouring water spread itself over the opposite wall; then, withcut warning, a river burst over the rim ; it was at a point where a side canyon, cutting through the mesa and the outer rim some six hundred fect above our heads, brought its tribute of overflow to pour down, missing the roof of our house by about thirty feet. This cataract brought with it large evergreen trees, torn from the sandy soil above in its mad rush, and giant boulders that fell far too near our cottage. The housekeeper and the laundress—my two assistants—rushed in and with frantic haste began preparing to leave the house. Dazedly I followed their example. I managed to get my raincoat on, and we went out in the terrific downpour. There were two possible means of escape. The nearest was by following the canyon towards its head for a distance of several miles, where a trail began to ascend the left-hand wall. This trail led to the mesa above. We attempted it first, as it seemed the most promising. We left the house surrounded by a mad swirl of water that was already sucking at and undermining its foundation, and cau- tiously picked our precarious way up the canyon, steering clear of the waterfalls that plunged over the canyon wall at every de- pression in the upper rim. Presently we reached the first narrow passage where the perpendicular walls con- verge, leaving a very narrow space between. Here the entire floor of the canyon was covered with a wild rush of water that was tearing through the gap in an appalling volume. It was higher than our heads, and carried with it boulders and stones that would crush anything met in their mad dash down the gorge. Escape in this direction was impossible, so we tried the only other means left open to us. It was a trail that entered a side canyon and wound up its steep left wall to the mesa above. At a point not far from the school a steep precipice is scaled by means of a bridge, and just where the bridge stands the walls ap- proach each other to within twenty feet. We found this bridge completely submerged by a monstrous waterfall that leaped over it to the canyon floor below. Our last chance of leaving the canyon gone, we checked our hurried flight and took note of our surround- ings. We were fairly trapped! The rain still fell in an unchecked deluge. Hundreds of square miles of surrounding country was

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SHORT STORIES. — 507 “The wall was covered with a solid sheet of water which, as we looked, extended rapidly up and down the canyon.”

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508 draining its overflow over our canyon walls. Each wall was com- pletely hidden behind a deep screen of fall- ing water, and at every depression in its upper rim a river of giant volume poured down. The canyon could not possibly empty this flood as fast as it poured in, and already the floor was almost entirely covered. We felt like tiny insects caught in a jug into which someone was pouring water. While we stood there, hopelessly awaiting the end, the torrent ceased as sud- denly as it had begun. An ordinary quiet rain fell for a few minutes, like a gentle farewell from a formerly irate guest. The sheets of water that had been pouring into the can- yon slowly grew thinner, the rivers diminished in size, and we realized that the worst of the danger was past. The overfiow from the mesa above would exhaust itself within a few hours, and our buildings were still standing. It was then that the cook, in the reaction of her emotions, began laugh- ing hysterically. To divert her thoughts we began discussing what might have happened Water pouring over the inner canyon wall long after the rain had ceased. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, if the trail had been open and we had suc- ceeded in climbing to the mesa. ““We should have starved to death,” said the housekeeper, “I didn’t bring a thing but the clothes I have on.”’ “Nor 1,” I. con- fessed, laughing at my folly now that the danger was averted. “J brought enough forall,” said the cook, and she pulled from her pockets—a bunch of hairpins and six pieces of bread, which she _ had snatched up in her hurried flight from the building. We returned to the school, got our cameras, and a few hours later took the pictures that illus- trate this article. After the Indians had repaired the trail, which was badly dam- aged by the flood, a party of surveyors, who were surveying the Government reserve on the mesu, entered the canyon, They came to see if anything was left alive. “‘ We were camped a few miles back on the mesa,” one of them explained, “and it looked to us as if a cloud burst right over this canyon. We expected to find it swept as clean as a whistle.” II—DOWN THE RIVER. By F. VERO. ILLUSTRATED BY N. S. PITCHER. What happened to two youngsters who sought fortune and adventure by running a little launch on a New Zealand river. IM is second engineer of a_ big : steamer now, but I do not think he has ever forgotten his first ex- perience of navigation in his native New Zealand. It happened years ago, when Jim was an apprentice in a little engineering shop in Wanganui, and I a wanderer who had found him much to my liking. We were crazed on motor-boats, and had scratched and scraped until—with the aid of chums—we were the proud possessors of a little launch. What matter that the engine kicked and spat and misfired and that there was barely room to stow the four of us aboard? Sunday after Sunday we explored the wonderful upper reaches of the Wanganui in her, and those moonlit nights when we slid quietly down the river on the ebb-tide are never to be for- gotten,

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SHORT STORIES. 509 “We came halfway down, when the launch suddenly swerved and buried her nose in the bank.” But Jim was restless. He was dog-tired of the little engineering shop, and wanted something bigger. One day his chance came. For several years a motor-launch had plied up and down the Waitotara, but the settlers who owned her laid her up, dis- satisfied with results. All the news of the rivers filtered to Jim, and four or five days after she berthed we were interviewing the owners. Jim was a big, capable fellow for nineteen, with a plausible tongue and that greatest of gifts—an honest face. We came out of the office with permission to run the launch at our own expense, providing we carried the owners’ stuff at reduced rates and made good any damage that might accrue. C by Ka

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510 Two happier humans never danced on air, and a few days later we moved aboard. She was a trim little oil-launch, about forty feet long, ten feet beam, and drawing some nine inches of water. The cabin was amidships, over the engine, and a couple of hammocks slung on either side rocked you to dreamless sleep at night. She was open forward, decked aft, carried a spare rudder and pro- peller, and illimitable promise, of future wealth. We were prepared to carry anything— passengers, provisions, tools, and all the hundred-and-one articles the back-block settler needs in his fight with the bush. In a few days we were loaded up and away. The Waitotara is a dangerous proposition in the rainy season, flooding with great rapidity. The ,bush-clad banks have furnished the river with innumerable ‘ snags "—-tree- trunks, uprooted and stuck in the channel, some visible, others just a few inches below the water, and full of menace to the unwary. Fortune, however, favoured us. We had shipped a Maori bound to see his sick wahine (wife) at our farthest point of venture, and he, in return for a passage, promised to pilot the launch and return with us. If there is a better life than this on the river on a spring morning I do not know it. Hour by hour we chugged up-stream, the bush-clad banks reaching away in majestic curves and colouring on either side. Dotted here and there, little clearings would mark the quiet cabin of some lonely bushman, a thin wreath of smoke telling of habitation. The Maori knew his job thoroughly and steered the launch with unerring hand. He had done the channel many times before in his whaka (canoe), and sensed the snags below the water wonderfully. That night we lay-to by the river bank, tied up to a tree, and, after a supper of bread and “ bully,” pipes were got out and the Maori told us tales and legends of the davs when his people fought the pakeha (white man). It was clear as day in that wonderful moonlight, and even now I can see the firelight flickering in his dark and glowing eyes. The next morning we had a shock. ‘ Sav, old man,” Jim said after breakfast, “ I don’t mind you drinking the whisky, but you might leave the bottle!” Never seen it,”’ I replied. “Then it's that son of a Maori prince,” quoth Jim. ‘I'd fire him out at the next village, but we cannot afford to do it until we've run the river once at least. How- ever, I'll lock the other bottle up.” Though the Maori roundly protested his innocence, we knew the truth when, a little later, he Jurched to his feet and began a haka (war dance). “‘ Sit on the fool!” yelled Jim. But it was too late. Ere I could reach him THE ' WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. he had stumbled against an insecure water- tank, pitched it into the river, and followed it overboard. That sobered him at once, and it was a gurgling, shivering Maori we finally dragged aboard. Meanwhile the tank sailed merrily down the river, bumping and bobbing, but right side up. We caught it a quarter of a mile away, and it was like coax- ing a restive horse to get it aboard. Every few hours we called at some little clearing, where the whole population, dogs included, would come down to the tiny wharf to greet us. We had goods of some kind for nearly every place, and with load- ing and unloading, and an occasional meal with settlers anxious for news and old papers, several joyous days had elapsed ere we reached our farthest point. It was a Maori pah (village), and after unloading and taking on some bales of wool we hung about im- patiently, waiting for our Maori friend. Night came, but no pilot, and so we waited for daylight, when Jim set out to find him. - He was hack in less than an hour, flushed and angry. ‘‘ The blighter is up in the pak,” he said, ‘three parts shtkkay (drunk), and only grinned when I asked him about return- ing. ‘Me no coming,’ he said ; ‘ stop here.’ The wahine tale was all bunkum, but we can’t drag him out of this mob. Besides,” he added, ‘‘ he isn’t fit to handle the rudder. I reckon we'll have to get back alone.” It had rained heavily in the night, and the river was fresh when we started. We had a full cargo of wool, and in consequence the launch was drawing more than her cus- tomary nine inches. Jim took the helm as we swept out into mid-stream, and for a few miles all went well. Then, with a sudden grind and crash, Jim was on his back, the engine racing madly, and the launch shot into the bank. A snag had carried away both rudder and propeller! Four hours’ work in pouring rain, and we were off once more, the spare propeller running sweetly. The river was flooding fast now, and Jim looked grim as we neared the Tarata rapids. Here, for about seventy yards, the stream rushes through a ravine, very narrow in parts, and we guessed it would be a ticklish task. We entered at break-neck speed, and were half-way down when the launch sud- denly swerved and buried her nose in the bank, whilst her stern swept round and jammed her clean across the river. Fortu- nately she had lifted when she caught the snag with a glancing stroke, and though the water boiled and crashed against her side she only shipped it aft, and that saved her from swamping. But she groaned and creaked under the tremendous press of water, and seemed likely to break in half. The bow was embedded just above a jutting

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rock, and a glance convinced us of the futility of trying to liberate her there. Two perspiring hours passed ere we had cleared away enough of the bank to let her stern swing out into the river; then, with strain- ing engine, and baling hurriedly, we put the launch up-stream, turned round in the wider reach above, and swept down again like the wind. A few seconds more and we were safely through the rapids. That night it rained heavily, and as we lay in our hammocks we could hear the water steadily gaining in power and speed. But we were through the worst, and early next morning, as the rain ceased and the sun peeped out of a watery sky, we got away again. The launch raced down the tum- bling waters like a thing of life, bush and clearing, hills and valleys, slipping past like the film of a cinema, and by noon we were thinking of reaching home that night. Alas for our hopes! An hour later the launch lifted her nose, bucked a few feet, and stopped. dead, There, a few inches below the sur- face, she rested on a giant log, nor could all the efforts of our little engine get her off. Full speed ahead or astern made her tremble, but she would not budge an inch, though heeling dangerously to the flood. There was nothing for it but to get a rope ashore and haul her into the bank. My first attempt was my last. Carrying a SHORT STORIES. sat strong thin line, I plunged in. The water was icy, and racing like a torrent. It dashed me up against a snag, knocking all the breath out of my body, and only with the aid of the line and strenuous efforts from Jim was I finally landed on the little deck again, gasp- ing and water-logged. Meanwhile, down came the rain. Jim un- dressed and, carrying the line, dived in and struck out for shore. It was a short but tongh swim. Twice he reached the bank only to be swept away, and he was labouring heavily as he dragged himself out of the water. We soon had a wire rope fixed up to a tree, and then the winch pulled the launch into the bank. We tumbled into our hammocks blue and chattering, and for hours, in spite of nips of whisky, shivered and shook under the blankets. Next day brought the journey’s end, but even” then misfortune played a final prank on us. Getting a bale of wool ashore one of the planks col- lapsed, and down it went into the river. It is more than life is worth to ship a bale of wet wool, and so we had to open it out, dry it, and bale it up again. Incidentally, when we had made good the damage to the launch we were on the verge of bankruptcy. I think that was the last straw. It sent Jim home to bed for eight weeks with a sharp attack of pneumonia, and he never wants to talk of the Waitotara now. II.—WHAT HAPPENED TO ROBERT TIPP. By JOSEPH HEIGHTON. ILLUSTRATED BY PF. HOLMES. A painter's terrible ordeal at the top of a lofty flagstaff. HE Durham seaport of Hartlepool has been the scene of many momentous happenings. — Its _his- tory, covering a period of twelve centuries, teems with exciting events, and wr '3 alarms reached a climax on that un- forgettable day, December 16th, 1914, when the town was bombarded for three-quarters of an hour by the German ficet. “But "—I am now quoting the Rev. Bertram Jones, rector of Hartlepool— 1 do not think the people of the town have ever witnessed a more thrilling sight than the rescue of the painter, Robert Tipp, from the flagstaff on the Borough Buildings in Middlegate.”” For an hour and a half they watched the ‘unconscious form of Tipp swaying on the lofty flagstaff, seventy feet above the ground, expecting every moment to see him drop to his death. He did drop—to be miraculously saved in a manner unparalleled in the most sensational film. With the miracle is con nected the story of John Chapman, whose name must be inscribed on the list of Eng- land's humble heroes. Engaged to paint the flagstaff, Tipp re- garded it in no way as a hazardous job, although to people passing along Middlegate there seemed safer ways of earning a living as they watched the painter, slung in a “chair” within a few feet of the top of the swaying staff. This “ chair ’’ was secured to the staff by slip-knots, and hung about fourteen feet above the top of a ladder standing on the roof of the building, the topmost rung resting against the pole, to which it was fastened. To get to the “ chair,” Tipp had to climb the pole, gradually lower- ing himself as he proceeded with the painting. Suddenly it was observed that Tipp had stopped painting and hung limply in the “chair.” From some cause he had been taken ill, and only the grip which he had on

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512 the _ flagstaff with his right arm prevented him from crashing to the street below. His mate, Thomas Smed- ley, noticing Tipp’s danger, at once climbed the pole and tried to make him secure by lashing him to the chair. His strength fail- ing, however, Smedley had to come down. The strain on his nerves was such that he collapsed after he had de- scended, the shock depriving him of speech for two days. Meantime, to help the rescuers to reach the ladder, the fire-escape was run up, although for a while no one seemed able to lit on a feasible plan for reaching Tipp and bringing him down. It was then that John Chapman, a trawlerman, came on the scene. For a few moments he watched the body of Tipp swaying in the chair; then, quietly taking off his boots, he volunteered to climb the pole and endeavour to bring the painter down. Swarming up the staff, he found Tipp unable to speak and quite helpless. The weight of the two men on the staff caused it to sway so violently that those watching below expected to see the mast break, or Chapman knocked into the street, at any moment. But he clung on tenaciously, working quickly and dexterously. The end of the flag halliard had Tipp’s bucket of paint attached to it. This Chapman cut off and threw into the street, after which he bound the halliard firmly under Tipp’s arms. By this time, however, the would-be rescuer was so exhausted that he was obliged to come down for a rest, leaving the unfortu- nate Tipp still suspended in mid-air. After a few minutes he went up again and cut away the cradle, thus leaving Tipp swinging clear of the pole, which was now bending so much that every moment it seemed certain 4) break. The people in the street below watched it with starting eyes. Orders were then given to lower away the flag-halliard, but after giving some three inches it stuck, and refused to move further. Then came the horror, While Chapman and other willing workers stood on the roof of the John Chapman, who res- cued Tipp at the risk of his life. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, building, wondering what had happened and what was best to be done, the truck, or button at the top of the pole, through which the ropes passed, suddenly broke, and Tipp fell with a crash. The onlookers closed their eyes in sheer horror, expecting when they opened them again to see that the painter and his rescuers had been hurled to their death on the railings far below. But a veritable miracle had happened. The end of the ladder projected slightly beyond the pole, the overlapping portion forming an acute angle with the staff. This projecting piece had run under Tipp’s coat as he dropped, and he now hung suspended by his clothing! It was discovered after- wards that the ladder-end had also injured his side. Directly the first shock of surprise passed willing helpers rushed to the painter's side, but they had to cut his clothing away before he could be released and lowered. This was quickly done, and ringing cheers greeted the rescuers as they reached the ground. ‘The men who worked on the ladder were splendid,” says the Rev. Bertram Jones, who for an hour breathlessly watched the rescue, “‘ and Chapman was a real hero "—a tribute with which few will disagree. The Borough Buildings, Middlegate, Hartlepool, showing the f from which Tipp was rescued,

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Visit to NEVER had any desire whatever to visit Mexico, but the way my trip came about I could not very well help myself, unless I wished to dis- appoint a friend who in the past had helped me in many ways. It was the summer of rot5, and I had just got home from a fishing trip in Idaho. I found a telegram await- ing me from Mr. James I. Rounds, formerly United States Land Com- missioner for Utah, asking me to call on him at my earliest convenience at his home near Colton. Mr. Rounds had large mining interests in Utah, as well as in many other places. I had known him for years and had often been called upon to take long trips for him when he was too busy to go himself. The day following my arrival home I saddled my horse and rode to his house, some sixteen miles distant. The result of our meeting was that I started next day for Querovobio, in the State of Sonora, Mexico. My business was to find out the exact conditions in that part of the country and to ascertain why Mr. Rounds had not heard from the superintendent of the Ornoto Silver Mines for four months. The northern part of Mexico, at that time, was no safe place for a white man, especially one from the United States, but my instruc- tions were to do the best I could without taking too many risks. T went by train as far as Nogales, Arizona, just a few miles from the Mexican border. There I purchased a horse and riding outfit with which to cover the remaining hundred and fifty miles to my destination. [ spent three days in Nogales, getting what information I could that would help me on my way. Several times I was warned that it was extremely dangerous to go so far into Mexican territory, but I had my plans prepared and believed I could ‘‘ make it’ in safety. ae K-M MS MAINES Mlustrated hy LEO BATES The Auther never wanted to go to Mexico, gud sists bie trip he" lakes: the ‘Gacnitry’ lass than ever. This story explains why he went ess Wehtat kappacad tm big theres The Orinoto Silver Mines were situated in the foot-hills of the Sierra Del Nazaren mountains, and [ thought I could reach them in five days’ time by riding mostly at night. The country was much the same as I had been used to riding over and I could not go wrong as to direction, for my way lay straight south for the entire distance. I left Nogales at ten o’clock on the evening of June 28th. The sky was overcast and the night hot and sultry. After getting a mile or so from the town I put my horse toa gallop, a gait I knew he could keep up for hours, and mile after mile was left behind me. Just as dawn began to show in the east I looked for a place to conceal myself for the day and where my horse could drink and graze, and presently discovered a coulée in which there were both grass and water. [ carried sufticient provender in my saddle- bags to last me for several days, but my horse must forage for himself. I made the trip from Nogales to Querovobio in five nights, just as I had figured it out, keeping all the time to the open country and hiding as best I could during the day. Several times I saw mounted men at a dis- tance, but they passed on without discovering me. At Querovobio I purchased some provisions and started at once for the mines, forty

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miles due west. The road was rough, and I had to let my horse take his own time. The farther I went the rougher became the travelling, and it was not until seven o'clock in the morning that I rode up to the mine office. The whole place had a deserted appearance, and the doors of several of the tool-houses and outbuildings were wide open. Dismounting, I tied my horse to a post and entered one of the buildings. Every- thing was scattered about in confusion, and the glass in the windows had all been broken. I went to the entrance of the shaft-house, but found it securely nailed up. The mine looked as if it had not been worked for months, and every hut and cabin around it was deserted. I hobbled my horse, and after watering him at a spring near the powder-house turned him loose to graze, while I built a fire and boiled a pot of coffee which, together with some cold tortillas, formed my breakfast. I was just finishing the last of the coffee when I heard a slight sound behind me, followed by a soft, smooth voice saying: * The Senor will put up his hands—queeck !” I turned quickly, and looked into the muzzle of an automatic pistol, held in the steady hand of a rather good-looking Mexican of perhaps thirty vears of age. He had the drop on me right enough, and I raised my hands above my head. He then came close to me and relieved me of my gun. I asked my captor what he was going to do with me. *" Sit down and wait,” he replied. I tried to engage him in conversation, but without success ; he would not utter another word, We sat in silence for perhaps half an hour, and not an inch did the hand that held the automatic move. I was just about to make another attempt to get him to talk when a clatter of hoofs was heard coming from the south, and a moment later a band of cighteen or twenty mounted Mexicans came into sight from around the back of the shaft-house. The leader was a man of about forty years, superbly mounted. He rode over to where my captor and [ were sitting and addressed me in good English. ‘ What are you doing here at the Orinoto Mines, Sefor ? ”’ he demanded. I] had nothing to conceal and in a few words told him why I was there and where I had come from. The Mexican then informed me that the superintendent had been killed four months before and the mines closed up. The miners and their familes had moved away. The mines had been confiscated by the Mexican Government and a company of rurales had been sent to guard the property. He was the captain of the ruvales, and he allowed no one near the place. MY VISIT TO MEXICO. 515 I asked him if he intended keeping me a prisoner. ‘ No,” he replied; “ you are at liberty to go, but take care you do not fall into the clutches of the bandit Pietro Perez, for he will not be as lenient as I.” With that he turned and rode back to his men. I asked my captor for my gun, but was refused. I slept in the shade until the sun had set; then I took the back trail to Querovobio, arriving there early the next morning. My intention was to make my way back to the border by night-riding, the same as I had done before. While in Querovobio I was closely watched by two swarthy natives, but when I made preparations to leave the village that night they both disappeared. I> was convinced they intended following me, and I decided to outwit them, Just before I started T went to one of the small stores and secured a grain sack and a ball of stout cord, for which I paid one good American silver dollar. Being now unarmed, and a hundred and fifty miles from the land of Uncle Sam, I had to use strategy rather than force. During the day IT had made several re- marks in front of the two watchful Mexicans to the effect that I was going north that evening, but when night closed down I went to the south side of the village and, secreting my horse in the deep shadow of an old adobe house, waited for half an hour to see if IT was being followed. At the end of that time I took my knife and cut the grain- sack into four pieces, with which I bound my horse's hoofs, so that they would make no sound should we be forced to cross any hard or rocky ground. Taking the bridle in my hand, I led the horse for a mile as straight south as I could guess in the darkness. I then left the trail for about fifty feet and waited for another half hour, but as no one showed up I con- sidered myself safe. I made a half circle of the village and by midnight was on my way to the border, When day broke I was ready to fall asleep in the saddle, having been up for thirty-sis hours. I found a good hiding-place in a bunch of scrub oak, but there was no water, of which both my horse and myself were badly in need. Pulling the saddle from my mount, I picketed him so that he could browse on whatever he could find, and still not stray away; then, spreading my blanket on the ground, I lay down and in a moment was sound asleep. A whinny from my horse awakened me, and I sprang to my feet. A horse seldom whinnies unless other horses or men are near, and as I peered out of the oak thicket I saw

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516 a band of perhaps thirty mounted Mexicans approaching the grove. They were as tough- looking a bunch of cut-throats as it has ever been my misfortune to see. They were all heavily armed and well mounted, but most of them were very poorly dressed. The moment my eves beheld their leader the warning of the captain of the rurales, back at the mines, came to my mind: “Take care that you do not fall into the clutches of the bandit Pietro Perez, for he will not be as lenient as 1.” Pietro Perez, I should explain, was a half- breed Mexican-Indian, and in his youth had been a peon, or slave. He had gathered about him a band of the very lowest class of criminals, and during the summer of 1915 terrorized the northern part of Sonora by his daring raids and murders, It was said of him that he never released a prisoner without money. If the ransom was not forthcoming, the captive was taken out and shot and the body buried in a nameless grave. Perez could speak English, French, and German, but there his education ended ; for he could neither read nor write. The whinny of my horse had betrayed me, and in a few minutes I was a prisoner. The captain of the band, as I had feared, was Perez, but all I could get out of him was: “T will talk to you to-night.” After binding my hands behind me and tying my feet to the stirrups, the bandits set out in a north-eastern direction and rode until near ten o’clock, when we arrived at an adobe village of perhaps thirty houses. There I was released and given food and drink. I was placed in a small room, with two members of the band, and my horse was taken away. Next day I was given two meals, but was not allowed to leave the room. About eight o'clock Perez came in and asked me many questions, the most important one being : “Have you any money ? ” 1 told him I had none, but that if he would give me a few days’ time I could get one thousand dollars, and no more. He agreed to wait eight davs ; if the money did not come then, he said, I should be shot. T had no intention of trving to get the money, but I wanted the eight days because I was confident I could make my escape long before that if they did not tie me up. To assist in deceiving Perez I wrote a letter to Mr. Rounds asking him to send the money at once if he wished to save my life, but I addressed it to a town four hundred miles from where Mr. Rounds lived, so I knew he would not get it. If 1 could not escape from that bunch of ignorant desperadoes within eight days, I told myself, I deserved to be shot. : The rascals had a unique way of keeping THE WIDE WORLB MAGAZINE, their prisoners safe without tying or locking them up, and that was by taking away their hats and boots. A man cannot travel far in that country if he is bareheaded and barefooted unless he has a horse, and to get one was impossible. During the day I was left in the adobe hut to do as | pleased, but at night I was guarded by two men, one watching until midnight, the other from midnight to morning. ’ Four nights passed in this way, and I had begun to think my chance of escape would never come, when, on the fifth night, my two guardians brought into the hut with them a couple of bottles of mescal, that vile drink brewed from the desert cactus. They offered me a drink and I pretended to take a swig, but not a drop did I swallow. They talked and drank for two hours or more, and when the bottles were empty one of them lay down, and in a few minutes was asleep. The other sat for a while on an empty box, smoking cigarettes incessantly. At last he arose and, coming over to where I was lying, gave mea kick in the ribs. I suppose he wanted to know if I was asleep, so lonly grunted. He must have been satisfied, for he went to the door, opened it, and passed out. I waited for an hour and then, as he did not return, I quietly got up from the floor and, going to the door, tried it to see if it was fastened. It was not! I opened it far enough to look out, and there, outside, lay my watchman fast asleep, with his back against the wall of the house. I listened to his deep breathing and con- cluded he would not awaken easily. Turning back, I approached the bed of the sleeping Mexican. Gropingin the dark, I found his tifle lying by his side. Grasping the barrel with both hands I brought the stock down on his head with all my force, and then whirled round to fight my way out if the guard at the door had awakened. The noise of the blow, however, had not been sufficient to penetrate his mescal-numbed brain. Running my hand quickly over my now unconscious victim, I took his cartridge-belt and boots, tucked them under my arm, and silently stole through the door, past the sleeping sentinel, and out to the edge of the village. There I -buckled on the belt and pulled on the boots—they were a tight fit— and then looked for the guard that should be stationed somewhere near by, but I found nobody. I was free to go as far as I could on foot, for I knew I could not get possession of a horse. Slowly and cautiously I made my way out on to the prairie and, after getting a safe distance away, started north at a brisk walk. As nearly as I could judge I was about ninety miles from Nogales, and it was good

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4 t ‘ 1 $ wee ere ewe aawee MY VISIT TO MEXICO. 517 walking most of the way. My only chance was to travel as far as 1 could that night and hide myself during the day. I knew I could get water on the way, but the food question worried me considerably. I still carried the rifle of the guard I had stunned, but to shoot was to court discovery and capture. All that I had left of my original outfit was my pocket-knife and a few matches, which my captors had overlooked when they searched me, or else considered of no value; but I had to thank my lucky stars, before I got through, that they had left me that much.

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518 I had walked but a few miles when my feet began to protest against being encased in such tight-fitting boots, but I kept on until the pain became so intense I could bear it no longer. Pulling the boots off, I cut away the best part of the uppers, leaving only enough to hold the soles to my feet, and found I could then walk with comfort as long as I kept clear of the cactus, which grew in bunches all over the plain. The remainder of the night I walked straight north, guiding myself by the stars, and when morning dawned I had covered about fifteen miles. When the sun rose I looked about for a place to hide. Some distance ahead of me I made out a bunch of scrub pines, and hoping I might find water there I hastened towards them, but I found only a dry arrovo. I slept under the pines undisturbed for most of the day, and when the sun set started out for another night’s walk. I was both hungry and thirsty, but thought that if I could hold out the night I should surely find water and food the next morning. Some time in the latter part of the night I came to a small stream, where I drank and bathed my feet, which by that time were getting in a terrible condition from coming in contact with cactus spines. I decided toremain there until the next night, for I was now almost exhausted. When the sun rose I made my way along the bank of the stream and found the place THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. alive with ground squirrels. With sticks and stones I managed to kill three of them, and after dressing and washing them in the creek roasted them over a small fire. On account of the condition of my feet my progress was slow, and it was not until the fifth night that I began to think I was near the border. With the exception of my feet, I was not in such bad shape, although I had lived entirely on ground squirrels since leaving the Mexican village. On the morning of the sixth day, just as I was preparing to sleep, I saw a horseman heading straight for my hiding-place. As he drew nearer I was surprised to see that he was a white man. I hailed him and asked him what part of the country I was in. He informed me that I was in Arizona, six miles from the Mexican border, and twenty miles east of Nogales. In return I told him my tale of woe and he offered to take me to his ranch, which was only three miles distant. There he provided me with a horse and sent a cow-boy with me to bring it back. Arriving at Nogales, I wired to Mr. Rounds, and a few days later reached Colton and made my report. The condition of the country in Sonora was such that no American mines could be worked, and the Orinoto property was lost, at least for a time. Those two weeks in that bandit-infested ‘country were enough to last me for the rest of my life; I have now less desire than ever to visit Mexico. Here is a photograph, taken at Inishmaan, one of the Aran Islands, at the mouth of Galway Bay, Ireland, which shows some of the inhabitants drawing water froma primitive well. This interesting island measures only three miles by two and a half miles, and, as can be seen from the picture, it is practically one vast stone- heap. All water for drinking and washing purposes has to be obtained from these wells, and the little tubs seen in use, and known as “ankers,” are home- made.

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()urAdventures amons the erpers THE “WHITE ae: Fes CAPT- M-W:HILTON-SIMPSON The fascinating story of a long-lost white race. Exclusively written for “The Wide World Magazine,” this narrative sets forth the Author’s experiences among a strange and little- known tribe—the Shawia Berbers of Algeria, the representatives of an ancient white people. Living in well-nigh inaccessible villages in the heart of the mountains, these “ White Arabs” have remained practically unknown and unvisited, and still practise many strange customs that have long since vanished elsewhere. Captain Hilton-Simpson, accompanied only by his wife and a native orderly, spent a long time among the Berbers, as the guest of the village sheikhs, and his articles and photographs will be found exceedingly interesting. lV. AVING wandered from south to north up the western valleys of the Aur’s massif, our next task was to examine the central portion of the range. Skirting the mountains on their south- western border, we marched in three stages from El Kantara to Mechounech at the foot of the hills some twenty miles tothe north-east of Biskra, visiting our old friend the Chief of Djemora on the way. We stayed for a short time in the oasis of Mechounech as the guests of its sheikh, a member of an ancient and wealthy Arab family which rendered such signal service to the French during their early wars in Algeria and in their lates ad- Ministration of the country that many high ofders decorate the burxouses of its senior Tepresentatives. Our host entertained us most royally, assisted by his small son, whose gorgeous garments displayed to the full the Arab’s love of gold embroidery and whose pale complexion clearly showed that the Arab is by no means averse to finding a wife among the pretty daughters of the white Berber tribes of the hills. Mechounech—whose - beautiful oasis of date palms, nestling among the low desert foot-hills at the mouth of a gorge. is one of the most lovely to be found in the northern desert—is inhabited by a mixed population of Arabs from the Sahara and Shawia from the hills, among whom we could scarcely expect to find anything but a medley of the customs of the two races, so we turned northward after a brief sojourn in its great forest of date palms and sought the pure Shawia villages of the Rassira valley itself. Our first day’s ride was a short one, the narrow track winding up the steep hillside and following the line of the gorge, for the gorge itself is too narrow and too liable to sudden flood to offer a safe pathway to the higher part of the valley. This path even- tually led us to the date oasis of Baniane, the Berber hamlets of which at once revealed an interesting survival from the troublous times of border warfare between the Arabs of the plains and their Shawia neighbours. This was a defensible granary, and we found it to be characteristic of nearly all the villages of the Rassira valley. That of Baniane, the commanding situa- tion of which, built upon the very brink of a sheer rock overlooking the river bed, would render it almost impossible of capture by raiders armed only with smooth-bore muskets, consists of a number of four-storeyed stone huts, their outer walls rising strzight from

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520 The son of a great chief. the cliff edge, each storey being provided with a balcony which serves the double purpose of a point of vantage for sharp- shooters in war and a drying place for fruit in peace-time. Upon the “land,” as opposed to the “river,” side the granary, or guelaa as it is termed by the natives, is app:oached by one or at most two entrances so narrow that one can almost imagine some Shawia Horatius exclaiming, ‘‘In yon strait path a thousand may well be stopped by three,’’ as he saw in the distance the dust of the approaching raid. The interior of a guelaa consists of a maze of narrow streets in which the inhabitants of the neighbouring hamlets have their store-rooms for the grain, so coveted by the Arabs of the unfertile plains. These are sometimes kept locked and sometimes occu- pied by members of the owner's family, the upper floors of the building being reached by means of primitive balconies and ladders of sloping palm stems, very uncertain of passage THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to a booted European, but easily traversed by the Shawia, who can kick his shoes or sandals from his feet in a moment. The traveller in considering the impregnability of the place is not left to imagine the nature of the weapons which attacked it in years gone by, for the old-time musket, with its preposterously long barrel and its woodwork often richly inlaid with silver, is by no means completely out of date in a land in which the authorities keep a sharp eye upon the importation of modern arms. To this day many Shawia excel in the chipping of the flints by means of which these muskets are discharged ; indeed, some natives are professionals in the fashioning of flints, one of the very oldest of the arts of man. Upon leaving Baniane we determined to y at some very remote village of the ssira valley which could be taken as a typical Berber settlement of the district, and in which we could find the native as free as possible from Arab influence. We selected the tiny hamlet of Ouled Mansour for our purpose. The rugged scenery of the central part of the Rassira valley, in which this The picturesque long guns are still in use.

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OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE BERBERS. 521 ic ee ““ "paths, one of which, winding up the : steep sides of the tributary valley to the left of my Photograph, is passable by mules in single file. The other, zigzagging up the very knife-edge of the rock upon which the village stands, can be attempted by foot Passengers only, for it resembles a flight of narrow steps culminating in a tunnel at its summit. It is up this precipitous track that the women of Ouled Mansour Stagger beneath the weight of goatskins full of water from the river in preference to making the longer détour by following the mule- track to the village. The village itself is little more than a glorified guelaa—a jumble of narrow streets between tightly-packed rows of huts, constructed, after the manner of all true Shawia dwellings, of stones held together, insecurely enough, with mud, The outer houses are built flush with the edge of the cliff, the window of the room which we hired to live in looking over the Precipice into the deep ravine beneath us, and Possess- ing a miniature balcony too rickety to tempt us to trust our weight upon it. Ouled Mansour and the other cliff- villages of the Rassira valley are Se Ba The defensible granary at Baniane. village lies, is as remarkable as any- thing that I have met with during seven visits to the remoter parts of Barbary. Through the centre of the valley, in a precipitous canyon, winds the little Rassira river, its banks bordered by groves of stately date palms many hundreds of feet below the lip of its mighty gorge, which is some sixteen miles in length. A glance at our illus- tration of Ouled Mansour, showing the slopes of Ahmar Khraddou in the background and the canyon with its date groves beside the brook, will con- vey to the reader more of the grandeur of the scene than any words of mine can hope to do. The diminutive ap- Pearance of the date palms indicates to some extent the great depth of the gorge, and the Photograph also illus- trates the Shawia custom of building their hamlets like eagles’ nests upon ) the edge of the cliffs, usually at an angle formed by the confluence of a smaller gorge with the main canyon—a position wellnigh impossible to storm by an enemy unequipped ! with artillery, The main village of Ouled Mansour can be approached by two very narrow 6 Vol. xivi.—36, The interior of a village Svanary.

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522 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, certainly no places of residence for a sleep-walker ; indeed, even sure-footed natives, to whom the dizziness pro- duced by heights is unknown, are not infrequently dashed to pieces as a result of a false step on the outskirts of their nest-like homes. When showing some particularly nasty drop from a crag in the village to the ravine below the Shawia are always careful to enumerate the number of casualties that have occurred there, the victims being so often women that the traveller is led to wonder if the Shawia have not dis- covered an even cheaper means than their easily-obtained divorce of ridding themselves of old or unwanted wives ! We found this hamlet amid the crags an ideal spot in which to study the everyday life of its primitive inhabit- ants. We soon became acquainted with most of its natives and wandered freely among them, my wife making many friends among the women, who ‘were only too pleased to make the most of an opportunity--the first, as they said, that they had enjoyed—of examining a European woman, her dress, and her lack of ornaments, for the Shawia ladies could never understand the absence of anklets and ear-rings from my wife's attire or her dislike of darkening her Qyled Mansour, a village in the Rassira Valley, eyelids with antimony, a universal perched like an eyrie on the verge of a stupendous custom of the native women which they chasm. tried hard to induce my wife to adopt. Indeed, she was often hard put to it to resist by means of kohl powder applied upon a their well-meant efforts to beautify her eyes short carved wooden spike. Thus we spent a very interesting — time in the Rassira valley, noting " the native method of weaving the white woollen-hooded cloaks worn by all the male population of Algeria, the plaiting of girdles, the tanning of goatskins, and a host of other arts and crafts to be described in detail when our studies of life among the white North African natives of the Aurés have been completed. These studies include nothing of a literary nature, for the old Berber alphabet has entirely disappeared. Such writing as is absolutely necessary is carried out in the Arabic script, in which the youths of the villages—or such of them as can spare time from their labours as goatherds to undergo any education whatever—are instructed as they learn to read the sacred suras of the Arabic Koran. The lads squat in a_ semicircle .around a faleb, or scribe, repeating with parrot-like monotony the verses scrawled in straggling Arabic char- acters upon small tablets of wood, Chipping gunflints for smooth-bore muskets.

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EEE A soothsayer of the Aures. He accurately foretold the Author’s future. which take the place of the slates of our infant schools, their heads usually within reach of the bamboo which their master keeps at hand to encourage his lazier pupils. The instructor is often far more worthy of study than his students. Being members of the very small lettered class of the Shawia, the talebs, as well as the marabouts, are in great request as wniters of charms to bring good luck or to avert disease. We made friends with an | extremely interesting taleb at Ouled Mansour. This old fellow, whose photograph shows him to be a fairly _ intelligent- looking though some- OUR ADVENTURES AMONG THE BERBERS. 523 what dark Shawia, was a leather-worker who, in addition to writing amulets for his clients, manufactured neat red goatskin cases to hold them, thus deriving a double profit from his reputation as a charm-maker. He showed himself inclined to be talkative about his art when once he realized that we were genuinely interested in it, and gave us many details of his methods of combating both demons and the Power of the “ Evil Eve" which is so universally dreaded in Algeria. To avert the “Evil Eye,” the women of the Sahara and the hills wear silver models of a human hand—miscalled the “ Hand of Fatma” for the benefit of the tourist—which is in reality a permanent symbol to save the wearer the trouble of extending her fingers in the direction of the giver of the envious glance with the remark “Fire in thine eye,” which is the usual method of meeting such magical attacks in the Aurés, When we had become really well ac- quainted with our friend the taleb he offered to predict our future, which he did with the aid of an ancient Arabic book. On March 6th, 1914, the old wizard, who lived far beyond the reach of German pre- war propaganda and who did not even know what England was, predicted that before the year was out I should be serving my “ sultan,” and that we should be blessed with a son. I do not believe in ¢alebs nor in their methods of foretelling the future—but before the war was two months old I held a commission in the Army, and our son was born on December 21st, 1914! (To be continued.) A Shawia school.

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EB ANTHROPOP- GZ, APOLOGY. wy | oN, Written and Illustrated by J. R. MONSELL. This time Mr. Monsell libels Afghanistan, where—according to him—sniping is the national sport. SZ It is an admirable plan NOT to explore Afghanistan. The natives of those mountains wild Are noticeably far from mild. Each lives within his own fortalice And shoots his neighbour without malice. That’s why it is the wiser plan NOT to explore Afghanistan.

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tinal ODDS AND ENDS. Where gold was first discovered in the Rocky Moun The oldest Church in England. ANY heated discussions have taken place in America on the question * Where was gold first found in the West?” and our first. reproduction shows a monument erected at Idaho Springs, Idaho, U.S.A., which boldly claims the honour for this place. It has often been said that gold was first discovered in Colorado, but the inscription on the stone in our picture assures us that this is not so. It reads: “ On this spot was made the first discovery of gold in the Rocky Mountains by George T. Jackson, January 7th, 1859." The monument is six feet high. . The subject of our next picture is believed to be the oldest church in England, dating back to the year 800. The most remarkable feature of the building, which is situated at Bidborough, Kent, is perhaps its ancient clock, which, at the romantic hour of midnight, and midnight only, gives forth a weird and uncanny noise, to the utter discomfiture ot belated pedestrians unaware ot this curious habit, which is due to “ something wrong with the works.” There are only five rows of pews in this quaint little church, and the organ is oddly placed behind the rearmost pew.

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hat Donkey. The pathetic story of a journalist who bought a donkey, with cart and har- ness complete, for £5. We think our readers will agree that, all things considered, he got his money’s worth! DONKEY, cart, and harness—all for £5, What a bargain! We had just got rid of our noisy little car, so I said I would call on the lady who was offering the turnout forthwith. I did so. *He’s a dear creature,” she began, re- ferring to the donkey. ‘‘ With people not accustomed to donkeys he wants a little managing, but, of course, he would be all right with vou. I would not sell him to anyone else,” she added in the next breath. I might mention that she was charmingly dressed, had golden hair and blue eyes, and wore blue satin shoes. We sect out for a small meadow a little distance away, where the donkey was grazing, talking donkey lore as we went. I liked the look of the animal; he was a sort of mouse-brown, with a stripe of choco- late running down his spine and tail and another of the same colour passing over the shoulders. He was what is called ‘* saddle-marked,” and I have heard people say that a saddle- marked donkey is rare, and cheap at any price. The animal seemed of a nice disposition. He came up and began to rub his nose against my jacket. “What's his age?” I inquired. “Eight yea and you know it’s quite true that donkeys live for donkeys’ years. “In the circumstances, therefore, he is young?” "Yes, very.” This decided me. harness were mine. We shook hands, the lady and I, and pro- ceeded to leave the meadow. There were a hundred yards or so to cover, and then some high railings to be climbed. cart, and Donkey, an JC ‘BRISTOW-NOBLE L LLUSTRATED BY L:R-BRIGHTWELL The lady kept up a conversation at steam- engine rate. The donkey followed us, with his nose about an inch from my back. Mv neck was stiff for several days after- wards. To keep one eye on a lady walking at one’s side, another behind one’s back, and a third picking a way over rough, bumpy pasture is difficult business. The railings reached, I vaulted them in order to be in time to assist my companion down the other side. As my legs flew through the air I heard a clash with an ivory ring about it within a quarter of an inch of my body, or there abouts. This decided me not to take my purchase home there and then, but return for it in the evening. It was about eight o'clock when I did return. All was ready and waiting for me. The donkey had been picely groomed and was harnessed to the cart; the cart and harness had been well cleaned. I could not help thinking how smart the little turn-out looked. By the time I found myself seated in the vehicle and the reins in my hands the twilight had come and was thickening. I was glad of this. I wanted to find my donkey-feet thoroughly, so to speak, before showing “myself to the world in my new and interesting rele. Quite a crowd watched me take my de- parture. The donkey set out with dignity, but not with speed ;. the two do not harmonize. Presently I remembered it was lighting-up time. I lit the lamps and proceeded. The donkey cropped the clover growing by the road-side; then he lay down and at- tempted to roll. When I got him up be

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THAT DONKEY! 527 “We lost everything that could be lost—lamps, cushions, splashboards, parcels, rugs, a mat, an overcoat.” broke into a sudden gallop and bolted in at one gate of the drive leading to the Manor, dashed round it, and came out on to the road again by another gate. Then he resumed his grazing. At this stage I put out the lamps, because, considering the progress we were making, it seemed ridiculous to keep them alight. Immediately a police-constable appeared from somewhere or other, and a week later I was fined ten shillings and five shillings costs. The two miles that separated the lady’s home from my own were covered in exactly two and a quarter hours. It was all very disappointing. Still, I told myself, it was unreasonable to look for .big things at the beginning. - My household turned out to inspect the purchase, All of them said the donkey was a nice donkey ; that the cart was a nice cart ; that the harness was nice harness; that, in short, I had got a bargain. Sugar, carrots, and hay were brought, and the animal fed whilst I took his harness off. This was another thing I was glad of. The creature was hungry ; he always is. Eventually I turned him into a small orchard.

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528 THE WIDE WORLD ** How long were you in coming ?” I was asked. I looked at my watch. “ Fifteen and a half minutes.” “So he should get us to the town in about half an hour?” “Yes.” * That will be nice.” * Yes." “You have been some time. they gave you dinner?” “Yes.” “So the supper can be cleared away ?” “" Yue-s.”" I went to bed with mixed feelings, the chief being hunger. Next day it was necessary that I should visit the market town. I said I would run in on my bicycle, and was at once accused of being unpractical, Had I bought the donkey, cart, and harness to look at ? I was asked. This annoyed me. 1 caught the animal and began to harness him. He was as quiet as a lamb until half-and-half in the shafts. Then he turned his head round and watched me fasten one trace, His next act was to drop his ears along his neck, bare his teeth, and arch his back. For the next half-hour I had a terrible time. The donkey jumped into the air, reared, plunged, dropped to the ground, shot up on to his feet again, kicked out first with one leg and then with another and then with two at once, snapped, charged, and backed. Then he went through the whole performance again, and yet again and again, and still again. “Fancy not being able to manage a donkey !”’ said a voice. “‘ And fancy buying such a thing. What a waste of 45!” It was in vain that I explained—between the acts—that donkeys are not quite hke other animals ; that they are more sensitive ; that they are slower to take to a new master, but that once their affection has been placed it is there for ever. 1 was not listened to. At last, somehow, I got my new pet securely harnessed to the cart. 1 was proud and, for the moment, happy. “There you are!’ I said, triumphantly, to the owner of the voice. She didn't reply, but went into the house looking like a woman who has just seen a Spanish bull-fight for the first time. I set out on my journey. It was a glorious day. I sat back in the little cart and basked in the sun. The donkey, when he condescended to move at all, jogged along at his own pace. I was particular to time our average rate of progress. It worked out at exactly a mile an hour, and this rate was faithfully main- tained during the whole of the journey. 1 suppose MAGAZINE. Arrived at the town, I drove into the stableyard of an hotel. An ostler came forward, and in spite of my warnings insisted on taking the donkey out of the cart and stripping him of the whole of his hamess. ‘ Don't talk to me about donkeys,” he said. ‘The poor creature is ‘ot and tired and sweaty. I'll put him in a loose box where he can have a good roll.” I was not long about my shopping. 1 was thinking of the homeward journey and the harnessing of the donkey. “Come along, my little man,” said the ostler on my return to the stableyard. The donkey followed him meekly and willingly, and the harnessing was accom- plished without adventure. I was amazed, puzzled, and, I suppose, a little disappointed. I stepped into the cart, and the creature trotted gaily out into the street without any encouragement and continued to make the same good progress. I was delighted. It was evening now, and cool. I began to think it was unreasonable to have expected him to trot coming into the town; the sun was so hot. : Presently he went one better; he broke into a canter. My smile broadened. Then he went one better again, and broke into a headlong gallop. Alarm took posses- sion of me. I set my teeth and threw the whole of my weight on the reins. The ngbt one snapped jn two! : R All that there was to do now was to sit tight and hold on. I did both: I never held on more strenuously ; I never sat tighter. We missed pedestrians by fractions of inches; we grazed lamp-posts, the kerb— indeed, everything that could be grazed; we went round each corner on one wheel; and when we got into the country, a wheel was first in one ditch and then in the otber, or first on one bank and then on the other, as the case happened to be. We lost everything that could be lost—lamps, cushions, splash- boards, parcels, rugs, a mat, an overcoat. At length I noticed that we-were heading for the donkey's old home. He kept up hs gallop until the cart was precisely opposte the front door; then he stopped dead. 1 fell forward heavily, and the shafts snapped. Eventually I reached my home, leading the donkey and pulling the cart. It was close upon midnight. I put the creature 19 the orchard, and there he is to this day. Don’t talk to me abont animals " eating their heads off.” They don’t doit! 1 have prayed for it, waited and watched for 1t, and I am still watching for it. ‘ Above all, never let me hear anything again about the keauty and rarity of © saddle markings.” 4

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"NaM.isceversegenteeveverevesere THIRTY BOOKS “ $998 Only World’s Greatest Masterpieces Bound in Redcroft Leather A REVOLUTION IN PUBLISHING ! . A SENSATIONAL OFFER! Think of it!) Thirty wonderful Redcroft leather bound books for only $2.98. This means exactly what it says! $2.98 for ALL THIRTY—not for ONE—NOT A FIRST PAY- MENT—but $2.98 for the entire set of 30 volumes and there are no further ‘payments! Each book completeé—NOT EXTRACTS, Each volume printed in clear, readable type, on excellent book paper, and bound in wonderful limp Redcroft Leather. —O FOUR MILLION VOLUMES HAVE BEEN SOLD WITHOUT ADVERTISING, Send No Money Just mail coupon. See the books. If not better than you thought, return them at our expense and you will not be out one penny. These are the wonderful Little Leather Library books which are so convenient in size. You can‘carry one in your, pocket wherever you go. World's greatest authors, including Kiplin De Maupassant, Stevenson, Oscar Wilde, Edgar Allen P. Shakespeare, G. Bernard Shaw. Dickens, Lincoln, Irving, Conan Doyle, Emerson, Thoreau, Burns, Browning and a host of others. @ Sent On 30 Days Trial! Read these wonderful books for a month. Then if not pleased, send them back and lose no money. Think of buying 30 wonderful LITTLE Redcroft Leather books for only $2.98. Send these books to = friends instead of greeting cards. Give them away at Christmas. LEATHER Read and re-read them yourself, World's greatest masterpieces. LIBRARY. Every cultured person must know these author'® works. Like Dept. 712 ‘a college education, “eae ® Mail Coupon Fee eee ete SO Send no money now. Mail goupon and we will b sterplece ee send the entite 30 volumes at once. Simply pay Fre manereieces: Bounds te postman $298. plus ontage."and exarnine the pay the postman §2.98 plus books for 30 days. The publisher of this mag- Detage but if I am not aatished azine guarantees REFUND if you are not st eka i more than pleased. This low price made IT mail books back at your QS by purchase of paper at prewar expense within 30 days and you are : y Drices. At this price of $2.98 they will to refund my money at once, be cleaned aut quickly. No more will be printed, until paper again comes NX down from present high prices. Mail coupon at once. © Little Leather Library, Dept. 712 Address. ..ccccezererecvcccevecvcvecge es X 44 East 23d St.; N New York (Outside U. S. Price $3.98 cash with order) EER

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WIDE WORLD, EBRUARY. THE MAGAZINE FOR EVERYBODY

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€ ACTUAL Reports Of Secret Service Operator 38 LEARN HOW THE MODERN DETECTIVE SOLVES THE MYSTERIES OF TODAY detective—ABSOLUTELY FREE! These reports show you exactly how the modern detective works. Read these IN- SIDE stories of the manner in which ACT- UAL mysteries were brought to light. They show you what the detective did, hour by hour, and how he did it. They teach you REALITIES—the ACTUAL experiences and methods of the modern Secret Service ex- pert. Study them at home and secure a true insight into the nature of this most fascinat- ing and eventful of all professions. These reports are FREE. Get your set at once, BE A SECRET SERVICE AND FINGER PRINT EXPERT To command the highest fees, the Secret Service man must be a Finger Print Expert. Read the reports and find out why. This science is easily learned in spare time by our simplified, condensed course, at home. Our course was prepared by three of the foremost Finger Print experts of the United States, and has the endorsement of the leaders in this profession. With the estab- lishment of County, State and National Bu- reaus, as endorsed by the International As- sociation For Identification, there will be Study at Home in Spare Time without cost or risk, a complete understanding and positions open to you as a trained expert in this ‘They are more interesting than This is your opportunity to secure, of the nature, prospects, fascinating work. Get the FREE reports at once. fiction, for they show MOTIVE and PAS: Special Offer Now in Force for Limited Period Only These valuable and instructive reports are offered FREE for a limited time only, E will send you a series of reports, formal, actual and explanatory, made for a Secret Service Bureau headed by America’s most famous More Fascinating Than Fiction uu human nature from the inside ~human nature NAKED—exactly as it is—and how the trained man works on the ONS of men and women to solve the problems Intrusted to him. and learn without delay what to do to fit” yourself to make a success of this wo The pay is large, for fees sometimes run high as $1,000.00 a day, enabling the ex pert operator to Make $5,000 to $10,000 a Year There is a greater demand today than ever before for trained and experienced men, and the field offers you an immense and splendid opportunity to make a big success. thousands of positions open, at fine Salaries, with absolutely no trained men available to fill them. Get WISE—today—to the oppor- tunities offered you by this UNCROWDED and PROFITABLE PROFESSION. Write for the Reports at once, and secure at the same time, our big book on FINGER PRINT SCIENCE, giving full particulars of our course, including the FREE outfit, with in- teresting description of the nature of this work, and the brilliant possibilities it offers you for a_ successful PROFESSIONAL CAREER. FINGER PRINTS | human nature in the RAW Don: f miss Cae Send! Git Coupon. or a postal, for your set today. = with book UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE, Desk 4422, 17° ‘Gyinzsid*;)Avense ] UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE, Desk 1422, Name Address QUICK ACTION COUPON—MAIL NOW 1920 Sunnyside Avenue, Send at once, without cost or obligation to me, Reports of Operator 38, big book on Finger Prints, and details of FREE course in Secret Service. ——— oe Chicago, Ill.

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Learn from the Greatest Thinker and Orator of the Age! | Do you feel the need of a mental locomotive to pull you out of the rut of ordinary thinking? Do you want to put more logic, wit and force into your speech and writing? Do you want to become from ten to fifty or eae one hundred times more interesting than your are? Do Truth you want to make your brain more capable of reasoning Foundations of gut your problems? Do you want to enjoy the greatest mental treat of your whole life? Tere is your opportunity. Some of His Great , Articles aife Some Mistakes of Moses stition Devil Is Religion? He Swayed Millions! About the Holy Bible My Reviewers Reviewed The Limitations of Tol- For fifty years Col. Robt. G. Ingersoll spoke before eration packed houses wherever he appeared. He drew greater A iChiltian Sermon crowds than any other one man of his time. He was im- 8 Suielde in plored by Governors, Senators and Presidents to speak Is Avarice Triumph: : + 1s eee for their cause. He stood alone as the greatest thinker viytie and Miracle and orator this country has ever seen, and none greater The Christian Rel has appeared since his death. His subjects were as broad Is Divoree Wrong? as humanity itself. He loved the downtrodden, the akespeare poor, the ignorant. His orations were sold by hundreds Tiovent, seers of thousands in pamphlet form. The newspapers all over Abraham Llucol H i Pa Sah the world were full of his words. His orations were Liberty in Literature translated in every foreign language. He had more Col. Robert G. friends among the great men of his time than any other national figure. His logic, his poetry, his humor, his sim- plicity, his earnestness, his sympathy charmed and capti- vated millions. He was the most powerful man of his time because he made more people THINK than any ethe saan The Complete Works of Col. Robert . Ingersoll In 12 Handsome Volumes—New Dresden Edition _ President Garfield called him “Royal Bob."* Mark Twain said of him, “His was a great and beautiful vi reverence for him was deep and genuine. 1 prized his affection for me and returned it with usury.” Hens Ward ‘side Soon wae itis the most brilliant speaker of the English tongue in any land on the globe."" Judge Jeremiah S. 4G. Ingersoll Ole pefore the Supreme Court in Washington which was an absolute whirlwind, and carried aw eg rt hat august bench.” Another man sald, "No man of his ability was ever President of the Unit His life is as striking a chapter “In Amer ‘as the life of Abraham Lincoln, ‘atever your position in Ife you cannot afford to trad the complete works of Colonel pl. «You will be thrilled by his mastery of lish, by his unanswerable logic. by his amazing re Hi nae the gift found only in a decade of ‘generations. No man can but be tuspired, uplifted, mentally improved by reading his work : wholesome, fascinating, snd They All Loved | more interesting than any fiction you have ever yer, physielan, business man. teacher and editor must read and know Ingersoll, and Admired Ht Tey, Henry Ward SEND NO MONEY! Tioecher Moneure D. Conw Charles Sumner comprising | Vice Free, Chasies weave cloth, “ : cai ‘never Pres Ruthecford Bp Some Reasons Why We are anxtous to send you the Complete Works of Col. Robert G. Ingersoll for 5 days’ free Inspection. This is the New Dresden Edition handsome Octavo bound volumes in Cardinal Red Fla: With Gold) Leaf Cover Decoration s, and Lettering, whi Free Examinat.on COUPON ‘The INGERSOLL PUBLISHERS tarnish, Crimson and Gold Sik b and footbands, mo than 6800 ‘ Dept. 151, NY. F printed from New Scotch Roman Type. especally cast for this Bree. Berlaniogey 130 East 25th St., New York, N.Y. litton on High Grade. perfectly opaque Library Book Paper. Te Gas Pia This new edition of Ingersoll includes all the important writings Gen. Ae ee of his life. A typieal few are mentioned here This entire twelve volumes will be sent to you without pay- ment of any money in advance, so that you may examine them, if you wish to do so, Examine them, read one or Two of the articles, judge for yourself of the Inspiring jalue to you of the works of this great American. ‘Then, Wf not more than pleased with the set, return fr at our expen If you are sure you want to Jeep it, as you doubtless will be, you can pay on easy monthly terms as shown 01 Senator Roscoe! f A asy monthly terms as shown On the pent ee Deas Walt Whitman . Thomas Alva Edison THE INGERSOLL Ernest. Haeckel Mark Twain Thomas HH. Huxley Henry Wadsworth Lonsfellow Edwin Booth : Send me, all ¢ 12-volume New Dres dition of Ingersoll’s Works. 1 sifee to return them within five days Miter delivery, oF if 1 elect to keep them, A will pay. $1 after 5 days and $4 a Jonth for 12 months. Deduct 106% if cash full is sent with coupon. Gen. Address .+.--sserr8r? PUBLISHERS John Hay Andrew, Cones s B. Anthony ity State Dept. 151, Mrs. Minnie Ml 130 East 25th St., Wiske Julia Marlow 4 avciyhanseysuemat afesagesst New York, N Gon damien tk Reference Occupation

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—— J THE, ‘aS WIDE Wi e.. | A WORLD. APRIL. THE MAGAZINE FOR EVERYBODY. 2~ 20 Cent: ~<

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Violin Outfit Wurlitzer Wurlitzer Cornet Outfit Free Trial END now for the New Wurlitzer catalog and free trial blank. You may have any musical instrument with a , oS outfit for a week's free trial at "Ga of the instrument at our expense at the end of week if you decide not to keep it. Y ill get lete musical the inatrument, velvet ‘tnd plas Uned eareviog it! al sel -instructor, tion aids, book of ells all at ttachments and extra parts. Everything at Aa mepdous Saving. Wurlitzer au oe eae s Convenient Monthly Payments A ts will pay for: ee con Led ‘your Artistic Quality ff knowa'e ails over ee iatacrhaoe ne Ts sat bands for years. This outfit offer includes ‘coins Warlitzer ita Every known musical instrument in« cluded in thia igor af frente yout edo not charge you a penny Sor it Send for New os Y and Free Trial Bl Every instrument known illustrated and described, witt price and small ‘ment terms. More more information about The SKelaareel Co., Dept. oe 117 E. Fourth Street, Cincinnati, Ohio 329 S. Wabash Ava Chicago, IL. { The Rudolph Wurlitzer Co., Dept, H 117E. 4thSt., Cincinnati; ned i Parameszou rey ge pal sire Gomis Os eGuides asd See a } taille of the fre. trial Digitzed by Google

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 1 lorth$10,.000.aYear and Didnt Know It OR ten years he worked in the Railway Mail Service, at pay ranging from $900 to $1,600 a year—just bare exist- ence wages, with no opportunity to make more or save. And now he is earning $10,000 a year! Yes, Warren Hartle makes as much some months -now as he formerly did in a year’s hard work on the railroad. Hartle's sudden rise to real success may sound amasing, almost unbelievable, yet there is not the slightest doubt that you can doexactly what he did. What was the secret of his sudden rise from small pay to magnificent earnings? It seas the same secret that has brought prosperity to of ot "Se There is J. P Overstreet of Denison, Texas, forexample. A short time ago he was a police oftiver earning less than $1,000 year: Nowthe writes: My earnings for March were over $1,000, and over $1,800 for the last six weeks, while last week my earnings were $356.00." C. W. Campbell, Greensburg, Pa., was formerly a railroad employre on a small salary. In one month his earnings were $1,562. Then there is Charles L. Berry of Winterset, Iowa, who quit his job as a farmband and earned $2,140 in one month! ‘WHY DON’T YOU GET INTO THE BIG MONEY FIELD? Mr. Hartle, Mr. Overstreet, Mr. Campbell and Mr. Berry are all successful Salesmen, ‘They realized their ambition by landing $10,000 jobs in an amazingly, simple way, with the help and guidance of the National Salesmen’s Training Aseo- ciation. me time—somewhere back in the past, each one of them read of this remarkable course of Salesmanship Training and Employment Service, just as you are reading of it today. Each one of them was ‘dixsatisfied with hie earning capa- city as perhaps you are—and each one cast hig lot with the . A. Today they are important factors in the business world—enjoying all the comforts and luxuries money can buy. And yet ey.are not exceptions, for there are thousunds of N.8.T A Trained Salesmen who are making big money, as we will be only too glad to show you if you will mail the coupon at the right. WE TRAIN YOU AND HELP YOU LAND A JOB _ The National Salesmen's Training Association is an organisa- tier cf top-notch Salesmen and culcs managers formed for the For Years Warren Hartle Worked for $18 a Week, Never Thinking He Could Make Much More. Today He is Earning $10,000 a Year! Read the Amazing Story of His Easy and Sudden Rise to Success express purpore of training men in the science of suc- cessful selling. You do not need to know the firat thing about selling—for the N. 8. T. A. trains you from the ground up—gives youa com- plete insight into eelling methods — in your spare time “without making it binecesmary 40 give up, your Present Position until you are ready to begin actual selfing. In addition to this remarkably eficient course of training, the N. 8. T. A. maintains a Free Employment Service to h its Members to positions in the lines for which they are best suited just ag soon as they are qualified and ready. Get out of that rut. ork for yourself! ‘Salesmanship is the bi, id of all professions. Never before have the opportunities been greater. In ite the great field of Selling and see what it oficrs you. The facts and proof you receive will surprise you. SEND FOR FREE BOOK ON SALESMANSHIP NOW Just mail the coupon or write for our free illustrated Book, “A Knight of the Grip,” which we will be glad to send without any obligation on your t us prove to you that less of what you are doing now, you can quickly become a ‘Master Saleaman. Let us show you how you, too, can step into the ranks of these big money makers of business. See how easily you can learn ‘this fascinating, big Rey profession at home in your spare time. Learn what we have done for others and what we stand ready to do for you. Don't put it off a minute—mail the coupon at once. National Salesmen’s Training Association Dept. 86-0, Chicago, Tl. National Sal "s Training Asan., Dept. 66-0. Chicago, II. Please send me without any obligation on my part, your free Book, ‘‘A Knight of the Grip,” and full information about the N. 8. T, A. system of Salesmanship Training and Free Employment Service. Also a list showing lines of business with openings for salesmen. Name. Street. City... tate 2... Kindly mention this magazine when writing ‘to sdvertisers.

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VOL. XLVI—NO. 276 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. XLVI. CONTENTS FOR APRIL, 1921. No. 276. “THE ‘DOCTOR’ GLANCED KEENLY AT JOHN, AND THEN THREW HIS ‘BONES’ ONCE MORE” ... Sea es is a 08 fe .-. Frontispiece, WAS IT COINCIDENCE > n= ease Richard Langdon. "3 Illustrations by Howar THE MAN WHO BSTATED eee wee Bat” 448 jon _by John de Walton. THE venice” OF THE EELS ose nea Herbert Vivian, 453 THE BROPHY" WIL CASE eee AS Hal 461 Hestrations b S. Abbey. THE wey = COY! E ne re we - = - .--Roland Lester Tullis. 467 nigh x G. aes MCNEILL'S "LAPSE oe ee - oe ony ae ees C. Rose. 472 CLIMBING" tHE . we ite ELEPHANT” . se one -_ -- C. J. Harrell. 476 THE ADVENTORES GEA ROLLING STONE.—IL 0. 0. G. O'Hare, 481 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. LION - HUNTING IR SOMALILAND - vee ae Major A. HE. Morse. 489 stratic ak dal. THE CRUISE OF THE CREAM SENET ane, Ralph Stock, 499 lustrations from Photographs. SHORT STORIES: _ TRAPPED IN A FLOOD + se - ane see - Flora {liff. 505 Mlustrations wR WE tel ‘and from = Photceranks DOWN qh RIV on - an - - .-F. Vero. 508 stration Mas N. S. Pitcher. . WHat! IHTAPENED TO ROBERT TIPP... tet - ais eae Joseph Heighton. 511 avis Avra and shore Phptcarsoke MY visiT TO MExKe ICO. eves Franks M, MeMaines 514 OUR ADVENTURES “AMONG THE BERBERS.—IV.... Captain M. W. Hilton-Simpson. 519 Illustrations from Photographs. ANTHROPOP- APOLOGY... ... s,s Written and Illustrated by J. R. Monsell. 524 ODDS AND ENDS... see vse ns Fromm all parts of the World. 525 IMlestrations from Photographs. | THAT DONKEY! ne Bile wis Gan) GEEAgE CE Brtwtaws: Nobles (526. IMlustration by L. R. Brichtwell._ The Editor invites Travellers, Explorers, Tourists, Missionaries. and others to send in any curious or remarkable photographs tay have, For these, and for True Storie of Aaventure, liverai payment will be made according to the vaiue of the TRUE IN’ EVERY DET . IL. and a WRITTEN STATEMENT TO THIS EFFECT must pe furnisned, The autnor must aiso. if possible. furnish portraits of the leading character or characters (even if it be himself), togetner with any otner available photograpns and portraits of piaces, pemsony. and things which in any way heigiten tie reaiism and actuaiity of tne narrative. All MSS. snouid te typewritten, Every care will be taken of contributions, but the Editor cannot be held responsibie for accidental loss or aamage. All communications snould be piainiy addressed to the Editor, Wine Wortb Macazine. 8. Soutnampton Street. Lonaon, W.C., England. The American Edition of Tus Wipe Wort MaGazine is puviished monty for George Newnes. Ltd., of London, by The International News Company, 33—8:, Duane Street. New York City. Price 20 ce eariy subscription. $2.00 post free. \Suiscriptions may be commenc Entered as second-ciass matter Marc 1800, at tae Post Office at New York, N.Y.. under the Act of March 3. 1370. Entered ay second-class matter at the Post Office Department. Ottawa. Canada. Sole Agents for Australasia: Gurdon & Gotch (A/asia), Ltd. Sole Agents for South Africa: Central News Agency, Ltd. Every narrative must be STRICT N THIS DAY AN attention to your api Is an absolute necessity if you expect to make the most Not only should ple for your own jon. which is alone efforts, but rou Win find the world In general eatly, Wf not ‘looks, there- i avsto “look voir best” / We, i at all tines. Permit no on to see you looking other- wise: it will Infure your wel- fare! Upon the Impression vou antly make rests the fall- nr success of your life hts. to he your ultimate destiny My new Nose-Shaper “Trados" (Model 24) corrects now MM) shaped noses without Joes not Interfere with one averation, ulekv, Mafely” and Write today for fret booklet, which tells you how to correct ili-shaped noses withOut cost if not saticfac ORtunation belugwornatntent M. TRILETY, Face Soecialist, 1282 Ackerman Building Binghamton, N.Y. oveupation, being worn at night = YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL FACE ames.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 3. Was He Master of the Passions of Hatred and Love? The world gasped in amazement! Society was shocked at his merciless exposures. The guilty, branded with their infamy, hung their heads in dishonor! they invoked fied the world! the powers of earth to silence him. They cried out to stop him— feed Alone he de- Was he master of the passions of men that he could craze with hatred and hypnotize with love? What was his strange magic that held hundreds of thousands spellbound? Why did one man give his own life to take the life of Brann the Iconoclast? BRANN The Iconoclast! ee A Few Chapters to Perdition A Voice from the Grave The Mouth of Hell The American A Disgrace to From the Gods to the Gutter T itden of Poverty T ‘Woman Thou Gavest Me Evolution or Revolution The Cat Drives to the Devil The Seven Vials of Wrath Adam and Eve The Professional Reformer Her Beautiful Eyes The Locei ove A_ Prize Idiot of the Earth “The Typical American Town” olery of the New Garter nl Brann. Mhe Iconoclast Of Whom Elbert Hubbard Said “He saw through the hol- low mockeries of society ion, He was an Image toncue and pen Ind elation of all and E tore off the sham draperies of Virtue— snatched away the purple cloak of Hypoc- *~. risy—threw aside the mock mantle of Mod- and wraise laid bare the blinding nakedness of Truth! on oe Png od With the fury of an avenging angel he hurled looker himself upon every fake and fraud in Christendom. With a bold:ess that outraged convention, struck terror to the hearts of the timid, blasted the lives of the guilty, he revealed the shame of the great and mighty, the rich, the titled, the powerful. H M d Wi Id No money, no influence, no human th avency was strong enough to encompass e€ ade e€ or. his downfall. For Brann wielded the BLUSH FOR SHAME power of words! He wove a pattern of words and it breathed with life, shone with beauty, scintillated with satire. At his touch type kindled into fire, glowed with the red heat of wrath, blinded with the white flare of passion. With the genius of his pen he ruled the cmotions of men, played upon the heartstrings of humanity. Under his inspiration his pen became sn instrument of destruction that wrought the crashing havoe of a cyclone—again it became as a scourge that flayed to the raw—or again it was a gleaming rapier that pierced swiftly, cleanly, fatally. esty- 12 VOLUMES SHIPPED FREE And now you may have this beautiful twelve-volume set for five days’ free exam- ination. If, at the end of that time, you decide that you do not want to keep the set, you are at liberty to return it and the trial will not have cost you a cent If you keep the set, as you doubtless will, pay for it on the amazingly easy terms as shown on the couren. Each of the twelve volumes contains 320 pages, making a total of over 3800 pages. Address, The Brann Publishers, Inc., Dept. 754, 180 East 25th Street, New York City, and the set will be shipped prepaid at once, securely packed in a wooden box. Dept. 754. 130 E. 26thSt.,W. Y.C. Gentlemen:—Send me the 12 volumes of Brann (complete) prepaid. I will elther return the books 8 days and $2 a month for 13 months. 10 per cent discount if cash In full fs sent with eoupen, Occupation | in 5 days after I receive them or will send $1 after Reference

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ood THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 18 Vorumes Tales of the Early Days The wild, free life of the border, the glorious care-free days of gold diggers, the fortunes made and lost, the honor and dishonor, the humor and pathos, the strong men and weak women of the pioneer mining camps have their fascination crystalized in 141 famous stories by the famous author Bret Harte. Authorized, Copyrighted Edition Containing all of Bret Harte’s famous stories —Stories of the days of the men of ’49—The 141 classic stories the whole world has laughed and wept and thrilled- over. Here is entertainment for 1,000 nights—Books of 1,000 thrills—Books crowded with excitement—Stirring narratives of love, travel, adventure, discovery, romance, humor, pathos, tragedy—Books which set fire to the imagination and arouse the very best in all of us. Here is a vast treasure house containing not only evening after evening of entertainment and delight, but good history as well. World Famous Books 18 world-famous volumes; books America and the whole world have loved and laughed over; books which have sold by the thousands at double our special offer ; books which have met with an instant and enthusiastic reception from people everywhere; books that have been trans- lated into nearly all civilized languages. Send No Money Simply fill out and mail the InspectionCoupon, which brings the 18 volumes for your examination. Look the books over for ten days, read some of the fascinating stories, and you are satisfied ‘send us $1.00 only as first payment and $2,00 per month there- after until our special price of $29.00 is paid. If you are not entirely satisfied after examination you can notify us within ten days and we will give you shipping instructions for their returi How could any offer be more fai ad 26 4 AAHTES) HATE ET | BRET) BRET THE RIVERSIDE PUBLISHING CO. 545-649 Marquette Bldg . ch BRET | BRET] GRET) BRET | BRET ARTES HARTES HARTE bases : is F ahh Sperial Price of a ig paid. If not satisfactory 1 notify you SEs within ten days an as soon as a2 ou give me pping instructions as | fered Wide World readers, Name .,ssecssceeeeenes sree egeeensens pM ( p\ nh oe LEARN MUSIC svat AT HOME! Violin, Cort Guitar {Banio.| Music no longer difficult! Marm o-cetlo;| New plan makes it easy to learn by home studr. Posit:vely easier than with private teacher. Faster progress. You will be able to play your favorite in- strument in a few short months! More than, 250,- 000 men, women and chil- yg whitt- Greil haveclearned by. oUF Gade New method. You, too, can York, writes: Irarn in your spare time, “I compliment e you on your We cuarantee it. eaisdertul-s892 tem. Did not AMAZING OFFER x 2° from another, We want to have one pupil put n.8 Sgt in each locality at once to tered the piano help advertise our home and am now study method. For a short composing time, therefore, we offer ™musi. our marvelous lessons at practically no cost, charg- ing a sum amounting merely to about the cost Louise Bowles, Epworth, Va. writes: “‘Re- celyed my tea- cher’s — certifi- amacrine: tee book giving 4 cate. I highly &ll the facts an parti- recommend your ‘culars. Send a postal te- y . woot a nd “instruments supplied “itacos 5 plied “ifacon, | Ga. woulda’t take when needed, cash or writes: “Have anything for credit. completed your course on tio- is help it has Ue 8: School Of Music tin. Now hare given me. runswick Bidg., N.Y.City 15° studonte."” METAL PLATING, SILVERING MIRRORS, ALLIED CRAFTS, casily learned. No capital. Enormous profits. Prospectus free. Decie Laboratories, 286g Fifth Avenue, New York BUY A MOTORCYCLE ON EASY PAYMENTS Our New Sales Plan and Big Price Reductions now in effect. All makes. Shipped on approval. Send stamp for Free Cata- log W. FLOYD CLYMER Largest Motorcycle Dealer in Western America. Denver, Cole. The Boys’ Magazine Free! Send us the names and addresses of 1@ boys (from 10 to 16 years old) and we'll send you a copy of this splendid magazine FREE. Great stories—beautiful illustrations—handsome cov- ers in colors. Departments devoted to Wire- less, Electricity, Mechanics, Athletics and Physical Training, Moving Picture Plays and Players, Cartoons and Jokes. (Write plainly.) Address THE SCOTT F. REDFIELD CO., 6019 Main St., Smethport, Pa. (THE BOYS’ MAGAZINE on sale at all newsstands, l5c. a copy) Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 5 * |Learn Shorthand i Lesson in 5 Minutes Absolutely astounding—the quickness, _ certainty ‘ and ease with which you can learn K. I. Shorthand. \" Exactly what the busy or ambitious person needs. | Trifling cost. F Try the Specimen Lesson Here: Here's \ p and, this is 0 & Write [ the two togettier, und you heve Xo pe Here's ¢ th To meke path you sime x = pans ply wite\p and with these two eesy movements of your pencil, you have > . a ‘d that needs 16 42 ! S$} mavencniat wien weltieh in lon g hand oe u rs e i n e wslewrneneel | Segret Service 9 std tap ene Sp at. Write quick for particulars of this amazing offer—a camplete Course in Secret Service Intelligence— i Already you heve leorned four Kel. FREE! ‘This remarkable course is based on the de- : Shorthand signs you won't forget. ductions of one of the world’s most famous crimin- With the other sirpns and e di- ologists and is so clearly written that it makes the ° ereo paey science of crime detection a simple study in common rections you can leern to indicete sense. It explains in detail the accepted methods of every vord in the dictionary in shadowing, roping and tracing—and also gives the querter to twentieth of tho time Fe- erimes. quired in ordinnry writing, es rn p- Earn Big Money nied mea afiy; nechonde ance yeRcken We are making this extraordinary offer® to induce more men to take up Finger-Print work to supply LEARN QUICKLY swale you Tin this Tascibeting Siok Risa perp ice tion. Governments, corporations, police departments, If you learn the above in five institutions, and individuals are constantly in need » minutes you should learn the of trained Finger-Print Experts. The field is as wide as whole K. I. Shorthand within the world; the pay is big, the work intensely interest- five hours, after which you de- ing velop speed with ordinary prac- [ 7 4 te’ taped ay ee ea Finger-Print Detective tems eliminated; no shading, disjoined i Palade Cae areatale Be Learn in Spare Time can read your notes readily Learn this great game at home in your spare time. months or years after. Hence Bios santas what youre present egcupetion you! can : K. I. Shorthand is valuable for 7ypjn i Prine. Dovectve ec eg wrery branch eget - ie notes in Print Detective’s work and take one of the fine jobs now private notes, messages, etc. K. L. Shorthaud open It is HT new, secrowced feld in which large fees are often collected for a few hours’ work. Many warn a Free Brochure up to $8,000 a year. Get into this great game, now! In order to prove to you the There never was a better time! : simplicity of K. 1. Shorthand, Finger-Print Outfit Free we would like to send you FREE the new brochure, gua- Mail the coupon now for big free illustrated Book on rantee, and further information Finger Prints, and details of our amazing offer of a about ‘this system. inger-Print Outfit Free. With its use you will get K. I. SHORTHAND is f practical training in the i~rnsely interesting work of hess! Loe Finger Prints and will soo. be fitted for a big-pay job nished under guarantee. Fil as a Finger-Print Detective. If you write at once we out or copy the coupon below will also include particulars of our special extra offer shen wadeat at you ke and mail to us promptly. You af the Free Course in Secret Service Intellizence. x.'"1, “SHORTHAND.” Will be surprised and delighted. UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE, KING INSTITUTE Desk 1424, 1920 Sunnyside Ave., Chicago, I. Mail This Coupon Now EB-72 Station F, New York, N. Y. . aiS,01s inlejsiasete ecaissete eislats ntierd giole: ote oe'eTe Cae or 8 So. Wabash Ave., EB-72, Chicago. University of Applied Science. —— ————— em FE Desk 1424, 1920 Sunnyside A ve., Chicago, Il. Please send Free Brochure EB-72 of K. I. Shorthand, Gentlemen: _ Without any obligation whatever, send me your new Free book on Finger Prints, and your offer Nate. 5 cos uedees ce tese Tae Deide ghdoiemass | of a Free course in Secret Service Intelligence and | Finger-Print Outfit. Address... |

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE ADAGRAMS 9 CENTS A WORD. BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES. MATRIMONIAL. $10 MONTHLY INVESTED IN FLORIDA OYSTER CULTURE pays estimated tncome $100 per month until end of world. Froe informatiun—12,000 words—Including U. 8. Gevernment quots- tions, Government $10,000 survey, sworn statements. Florida Board of Trade, Apalachicols, Florida. THE FRANCO-AMERICAN 18 THE COMING BIG ARIZONA copper mine, with now 10,000 tons of ore blocked that will rum $30 a ton, and will be a dividend payer this year. Wil sell 1,000 to 10,000 shares at 10 cents a share. Address Alfred Day, Motel Amsterdam, 28th St. and Lexingtom Ave., New York City. AUTOMOBILE OWNERS, REPAIRMEN AND @ARAGEMEN— Send address to for free sample copy of American Automo- bile Digest, coutalning belpful instructive toformation on ovel hauling, igniticn troubles, earburetor eMclency, engine knecks, wiring, storage batteries almplified, etc. Clearly explained. profusely illustrated. Amerieam Automobile Digest, §34 Butler Bidg., Clnctonatt. OKLAHOMA FARMS—WRITE FOR FREE AGRICULTURAL booklet. Board of Commerce, Shawnee, Ukishoma MARRY if lonely; for results try me; best and most successtal “Home Maker; bundreds rich wish martiage soon; strictly cond- dential; most reliable; years of experience; descriptions frea, “The Successful Club,” Mra. Ball, Box 596, Oakland, Calif, MARRY—Free photos beautiful ladies, descriptions asd direstory. Pay when married. New Plan Dept, 64, Kansas City, Me, MARRY—Marriage directory with photos and descriptions tres. Pay wheo married, The k Dept. 84, Kansas City, Mo. 1F YOU WANT A HEALTHY, WEALTHY, LOVING WIFE, write Violet Ray, Cb., Dennison, Obio, enclosing stamped envelope. MARRY! Free directory with descriptions and phetes. Gonafide Co., Dept, 6, Kansas City, Mo, OO MARRY AT ONCE—We put you in correspondence with thee- sands of charming and refined ladies who wish to marry, maay worth from $1,000 to $25,000 and upwarda Particulars fres, Address Allen Ward, B-513, Valley, Nebr. PATENTS—TRADE-MABKS. INVENTORS should write for our guide book, “How To Get Your Patent,” tells our terms and methods, Send model or sketch for our opinion of its patentable nature, Randolph & Co., Dept. 54, Washlugton, D. C. PATENTS—Write for FREE @ulde Book and Evidence of Coa- ception Blank. Send model or sketch and description for free opinion of its ntable nature, Highest references, Prompt attention, Ieasonable terms. Victor J. Evans & Co., 807 Ninth Bt, Washington, D, C, PATENTS—SEND FOR FREE BOOK. CONTAINS VALU- able information for investors. Send sketch of your tnvention for Free Opinion of its patentable nature. Prompt service. (Twenty years experience.) ‘Talbert & Talbert, 4210 Talbert Bidg., Weshingten, D. C. PATENTS SECURED. PROMPT SERVICE. AVOID DANGER- ous delays. Send for our “Record of Invention” form and Bree Book telling How to Obtain s Patent. Send sketch or model for examination. Preliminary advice without charge. Highest refer- ences. Write TODAY. J. L. Jackson & Co, 118 Ouray Biladg.. Washington, D. C. AGENTS WANTED. WANTED AGENTS, $60 TO $200 A WEEK. FREE SAM- ples. Gold Sign Letters for Store and Office windows, Anyone can do It. Big demand. Liberal offer to general agente. Metallic Letter 4312: N. Clark St, Chicago. BALES AGENTS wanted in every County to give all or Spare time. Position worth $750 to $1500 yearly. We train Anexperlenced. Novelty Cutlery Co,, 70 Bar 8t., Canton, 0, AGENTS—OUR SOAP AND TOILET ARTICLE PLAN le a wonder; get our free sample case offer. Ho-lto-Co., 109 Locust, St. Louls AGENTS—WONDERFUL PROFITS, SUCCESS EASY. BEST soap, flavor. tollet proposition today. Get sample offer. 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Want @ good Catholic husband? If so, write to The Catholle Tome Circle, Warren, Ohlo. SOCIETY FRIENDSHIP CIRCLE, DESCRIPTIONS 25 CENTS. No stamps. State age. Box 24, Isherwood, Ontarte. MARRY RICH—BEAUTIFUL 12 PAGE ILLUSTRATED MAQ- arine free, Feminine Review, 698 Baltimore Bldg.. Chicago, DL WOULD YOU MARRY A PRETTY BACHELOR GIRL WORTH $30,000 cash? Write Mrs. A. L. Hill, Beuth Jacksonville, Mia MARRY RICH—PAPER WITH PHOTOS, DESCRIPTIONS, BEN Every state. Bree for 4 1c stamps. Address, Bor pals, Tenn. A JOLLY MAN OF 85, REFINED ANO INTELLIGENT, LONG- ing for a good companten, would correspond with sincere ledy. 4 Schering, Ypsilanti Mich, R-5. WANTED—LADIES’ FREE MEMBERSHIP IN MATRIMONIAL Club, Contidential. The Preat Shop, Bex 332, Redonds Beech. Caltt, 303 NAMES, ADDRESSES, DESCRIPTIONS, ALSO PICTURES, lonesome marriageable people, 35c. Box 3317-W, Boston. Massachuretts. DOGS, RABBITS, &e. 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Y THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 7 CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMEN T S—(Continued) HELP WANTED. AUTHORS, SONG WRITERS. BE A DETECTIVE. Excellent opportunity, good pay, travel, SHORT STORIES, POEMS, PLAYS, Etc., are wanted for public Witte toc, T. Ludwic. l4v We: Over Bidg., Kansas city, Mo. cation, Literary Bureau, 116, Manubai, Mo. HUNDREDS PERMANENT U. OVERNMENT POSITIONS fren {0 bien —woinen—irls, over 17, Commence $135 mont, WRITE THE WORDS FOR A SONG_WE REVISE POEMS, Haise to $100 month. Vacation with full ae sunitady. No lwofts. | compose music for them and guarantee to secure publication Juside or outstde work. Common education sutticient. Pull un. Ca ekaty basis by New Yurk anusie publisher. ur Chief aeesarye, | Eaperience unnecessary. List of bosttions open sent | Composer Ine His, Writer of national reputation and has written free, Write immediately, Franklin Anstitute, Devt. 3-112, | mans big song bits. Submit poems on any subject, Broadway Kochester, N.Y, Studios, 167C Fitzwerald lug, New York. MEN WANTED FoR DETECTIVE WORK. Experience unnec- YOU WRITE THE WORDS FoR A SONG. Wet compose the St pou te J Ganer, Former Us, Gov't Detective, 127 free and publish same, Send Sous Poem today. W, Lenox St. Louls. 1 West l2sth st, New York, DETECTIVES and INVESTIGATORS are in demand. Travel and EARN $25 weekly, spare time, writing for Newspapers, maga- Fin big money. Learn uils fascluating brofession by home study, alnes, | Experience unnecessary : de ally Free, Piess Syndicate, Particulars free, “American School of Criminology, Dept, Wl | 4455 st. Louis, Mo. Detroit, Mich, EARN $50 WEEKLY, SPARE TIME, WRITING PHOTOPLAY: EARN $25 weekly, spare time, writing for gowapapers, magae | rxpeitence unnecessary > particulars thee, Playwriters Co., Luce Mee sgetpetleuce’ unnecessary; “details Free’ Press’ Syndi- | St. Louis, Mo. cate, 4455 St. Louis, Mo, = SONGWRITERS! LEARN OF THE PUBLIC'S DEMAND FOR WRITE PHOTOPLAYS—$50_ cach, Experience unnecessary, | cones suitable ter dancing and the opportunities greatly changed Details free to beginners, Producers’ League, 316 st. Louis. conditions offer new writers, obtainable only in our “Songwrit- gee Maunal & Guide™” sent tree. “Sri. your ideas for songs EARN $250 A MONTH, EXPENSES PAID, AS RAILWAY | a! once for free Criticism. and advice. We. revise Doems, com- Trafic Inspector. Outdoors—leval or fravellug. Start at $110 | pose musics secure coe ent ane tactiitate tree publication ag monthly, position guaranteed alter 4 months spare time stud vutright sale ot songs. Kuickerbockr Studios, 303 Galety Blax., Wilte for Free Booklet) G-2, Stand. Business Training Ins New York. aA = Cotonco | WRITE A SONG POEM—1 compose music and guarantee publica. pIREMEN, BRAKEMEN, BAGGAGEMEN, $10-$200: COLORED | tion. Send wem today Hanson, 3810 Broadway, Itoom 108, Porters by Hailrouds ery Where, Expettence unnecessary, Chicago, 39 ty. Bureau, East St. Louis, is. es eee ~ = ———— N-WOMEN), | YOU WRITE worps For A SONG—We write the music, GOVERNMENT CLERKS NEEDED BADLY (MEN-WOMEN), waplish. and secure a coussisht, suimey woes On any subject. $2.610-32.500. Permanent. Few. to travel. Write. Mi Oziment. The Metropolitan wut Michigan Ave, Dept. 205, Former Government Examiner, Lis st Lous, Mo. Chicago, Minois. DETECTIVES EARN BiG MONEY. EXCELLENT OPPOR. Healy petavel Great demand, Experienee Mumtecessary. Pare Uculars tree. Write American Detective System, Lysy Boadway, NOY. WANTED—MEN AND WOMEN imenex wilting storles and pho book that tells how. Authors" for wonderrul free Auburn, N.Y, AMBITIOUS WRITERS oF PHOTOPLAYS, Short Stories, Poems. Ss send today for Free, able, instructive bok, Rex to Sueeesstal Woiting,” nel ding 65 helpful suggestions on wilting and selling. Atlas Publishing “Co.. 524 Butler Bldg. Cincinnati, 0 BOOKS, &e. j \ ; \ BOOKS: RED HOT JOKER i5c, HUNDRED WAYS KISSING \ Pils 35e, Blunders or Bashiul Mun Two Whomen Wuo r Posed 50e, “All four $1.25." Taslon Bos lara” . Louts « e rest pee WRITE A SONG POEM—tove, Mother, Home, Comic or any ‘ADAM AND EVE, ILLUSTRATED. 50C. ~SouR GRAPES, subject. T compose music and Ruarantee pub‘leation, — Send Anusual booklet, 25e. J.P, Dum, 2r13 Mozart, Chicago, Words today. ward Trent, 42 Reaper Block, Chicag BOOKS {teresting for Man and Woman, List free. W. sea, SUNDRIES, 418 Tribune Annex, Minueapolls, Sin, ‘TRUTH” op handeend SS ————_-—___ | WANTEDw oD Ars. | pLRUTH" on handsome double mat 6x10, Beautiful art work. WANTED—oLD CATALOGUES OF FIREARMS AND SPORTS. French model, life bose; full length, 250. prepaid, =Waure- an man’s supplies, hack files of Sporting Goods Dealer, Arms and press, Wauregan, Conn, the Man. Wide World, etc. Capt. Hugh Smiley, No. 6 Mohonk |AIDEN'S PRAYER? INVERSE ————_—_—___ _ Lake, Ulster Co., N. ws MAIDEN'S PRAYER; INTERESTING Views, POSTCARDS, in isc. stamps: exchanse catalome Included. Stewart Company, ONE POUND READING MATTER Me.; REITTER, BOX | Providene. Tale Island, \ 1054, Detrolt, Mich. . | LUCKY ELE “ROMANTIC SYMBOL oF Mystle Orfent ‘oral-Amber-Jude. Price ite. i PERSONAL, Taylor, Box ROBACCO or Sau Habit cured or we pay. $1.00 it cured. = i Remedy sent on trial. Superba Co., ST. Baltimore, Md. PICTURES OF PRET‘Y . Taylor Co., Box 14 CHRIFT STAMPS WANTED. 9.21 each. DELBRIDGE IN. | 5 | Festment Co. 5178 Enright, St. Touts, a care: | DONT BE BALD HEADED—vou can stor THAT DANDRIYE i YOUR FUTURE FORETOLO—SENo Dime BIRTHDATE, | and FALLING HAI and restore It to re original color without onvineing : a 4 Drugs, Dyes or Tonics, raches you how to obiain | ca piss “angeles, Camel trial reading Havel Hause, romarcaal xrowth of Heautiful Halr, ‘Tule eoune. xturanteed and i ees a ” complete $1.00 Ne hour balr—send today. Zone Therapy Ca,” , BEAUTIFUL BATHING GIRLS IN DARING POSES. 3 REAL | Dent %, Los Anselon Callt d Tae eee EB 12 and 9 semptes tor on Pose In stampa, cal N, 199 es a CLASSY GIRL PHOTOS. POST CARD SIZE, REAL ART ‘1 Weeal Novelty Co.. Dept. 6, 10082 North Clark St, Chicazo, Tanai ae the real act student. 10° for $1.00." af for $2.08 REDUCE YOUR DouBLE CHIN, ABDOMEN, CHEST. Be. | Seut_ sealed. Reg, Nert2. Greeniite, Pa. = game slender. attractive. Book malled free. Korein Co., NF-72, PIMPLES Acne eruptions, face or body: 1 know ause, my Station X. New Yor Internal treatment removes it: Tay special external preparation T° Trpiun 5; = = eradivates all blemishes and pestores natural skin, Booklet for ' ST-STU-T-T-TERING circ "booklet ‘eet Ay home Tas | Samp. Dr. Rodgers, 131 Rast Sythe, Cael Dennell, 99 Potomac Rank Bullding, D. ¢. ~ — os = aT —— SEND FOR THE GREATEST FLYING NOVELTY CREATED. PRUG ADDICTION, EPILEPSY, ALL NERVOUSNESS BAN: Attains a heleht between and 100 feet. 25 cents, P. ‘hed. Home treatment. Harris Dispensary, Berrien Springs, Ine, 1582 Pitkin Aves Mraoklent yey! buck GET MY GOAT PUZZLE 256- WITTIG) SALES HOUSE, ASTROLOGY_STARS TELL LIFE'S STORY. SEND BIRTH. | Dobby Ferry, Nea date and dime for trial reading. Eddy, 4307 Jefferson, Kansas Chy, Missouri, Apartment 66, DIMINISHING

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 1921 ATLAS New Europe FREE To the readers of The Wide World who take advantage of this offer now made in connection with Webster’s New International The Only Grand Prize Words of Recent Interest (Highest Award) given to dictionaries at the Panams- Anzac, ace, berrage, Bertha, blighty, Boche, Bolsheviki, Pacific International Exposition was granted to Web- ster's New International and the Merriam Series for superiority of educational merit. camouflage, Lewis gun, Liberty bond, Sammy, soviet, tank, war bride. These are but a few of the thou- sands of late words,—all clearly defined in this great work. “The Supreme Authority” The MERRIAM WEBSTER A Complete Reference Library in Dictionary Form—with nearly 3,000 pages, and type matter equivalent to a 15-Volume Eneyclopedia, all in a single volume, in Rich, Pull Red Leather or Library Buckram Binding, can now be secured on the following remarkably easy terms: THE ENTIRE WORK (WITH COMPLETE 1921 ATLAS) DELIVERED for $1.00-68 and easy monthly payments thereafter (In United States and Canada.) On SUPERIOR INDIA PAPER (lo Thickness and Weight) India-Paper Edition Printed on thin, opaque, strong, supe- rior India paper. This edition is only about one-half the thickness and weight of the regular edition. Size 12% in. x 9% in. x 23 in. Weight 88 lbs. <@ Regular Paper Edition Printed on strong book paper of the highest quality. Size 12% in. x 92 in. x 54 in. Weight 153 Ibs. Both editions are printed from the same plates and indexed. Over 400,000 Vocabulary Terms, and, in addition, 12,000 Biographical “To have this work in the home is like Prise Dageod: Mag reliably site sending the whole family to college” References. Nearly 3,000 Pages. Over 6,000 Illustrations, The only dictionary with the New Divided Page, characterized as ‘A Stroke of Genius.” THE ATL AS To those who mail this Coupon at once is the 1921 “New Reference Atlas G. & C. Merriam Co. "37,°%" Springfield, Mass. ” a of the World,” containing 148 (Publishers of Genuine Webster Dictionaries for over 75 years) pages, with 96 pages of maps, Please send me free of all obligation or expense a copy of “Diction. i i i i ary rinkles” containing an amusing ‘ in Pronounciation™ beautifully printed in colors, with (with key) entitled “The Americanization of Carver; also "125 areas and Populations of all coun Intereating Questions” with, references to their answers, and otrik- tries, including changes broug ing ‘Facsimile Color-Plate” of the new bindings. Please inclu: pecimen pages of India and Regular paper with terms of the Wide about by the Great War. Parcel- World free Atlas offer on Webster's New International Dictionary. Post Guide, &c., all handsomely bound in red cloth, size 98x123. Nate. s.csSnc lade sescs Geass fobs choweacdec tees dat oeesbseesmevess MAR Ales Lace cehdaie Wks “lekaee ce is wen be chicane:

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ent THE Genuine Blue-B $72 ONLY SEND NO MONE Rush your order in today sure. Great- est shirt offer ever made, 3 fine heavy Blue Chambray shirts for work and semi-dress guar- anteed fast color and worth $1.50 each, only $2.29, OUR GUARANTEE If you can match these 8 wonderful shirts for less than $4.50, and do not think you have saved at least $2.50, return at our expense. Don't pay high Order today eure, before it is too late. VERY OHARGES TO YOUR DOOR, hirts $2.29. Giveneckeize, BERNARD-HEWITT & COMPANY Desk F-133 910 W. Van Buren St., CHICAGO and let me see what yoa can do with it. Many newspaper artists earning $30.00 to $200.00 or more per week were trained by is drawing easy to learn. Send sketch with 6c in stamps for sample Picture Ohart Jong list of successful students, and f evidence of what YOU can accomplish. lease state your Make More Mone FREE Send address TODAY and we will mail to you ABSOLUTELY FREE a book containing many help- ful suggestions on writing and selling Photoplays, Short Stories, » Popular Songs, ete. You may devote all or only spare hours to this fascinating work. Hundreds of publishers and film companies are constantly in the market and paying liberally for good manuscripts. If you want to become a successful writer end increase your Income, send for this free book today. ATLAS PUBLISHING CO.. 542 Butler Bido.. Cincinnati, O. DAZZLING. FULL OF BRILLIANT DIA-GEMS FIRE AND SPARKLING RADIANCE 1a genuine DIA-GEM If you or your friends « from an absolutely per mond, return it. DIA-GEMS teat 8 of ladies’ solid gold rings. Wear a DIA-GEM 30 Days Free cide. Dep monthly for seven months if sat DIA-GEM CO,, ON 44 0) Yorke WRITE THE WORDS FOR A SONG ‘We revise poems, write music and guarantee to secure publication by a New York Music Publisher. Our Lyric Editor and Chief Composer is a song-writer of national reputation and has written many big song-hits. Submit Doems on any subject. We examine them free. BROADWAY STUDIOS 214-D Fitzgerald Building Times Square New York, N. Y. Broad WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 9 ‘Another | $50 Raise!” “Why, that’s the third increase I’ve' had in a year! It just shows what special training will do for a man.” Every mail brings letters from some of the two million students of the Interna- tional Correspondence Schools, telling of advancements and increased salaries won through spare time study, How much longer are you going to wait before taking the step that is bound to bring you more money? Isn’t it better to start now than to wait for years and then realize what the delay has cost you? One hour after supper each night spent with the I. C. S. in the quiet of your own home will prepare you for the osition you want in the work you like est, Yes, it will! Put it up to us to prove it. Without cost, without obligation, just mark and mail this coupon. en eee meee coe ee TEAR OUT HERE come em oe oes oe oe INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS BOX 37298 SCRANTON, PA. Explain, without obligating me, how I can qualify for the position, or in the subject, before which I' mark X. ELEOTRIOAL ENGINERR BOOKKEEPER Electric Lighting and Railways Stenographer and Typist Electric Wiring C) Private Secretary Telegraph Engineer C) Business C Telephone Work Commer: MEOHANICAL ENGINEER, Cert. Publ Accountant Mechanical Draftsman Machine Shop Practice Toolmaker Gas Engine Operating OLVIL ENGINERK Surveying and Mapping MINE FOREMAN OR ENGINE! STATIONARY ENGIN Marine Engineer Ship Draftsman ARCHITECT Contractor and Builder Architectural Draftsman Concrete Builder Structural Engineer PLUMBING AND HEATING Sheet Metal Worker Textile Overseer or Supt. CHEMIST (5) Railway Accountant [5 ADVERTISING Window Trimmer ID Show Card and Sign Prg. ( SALESMANSHIP (9 CIVIL SERVIC! Railw: AGR C Poultry Raising Railroad Position BUSI 3 [5 TRAFFIC AUTOMORI z E Mathematics Pharmacy C) Navigation Name___— Present Business Occupation Add re Street and No.. City. State. Canadians may send this coupon tu the International | -t-®* Correspondence Schools Canadian, Lid., Montreal, Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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10 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Select your own subject, then sub- pet your poem to We write the Piiaic and guarantee publication. LEO FRIEDMAN, Composer to the Amer- can people is at the head of our staff. Among his great successes are “MEET ME TONIGHT IN DREAMLAND,” “LET ME CALL YOU SWEETHEART.” Sales ran into the millions of copies. Send us a poem today. Seton Music Co., 920S. Michigan, Dept. EEES Chicago inois Monarc 19 Jewels Pa 12 genaine Ruby and Sapphire jewels, golid gold center wheel, adjusted to positions fam and Meapeiore. foRohcs each railroad Teduirements as double roller ¢s- capement, 5! scape wheel. Stem set guarantecing absolute satisfac- tion, Substantial, guaranteed year 12 or 16 size gold filled case. nt without a penny down, 10 Days Free Trial Wear this splendid watch 10 days free. No obligation. If you decide not to buy return it Bt our expense, Chain and Knife FREE A handsome; up-to-date, gold-filled chain and ‘knife aca Wale Gholce'et “Dickepe. Vens of mar (shown (p cut) chain. chain you wish. 4c a Day your name apd add Jost send yo deposit will bo jeder Races | iia Ws Sak gut one pony, Tis “sbsclutcly free. If you keep the watch pay $4.90 8 month until fall pulee g49.75 $5 paid. ~ Order Today on Trial Toe, soely Hy lined, Send, you pame,oor. Ne EUS ‘Splendid id. watch for less than léc a day. Send your name Bow. J.M.LYON & CO. 200; New Youre DontSendaPen ‘We were told that no house could bring the price of good silk shirts sown toless > we've done it and here i s epdentady the or greatest bargain—a Fei slash wit ‘Do money now—and if the shirt "on" t tego £0 to aie 0 bs and $12 ones Goring. the war, return it SDIS - Record ccord Breaking IPRICE CUT Don’t You dont th Fine quality Ty rearing quality, Noveliyseltsiripgin solldcoiors-fight blue, plok and fder, New French caffs, Fine Fs 8 14 to 17 neck. Order size thao collat you wear and give ‘color wanted. _ Payonly on arrival. LEONARD-MORTON & CO., Dept. 8634 Chicago Send me Silk Shirt No. CX447.. I will pay $2.95 and tage for shirt on arrival and examine it carefally, fied, will return it will refund

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 11 Rush your order 1a today sure. Genuine Swoizene shirt material, extra fine count, very high luster. Latest effects, most beautiful black, blue and jJavender stripes. Guaranteed fast colors, rich looking, wear better than silk. Cut extra full, coat front style, soft French turn-back cuffs. and _ yo joney im- We Guarantee {0.7273 7our money these shirts for less than 86.50. Don't pay high retail Prices. Order yours today sure, before it is too late. livery charges paid—another big saving. Send no money, all three shirts $3.00 0. 0. D. Give neck size. Bernard - Hewitt & Co. Dept. £134 900 W. Van Buren St., Chicago TENOR BAN sm Wendertul now eystem of teaching note mosie by mall, To first \, Mandolin, cess or no charge. Complete outfit free, Write new. Nooblication. SLINGERLAND SCHOOL OF MUSIC, Inc. Dept. 61 2CHICAGO, ILL. IF YOU WANT CASH We pay exceptionally high prices for new or broken Jewelry. diamonds, (loose or mounted) watches, gold, silver or platinum, in any amounts or form, gold or silver ores and nuggets, mercury, magneto points, false teeth, war bonds, war stamps, unused postage of any denomination and all valuables. Cash sent to you by return mail. Goods returned to you in 10: Gaye if you're not satisfied with the amount we send y OHIO SMELTING & REFINING. "CO., 264 Lennos Bidg., Cleveland, Ohio. A request by post card or letter will bring ou gp you the ‘Texas Oil Bulletin absolutely Free for three months. It is an illustrated weekly published in the heart of the rich Texas ou Oil fields. by expert oil men. Contains authentic maps and the reliable news about all the sub- L the stantial companies operating in the proven BaFM MB and prospective ofl distriets. It tells you how thousands have become rich, and how TRU | hundreds are growing richer every day. oil, read this valuable paper each week. If you want to know when and where to buy or sell any TEX AS oil stock, a quotation will be furnished to you wish an analysis or report on any oil IL? company or ofl field in which you may be in- terested, it is yours, free for the asking. Send eral subscription to the Texas Oil Bulletin. Write for it today. GILBERT JORNSON. & COMPANY For 10 Years Oil Operators and Brokers If you want to learn the truth about Texas Abou you on any active or inactive security. If your name and address for a free three months Suite 219, Eppstein Bldg. Fort Worth, Texas B BETTER tire re- pair method is make ing men RICH! Chas, Evans, past 50, now MAI 1B; Gibbard of IiSmced 6 4 ip emall town, June and guly 1520, $90,000" Whene demand life of lion tires wearing down DA Sa ery,shops need sth atl Got dctalla, "Send coupon for Fi Haywood Tire & Equipment Co. 821 Capitol Avenue Indianapolis, indiana Mr. M. Haywood, Pres Breed ire & Haq iprnent Cos pany. itol Ave. Please send by return mall full details of Tire Surgery as I want to go Into good baying business. Name You assume no obligation by accepting our invita- tion to wear a Hexnite Gem for 10 days. Send your name and address. The ring you select will be shipped for your approval, charges prepaid. Upon arrival, deposit only $4.50 with the postman and then wear the gem for 10 full days. If you can tell it from a diamond, send it back and your money will be re- funded. Either satisfaction or no sale. If you decide to buy, send only $8.00 monthly until the amount of $16.50 is paid. The price is the same for any of the & rings shown. The mountings are solid gold and are act vin guaranteed Hexnite Gems weighing almost caral Decide on the ring you want. Order by number and do not forget to state the finger size. Send TODAY for our 82-page catalog illustrating hundreds of bargains. ‘Write to Dept. 609-A, THE HEXNITE CO. 116 Nassau St. New York, N. Y. RIDE A RANGER Ia bicycle and know you have the best. Se- 2\ lect from the 44 : sizes in the ne famous now “Hanger” ise of Wercless et ty pesivenso, D FREE on approval, ie) prepaid, for i Sedat polactine eases ne 8 1.2 Months to Pay esieetionatonss.ce ot stall ‘mooi orks. WRITE TODAY for en ly AY, ot ag mS Bo nee uy until yo frat you. A postal britgs everything. Wairae nce: 44 ee 8N and sizes. Y' This Is the MEAD SXCLE Company ing | MAKE A MOTOR CYCLE OUT OF YOUR BICYCLE 2 by us TTA BSA 8 SPE AAT, Sask "Bish ewe for) circulars.; Send STOPLY FA. CO Da W, S25 bron 8, Fels? Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE THE PARKVIEW Largest Institution in the World Treating Rectal Diseases Exclusively Probably as many as seventy out of every hundred people have Piles or some other serious rectal disease. Experience proves that home-remedies do not cure Piles and that Surgery is Harsh and Dangerous. No matter what you have tried without success do not despair, you can have your Piles Cured Without Surgery No knife; no scissors; no clamp and cautery;no “red- hot’ iron: no ligature; no chloroform or other general anaesthetic, only By DR. McCLEARY’S Mild Serum-Like Treatment A success for twenty-four years and in more than 6,000 cases. KANSAS CITY CHAMBER OF COMMERCE says: “Dr. McCleary stands high in thiscity. We do hot hes- itate to recommend himand his large institution.” THESE BANKS ENDORSE ABOV STATEMENT: Commonwealth National, G tional, National Bank of Commerce, Columbia National, Home Trust Co,, Central Exchange National and Traders National, (all of Kansas City). Write today for Free book telling how to be cured of Piles easily and permanently. THE PARKVIEW 1039 Paseo Kansas City, Mo. 60 Days Trial If you suffer from Debility, Nervousness, Insom- nla, Lack of Vigor, Rheumatism, Lumbago, Lame Ba Poor Circulation, Dyspepsia, kidney, liver. bladder weakness, or any trouble due to low vital- ity, send for our Free Book telling all about the genuine Sanden Electric Belts and how they are sold on 60 day trial, with no cost to you unless you are absolutely satisfied. Price. $4.85 up. This is an opportunity you should not miss. You are fully insured against fallure and take no risk whatever. The Sanden Herculex Belt is the best in the world and our ofer is absolvtely genuine. Write for Free Book ddress THE HERCULEX co. 1416 Broadway, New York (Dept. A. D.) IVORLD MAGAZINE CET RID OF THAT FAT Free Trial Treatment on Request Ask also for my “pay-when- reduced” offer. My treatment has often reduced at the rate of a pound a day. No dieting, no exercise, absolutely safe and sure method. Mrs. E. Bateman writes:—Hare taken yqur treatment and it is wonderful how it reduces. It does just as you say. I have reduced a pound a day and feel fine. Mrs. Anna Schmidt writes:—I welghed 178 pounds before I started your treatment and I now welgh 138 pounds. You may print this if you Like. These are just examples of what my treat- ment can accomplish. Let me send you more proof at my expense. BE. BR. NEWMAN, Licensed Physician ‘ifth Avenue, New York, Desk H-446 Pe) 5 Master Keys $ [eo e most wonderful and only set of of its kind. ‘They open and test THOUSANDS of ciaerent™ locks. They have satisfied thousands of purchasers, and are used and recommended by locksmiths, janitors, detec- tives and other great key users. They are UNEQUALED as a useful, convenient and household article. Send $1.00 for set and novel key chain. MASTER KEY CO, , 58, Manhattan Bids. MILWAUKEE, WIS. TOBACCO Or SNUFF HABIT Cured or NO PAY No matter whether used in pipe, cigarettes, cigars, chewed, or used in the form of snuff. Superba Tobacco Remedy contains nothing in- jurious, no dope, poisons, or habit forming drugs. Guaranteed. Sent on trial. If it cures costs you one dollar. If it fails, or if you are not perfectly satisfied, costs you nothing. Write for full remedy today. SUPERBA COMPANY, M24, Baltimore, Md. TOBACCO HABIT Make It Quit You Not only is tobacco filthy and disgusting to your loved ones, but {t contains a Deadly Poison which weakens heart, stomach, lowers vitality and Invites disease that may shorten your life. STOP! Regain vigor; but don’t shock your system by trying to quit unaided. It makes no difference how long you have Easy to Quit trad tobnces, wither sou ame chenretten Dipe, cigars, chew or use snuff. NIx-0-' Tine Tobaceo Remedy will free you from craving quickly and for good. No further desire for tobacco. Guaranteed harmless! Has cured thou- sands of worst cases. Sent_on_ Trial Wille today, & full remedy on trial. ee Cut 1.00, No charge if ft falls PERKINS CHEMICAL COMPANY. E-37, Hastings, Nebr. VENTRILOQUISM sht Almost Anyone at Home. Small cost, Send today 3c stamp Foraht Almost Anyone at G. W. SMITH, Room 801, 125 Jeff Ave, Peoria, 112. If it Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 13 ee cece EECA) - When Marriage Is a Crime! | E man who deliberately marries a good, pure, wholesome woman, knowing in his heart of hearts, that he is not 100% perfect, that he has abused Nature, and is otherwise unfit to be the father of those innocent souls he is about to bring into the world, is unworthy the name of Man—unworthy to be a Citizen of this great Nation—unworthy of happiness or financial success—He actually commits the worst crime known to Civil- ization, because he abuses the love and confidence of the woman he pre- tends to love and who confides in him and places her future in his hands— because it is the progeny of just such beasts that are filling our hospitals, our jails and our asylums—DON'T DO IT, MY BROTHER. DON’T bo IT —come to me, confide in me and I will make you worthy of the best woman in the world—worthy of the deepest respect of your fellow man. I will = — build you up so that you can look the whole world in the face and say, ‘‘ I = am a Man—100% man."" To Err Is Human and to Correct These Errors Is Manly The man who admits he has physical defects has taken his first step toward manhood and honesty, but he must not stop there; he must see to it that he gets good competent advice and attention, and to do this he must go to the one who can prove by his own physical condition, that he is ABL 0 REALLY give him THAT HEALTH, STRENGTH and PHYSIQUE he desires—GO TO A MAN who practices what he preaches—I AM THAT MAN: I built myself up first. I experimented with my own body, until 1 made myself what I am today, what those competent to judge say I am, ‘* The living illustration of the perfection of the human form, accord- ing to the highest standard.” I don't care a rap what has caused your present unfitness, whether you have been brought to your rundown, physi- cally unfit condition by your own indiscretions, your own folly, or whether it has been cauged by circumstances over which you have no control. I WILL REBUILD YOU. I WILL MAKE A MAN OF YOU, NOT A 50% M: ut a Man—A 100% MAN. I accomplished all this in Nature’s own way. NO DRUGGING, NO MEDICINES, NO FAD3 OF ANY KIND. Simple scientific instructions added to the proper method of living, and what's more, I guarantee you that I will accomplish all I undertake, and I wor’t undertake what I cannot accomplish. STRONGFORTISM will in no way interfere with your occupation or plans. You may follow your daily calling, no matter what that calling may be; even if you attend school or college, my instructions will not interfere with your studies in any way whatsoever. And what is more, you can follow to the letter, the Strongfort System in the privacy of your home, without the knowledge of any one in it, and without the aid of a Gymnasium. Now Be Honest With Yourself UIONEL STRONGFORT Get in line with the men worth while. Make work and living a pleasure, t, of Harvard, de not a bore. Confidentially, mark your physical trouble on coupon below, eer gyre ill Dr. Bargent olared that “Strongfort is unquee- tlonably the finest specimen of physical development ever seen.” and believe me, I will tell you frankly Just what you should do, just what I can do, so that you can honestly face the world as a man, so that when you see your little ones playing around your fireside, you can prondly feel that you did everything you possibly could to bring them into the world Physically perfect. Don’t ever forget, all the world loves manly men; women look up to and truly love them—men admire them. ——EE = 3 Fe tt SMa Sow GaP Beare Bo RoE beta oxe | FREE CONSULTATION COUPON BINGLE DAY. . Mr. Lionel Strongfort, De Remember, by writing to me, you in no way obligate yourself to | er e meets accept my Instractions, while cg the otlier hand: Twill give you sold, —] Please send me your book, “PROXOTION "1 | SERVATION OF HEALTH. STRENGTH fearless advice that will be many times worth the few minutes it took || ATVI for postaas etaiieet “s hesitation cross the freo Gonsultation coupon herewith opposite. wl a to be your {4 Piece (one dime), I have marked (X) before the ye chic! mali ailment. sign end mail with your name and address written f@ subject in which I am interested. plainly thereon. You will hear from me at once, and you will bear ‘something well worth while. Get This Book—It’s Free 1 you will send me a 100 plece (one dime) to cover . 276, Newark, Increased Vital Depletion stritis -Hoart Weakness ing expenses, | will forward free my book, Flat Feet . Poor Circulas “PROMOTION AND CONSERVATION OF HeattH Stomach tion STRENGTH AND MENTAL ENERGY.” You should Disorders -Skin Disorders not be witheut it. It contains many startling facts and helpful hints. Mark the items on free consultation coupon on which you want special information. -Lung Troubles -Stoop Shoulders ‘Deformity LIONEL STRONGFORT eonenaans Physical and Health Specialist Dept. 276, Newark, N, J. mm rem sacar : ! A i Kinaly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers. Name.

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE = 1 You can do it easily. You don’t need to bes Save Two Thirds cabinet maker, or have any tools with our Simplified Plans and building instructions. You can cut the regular retail price at Two Thirds. BUILD YOUR OWN PHONOGRAPH right in your own home. Hundreds are now enjoying the instruments proudly friends, they built themselves. You can do the same. You can’t fa Beart beautiful models to choose from. Play all records. Finest of equipment. throughout. Write today for full particulars and our very interesting FREE OFFER to phonograph builders. A sq Ourattractive plan of starting a business of your own, with- Agents, Listen to This: out capital, canvassing or hard work, will appeal to you as it has to all others. Make $200 a week. _ Write today and begin to make money—real money. MODERN PHONOGRAPH SUPPLY CO., 566-3pringer Bldg., 313 S. Clinton St, CHICAGO AUTO OWNERS Save half of your tire cost by using Double-Mile: Double-Tread Tires, Guaranteed 6000 Mil We lead, others try to follow. ‘They are reconstructed of highest grade material—hardly ever blow Money Oa te Bee Gene ea from 8000 Write quick for this amazing to 10,000 miles. Order today at underwear bargain. lim- ited quantity. Wonderful Tubes \ quality genuine French Bal- $1.60 briggan union suit, Greatest 1B value ever Each suit 2.00 worth $2.00. 225 2 ‘0 UNION & 232 3.00 suITsFOR 4. 8.00 il postcard or letter today sare, a Mal or eninute, for 3 union suits, % extra full cut, short winged o a 81x85. RELINER FREE WITH EVERY TIRE Send $2.00 deposit with each tire ordered, balance BOD. Tires shipped aubject to your examination | State es shipped vce non-elid ia desired. All same on. arr’ Pi Sending fall amount, with order you ean save ES, another big savi: sending fal cash-with-arder discount. We GUARANTEE ~ DOUBLE MILEAGE TIRE & RUBBER CO. { 3245 Ogden Ave.. Dopt.123_ CHICAGO, ILL- yOUR eHESE, F ORDERFOL be SurTe 1B 96.00. jer mazing bargal EEthre it is too late. Sizes 34 to 46; Just give name, address, and measure. ‘A BERNARD-HEWITT&CO. . ki = Dept. J-134, CHICAGO MEN Try My Best Electric: Belt BLANK CARTRIDGE PISTOL “abscesses PRICES Knocks rheumatism, son Tramps at ‘Without the danwer attached to other revolvers. , stomach, kidney, blad- ‘superior quality for i + 2 $1.00. Se Postaaldh Getter mak, ond Siero Seta der, prostatic weakness, pain; greatest power; half JOHNSON SMITH CO. price. Eye-opening facts free. A. P. Owens, Dept 77. Dept. 139 3224 N. Halstead St., Chicago P. O. Box 861, Indianapolis, Ind. ALL STANDARD re all standard makes, Ay practically new. Diacwed or half soled tires. getting 000 easy. Every tire we ship satistaction Tres TUWES Tes TUBES | SE 4 2S, BaxA Boxd 40) Axty No money in advance. We ship on you pay. 5 per cent discount if our Bil B.S. or LASS-WORTH CO.

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/ THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 15 SMASHING SHOE OFFER Rush your order in this minute for a pair of the famous AMERIOAN Munson as semi-dress and work shoe. Worth $6.00, s he We guarantee to refund money if you can match them for less than $6.00, ee Worth $6.00 cea ad $2939 es NOW w— GUARANTEED 6 MONTHS? WEAR Don’t wait. Only Mmited quantity. Be sure to get yours. Get in on this amazing offer. State size and color. We pay shipping charges. ) BERNARD-HEWITT & COMPANY Dept. C-133]. 900 W. VanBuren St., CHICAGO Ciroar Made to your measure, payable after received, erfect fit, fine goods and tallor- saving, all guaranteed or SAMPLES FREE, Every @ mon should write at once for our beautiful free book of cloth samples and correct fashions, explaining everything. Write letter or postal; f just say, “Send me your samples,” B and get ‘everything by return mail FREE. Importast fo every man. Write today sure. TAILORING COMPANY it W9-4, CHICAGO, ILL. \ Axrt Corners ea Millions S.No Paste Necoep * f) - Use them to mount all kodak eS 4 pictures, post cards,clippings in albums 4 4,19, Saunre, Round, Oval, oo from Engel Mfg. Co., Dept. 55-D. 4711 Chicago TYPEWRITERS Save One-Half Most for the least money in the latest ed of ALL | TWENTY ACRES AND PLENTY Good times are coming and business will soon be humming. The pendulum swings back to the productive side. We are at the dawn of another era of prosperity. Normal condi- tions will come back when more of us get back to the land. Our furrows of care will disappear when we begin to turn more fur- rows in the soil. The remedy for the evils existing in our over-crowded cities today is the movement BACK TO THE SOIL. The City Toiler— the workingman—the clerk—the office man— all must look to the SOIL for the opportunity to break clear from the eight o’clock bell, the tyranny of the boss, and the diminishing chance. The man who looks ahead will pre- pare himself for that time by getting a home. My advice to you, therefore, is to get a home while you are able to do so, and begin now. In this day of unrest, the safe investor puts his money in LAND. ‘It can not burn up or blow away—it is panic-proof. Good agricul- tural land is the foundation of all lasting prosperity. Get an income-producing home and you will have a steady income. You can do it by taking advantage of our liberal terms. We will clear and cultivate your land for you on our fair and equitable ten-per-cent-above-cost plan. A monster land movement is just getting under way in our part of Florida. Until re- cently the mistaken idea that Florida is hot in summer has kept many desirable settlers away. But they are coming now—thousands strong. Settlers, farmers, stockmen, fruit growers, truck gardeners, home-seekers from every State in the Union—and Canada. They want Florida land while it can yet be had at reasonable prices. Those who wait too long will find this land quoted at $200 to $500 per acre in the next few years. California passed through just such a stage. Today, wild lands available for citrus culture are sold at $500 to $700 per acre, and little left at that figure. Last year gardeners in Orange and nearby counties in Florida cleared over $1,000 per acre on truck crops. Orange and grapefruit groves sold last fall as high as $1,000 to $3,000 er acre. Individual grove owners cleared as ‘igh as $1,000 to $1,500 an acre on the sale of fruit last year. All you need is a moderate amount of money and a fair knowledge of farming. A dollar an acre a month will pay for your land. Send for our Big Free Book—“TWENTY ACRES AND PLENTY.” It tells about our easy monthly payments, sick and out-of-work clauses and free protective features. Address SYLVESTER E. LSON, Dept. H. 30, Orlando, Florida. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertinws

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16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Your Bunion Can Be Cured Instant RelieF Prove It At My Expense Don’t send me one cent—just let mé prove it to you have done for over 72,000 others in the last six month cffim that ‘‘Fairy-Fo ul cure for bu ever made and I want you to let me send it to you FREE, entirely at my expense. I don’t care how man so-called cures or chields, or pads you ever tried without — success I don’t care how disgusted you feel with them all—you have not tried my cure and I have such absolute confidence in. tt, that 1 am going to send you this treatment absolutely FREE. It is a wonderful yet simple home treatment which elieves you almost instantly of all pain; it removes the of the bunion and the ugly deformity disappears—all this while you are wearing tighter shoce than ever know it will do all this and I want you to send for ‘'Fairy-Foot” Free, at my expense, because I know you will then tell all about It just are doing this announcement may not appear in this paper again. Just _ send your name and address and ‘Fairy- Foot" will be sent you promptly in plain_sealed_ envelope. FOOT REMEDY CO. 2207 Millard Ave., Dept. 43 CHICAGO i Nl My wt HORSESHOE =) LUCKY ‘rnc ‘| ON 7 DAYS TRIAL Believed by many to be a Charm of Good Luck. The Horseshoe Top is Solid Gold and the Nail Solid Silver, set with Genuine Garnet, It is 0 unique, attractiv:. admired by every- body. ‘Send your name, address and ring measure (strip of paper around receive Ring, pay $4.95, Wear it seven days and follow the seven golden rules which come with Ring. All your money back if not entirely satisfied. KOSMOS CO., Dept. 32, North Clark Str., Chicago Snger.y’ When a3 rate Tt If you have prostate dis- order—bladder trouble—get up fre- relief for you—without drugs or massage—without pain or discomfort—privately at home. Our free book tells all. Doctors, Osteopaths, Physical Culture directors, Sanitarium experts use and endorse our method. Easily used by anyone. Very simple. No matter what you have tried or how old your case our methods will bring re- sults or money back. Write for free illustrated booklet. Do it now. Reliet for you is at hand and at small cost. Electro Thermal Co. 12-F Kirk Bldg. Steubenville, O. Don’t Wear a Truss ROOKS’ APPLIANCE, the modern scientific in- vention, the wonderful -new liscovery that relieves rupture will be sent on trial. No obnoxious springs or pads. Has automatic Air Cushions. Binds and draws the broken parts together as you would a broken limb. No salves. No les. Durable, cheap. Sent on trial te prove it.. Protected by U. S. patents. Catalogue and meastre blanks mailed free. Send name and address today. . E. BROOKS, 217-H, State Street, Marshall, Mich. Motorists! Save Your Gas’ Twenty per cent of your gasolene is lost, wasted by imperfect mixture with air! We have a simple appliance, easily attached, that will secure perfect mixture and perfect combustion. It costs only $2.00 post paid and we guar- antee that it will save you 15% to 20% or money back. It is worth a test, never fails. Hundreds sold and not one come back. Give name of your car. WEST SIDE GARAGE 346 W. Palisade Ave., Englewood, N. J. CURED HER FITS Mrs. Paul Gram, who had suffered with Fits of Epilepsy for over 14 years, reports that she was cured with a medicine she read about in the paper. She says that over ten years have passed and the attacks have not returned. Everyone suffering from fits should write R. P. Lepso, 875 Island Ave., Milwaukee, Wis., who will send them a free bottle of the same kind of medicine Mrs. Gram says cured her. Send him your name today. Your Skin Can Be Quickly Cleared cf IMPLES Blackheads, Acne Eruptions on the face or body, Enlarged Pores, Oily or Shiny Skin, Write today for my Free booklet,"“A CLEAR-TONE SKIN, "telling how I cured myself after being afflicted 15 years, $1,000 Cold Cash says I canclear your skin of the above blemishes, E.'S. GIVENS, 108 Chemical Bidg., Kansas City, Mo. PILE DON'T BE CUT Until You Try This Wonderful Treatment. My internal method of treatment is the cor- rect one, and is sanctioned by the best in- formed physicians and surgeons. Ointments. salves and other local applications give only temporary relief. if you have piles in any form, write for a FR sample of Page's Pile Tablets, and you will bless the day that you read this, Write today. E. R. PAGE . Marshall, Mich. BLOOD DISEASES Send for free book about special treatment used successfully for over 26 years by Dr. Panter in fhousands of cases. No matter how bad the blood is or the cause of the disensesend for the book tn today. ANTER Ri Room 64 828 No. Clark Street, © CHICAGO 346-D Page Bid Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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tobacco is not hurting you. system. ing tobacco, is a slow working poison. Tobacco i3 lowering your efficiency. It slows amandown. Makes it harder for you to concentrate your mind on your work. You haven’t near the amount of ‘‘pep’’ and energy you would have if you stopped using it. There’s many a man twice as old as you in years who's twice as young in energy, simply because he lets tobacco alone. Some day you will realize to what an alarming extent tobacco has undermined your system, Let Us Help You a very few days. long waiting for results. 7 Tobacco Redeemer contains no habit-forming drugs of marvelously quick, scientific and thoroughly reliable. or to continue the use of the remedy. nerves and make you feel better in every way. Results Guaranteed you. money - back should fail to banish the tobacro habit completely. SEND Coupon for Free Proof bome treatment. send on request. Just mail the coupon—or a postal will do. NEWELL PHARMACAL CO. Dept 343 St. Louis, Tobacco Is Hurting You Look at the facts square in the face, Mr. Tobacco User. That is because you haven’t as yet, perhaps, felt the effects of the nicotine poison in YOUR For you know that nicotine, as absorbed into the system through smoking and chew- Slow, yes—but sure. Tobacco Habit Banished It dosen't make a particle of difference whether you’ve been a user of tobacco for a single month or 50 years, or how much you use, or in what form you use it— whether you smoke cigars, cigarettes, pipe, chew plug or fine cut or use snuff— Tobacco Redeemer will positively remove all craving for tobacco in any form in Not the slightest shock to the nervous system. Your tobacco craving will usually begin to decrease after the very first dose—there's no It is in no sense a substitute for tobacco, After finishing the treatment you have absolutely no desire to use tobacco again It helps to quiet the Asingle trial will convince Our legal-binding, fk guarantee goes with each full treatment. We will refund every cent you pay for the treatment if after taking it according to the easy-to-follow directions, it Let us send you our free booklet on the deadly effects of tobacco, to- gether with testimonial letters from men allover the country telling how they have been absolutely freed from the tobacco habit by this simple a You could not, ask for stronger proof that Tobacco Redeemer will free you from the habit than the evidence we will gladly You may think When your hands begin to tremble— and your appetite begins to fail— and your heart seems to “skip a beat” now and then— and slight exertion makes you short of breath— then you have a right to suspect that TOBACCO is getting the upper hand. Any well-informed doctor will tell you that these are only a few of many symptoms of tobacco poisoning. And YOU know that the use of tobacco in any form is an expensive, utterly useless habit. You know you ought to quit. any kind and is N NEWELL PHARMACAL CO. Dept. 343 St. Louis, Mo. Please send, without obligating me in any way, your free booklet regarding the tobacco habit and proof that Tobacco Redeemer will positively free me from the tobacco habit or my money will be refunded. Name .. Street and No. ... Mo. ,Google ce Digitized b

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21 Jewels « «Fewer Jewels Not Worthy of the Name Burlington” 'HE masterpiece of watch manufacture—Adjusted to the Second—Adjusted to Temy Adjusted to Isochronism— Adjusted to Positions —25-Year Gold Strata Case. for you to look at and examine carefully. You are under no obligation to fina the only way a Burlington is sold. A 21-jewel watch sold to you at a price much | than that of other high-grade watches. We send it to you on approval at a d rock-bottom price. You risk nothing—you pay nothing. 3O22 a Month — SO sending the 21-Jewel Burlington for = (without an: ob gation on our part 60 bey ‘homie ° Burlington Watch Company very special” Sart cher byes, commiacen ee tame Dept. 1514, 19th Street and Marshall Blvd., Chicago month—no interest. Send for che most Pimags os Canadian Address: 338 Portage Ave., Winnipeg, Man. Please send me (without obligations and prepaid) your free book on watches with full explanation of your $5.00 a month offer on the Burlington Watch, ever produced. 100 designs and engravings beauti trated in colors, The book is FREE. Mi Write Toda Maine aca Saudastis sided ds sate heheriediavebavvesssttiteag: Burlington Watch Company Dept. 1514, 19th Street and Marshall Blvd., Chicago, Il. c . Winnip Address... ‘anadian Address: 338 Portage Avenue, peg, Manitob Digitized by Google

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